Uragiri -Japanese for betrayal
Uragiri

-Japanese for betrayal  weapon stories
  102
  •  
  1
  •   8 comments
Share

ant
ant14| A flower, wilting, before it blooms
Autoplay OFF  •  4 months ago
My first short story, warning! Violence!

Uragiri -Japanese for betrayal

The villagers avoid our house, no one will be our friends, they say we are demented. I hate the looks, as if I would explode any minute.

The segregation is aggravating, lonely, it's not fair they set us apart because of what took place so long ago, what still occurs, But, all I know, is that I hate that sword and what it does to us.

I pass by it every day, hanging under its sacred shrine. It has an air of its own, drawing you in with its sheer power.

It stands there, covered, bound and alone, yet it doesn't need to touch me, because it still slices away at me, cutting down my sanity day by day.

My father told me, “No man can wield this blade, much less a girl!"

He continued on with his usual rant, but I could of sworn he looked like he was saying something completely different, I caught the words “mind and fight” on his lips,

but I know not what to believe, my ears or my eyes. It speaks to me, begging and pleading to kill, bloodthirsty and dangerous.

It forces its desires on others, and it is because of this that our family is special, we have all been accustomed to its curse. Berating us with its need to be touched and used.

The fear of connection to these unholy thoughts is the only reason we haven't disposed of the blade, nobody dares get too close.

The tales say the blade is cursed, tainted by the blood of innocents massacred by mistake.

They say My great great great great grandfather ganji, won the blade in a duel, by turning it against its master, and his best friend.

Friends since childhood, for what reason they could only suspect then...

Soldiers in war, they shared their life together, yet there they fought, over what? A week before this consequential duel, Ranza happened upon the blade in a mugging.

A starved, crazed man swishing it in his face, with an obvious inebriation.

The foolish scoundrel was no match for the legendary warrior, and was easily felled, and for his victory, he won the man's blade.

When Ganji was told this he was instantly jealous, how had he not won the blade, why was it that such beauty did not belong to him? Why was he so desperate?

And intoxicated with his desire for the strange weapon, he quickly fought and bested his friend out of greed.

With his newfound proud stupor he presented the blade for all to see. Waving it around as if to impress.

Upon bringing it home that day he showed his great asset to his family, twirling it left and right in musical patterns of insane skill, amazing his wife and boy.

But in his glory, his narcissistic dance of victory, controlling the blade at incredible speeds, he lost his dominance.

The saber itself had already corrupted him, and In his frenzy to show off the blade, twirling and gyrating in perfect movements, he sliced clean through his beloved wife’s stomach.

Blood spraying across the ground and onto his son's face, grief stricken with horror.

Only then did Ganji realize his mistake, only then did he truly take in The devastation he brought into his life.

With a slow glance at the blood bathed saber, the cause of his terrors and thirsty motivation, he saw his next target.

For in the smooth green polish of the blade he saw his own reflection, and in one swift motion he took his own life.

It is this tale passed down through generations as a warning, and it is our family that must guard the blade from those who cause destruction, and even from ourselves.

For no one can wield this blade, for it controls you. This is the story I am told every time i'm caught peering at the blade in its pristine place,

Entranced by its beauty yet untouched for centuries.

I no longer believe any of it I fear not the feel of the grip, But my father knows not of my wishes, he knows not how often I dream at night of the lurking feeling of emptiness,

my desire for its cold steel. My brother knows. Hears me in my sleep, sees me staring from time to time.

He too must want it, HE MUST! how can one turn down its lust!? I notice now how dangerously close I am, I don’t even remember approaching it, yet, here I am.

My arm is already extended, and I want this, I Really want this.

It doesn't matter that i’m a girl, it doesn’t matter what they say! I slowly grasp the hilt, and from its scabbard I draw, as i've seen before only, in dreams the mighty blade itself.

The luminescent green steel warm to the touch, full of energy. I can feel its entrancing aura. So much... Power! “Soya!”

I drop the saber, the immediate rush of emptiness, confusion and realization hit me at once.

“i'm sorry Saito! I don't know what-” “How dare you touch my blade, Sister?!?” your blade?! It is a curse, it belongs to nobody, did you not see what it made me do!?

“Oh i saw what you did alright, you were gonna kill me!” kill you? I would never! “ I saw it alright! And I know, Uragiri itself told me!” He exclaimed.

Do not say that twisted blades name! You are bewitched, it is controlling you! You must stop it! “The only thing I will stop is you!"

He lunges for the blade throwing his body as if he doesn’t care the damage he does. I quickly pick up the forsaken sword and step back.

Saito looks up head bleeding “ Give it back!” he screeches and lunges once more, this time with a chair in hand.

Out of desperation, I fall to the side and swing the blade upwards, cutting through the wood like air, and with the momentum of his attack, saito stumbles forwards onto the erect sword,

instantly impaled and lifeless. Trembling and covered with blood, time appears to move incredibly slow. “I'm slowly losing consciousness”, I think to myself.

My jaw wide open as if I'm screaming, but I don't hear anything.

I can only watch the horrific events that follow.

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store
COMMENTS (8)
SHOUTOUTS (1)