Author Topic: A Sword Among Pens  (Read 2527 times)


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A Sword Among Pens
« on: April 17, 2013, 11:04:33 PM »
A/N: I've had this up for a while on dA and, so I thought I'd post it here. It's one of my favorites (and one of the few non-NSFW fics xD)

This is a play on the expression, "The pen is mightier than the sword." My point with this is that, just because humanity seems to believe they're the greatest and can eliminate "evil" (youkai), there is always something sharper?

I loathe the silence.

I can feel the walls closing in on me, the chains that bind me to my mundane, oni-less life holding me back. And the longer I'm away from my kind and my culture, the deeper I feel the shackles dig into my flesh, and the more I resist my restraints.

I'm breaking down. The shackles are tearing me apart, and all I want is to be free again, far from what humanity desires me to be. For I am an oni, a sword among a world of pens. I'll never be a professional, poised, and polite lady, as the outside world so desires, nor will I be conforming to nonconformism, as Gensokyo seems to be.

I take a deep drink of my sake, wishing it had more of a burn. Sometimes the pain reminds me to calm down, that I'm getting too riled up over nothing. But the empty void that is my life is exactly what drives me insane.

I hate routines. Oni are born from chaotic families, a warlike metaphor representing their lack of unity. We're hated, feared even, and because of our resistance to human authority, we'll never truly fit in. In the end, the sword will always cut down the pens, but to stay alive in this day and age, a sword must remain dull, bow her head, and listen to her elders, even though she knows she can destroy everyone.

This is why we oni need each other. We used to travel in packs, giving each other support, guidance, love, and copious amounts of alcohol. We have the desire on the inside to live in a state of constant celebration. We feed on the energy of carnivals, prey upon the weak, dogmatic conformists, and admire the strongest, most charismatic individuals. We keep our friends closer than our enemies, because in the end, our friends will be there, and all our enemies will be long dead.

I'm in agony, and it's not my liver giving out. I'm stirring inside, and there's nothing I want more than to let go of it all, to release the oni within. I can't hold back anymore; I can feel the chains breaking and the walls collapsing. The sword will no longer pretend to be a pen. The sharp edge is impossible to mask beneath an artificial cap.

It's nice to be Awake again, but once the chains of obligation are broken, I no longer wish to decap the pens. All I want to do is cry. I hate crying. It makes me feel like a weak child, and I'm neither of the two. But just as I can't resist Awakening, I can't stop the flood of tears.

I drop my sake dish and curl into a ball on the cold tile floor. I'm dizzy and shaking, as if I have the flu, but I know what this hysteria is: it's just the oni inside of me, reminding me of my nonhuman need to be with my kind, celebrate the celebration of life, and to let go.

I sit up and wipe my eyes, then start laughing. I know what'll fix my disposition.

I pick up my dish, refill it, and head outside.

It's my duty as an oni to wreak havoc, and life's looking a little too mundane.

It's time for some good old-fashioned oni chaos.