Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin

Author's Note: This chapter wraps up part 1 of the story. The old man decides what to do with his life and Sou has a likely-to-be-last emotional outburst. I won't start on part 2 until I have a clear storyline in my head. All I know is that it would be Sou's adolescent years. Yumi/Shishio love story will be one of the subplots. I probably will bring back Yumi's dad-not sure about Shishio's sister though. Maybe her going on a feminist crusade against the government? What do you think?

Read and review, thanks!

Chapter Nine: The World Cries

Seeing that I still haven't grasped the value of the black goo, Shishio-san struck a match and dropped it to the earth. Suddenly, the ground where I stood burst out in flames. A terrible, loud noise like thunder boomed next to my ears. Dirt and pebbles flew all around. I crouched into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut, thinking that I was going to die for sure.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was confused to see that I was still in one piece. A large, jagged crater had formed where I stood. Blinking, I realized that I was hanging parallel to the ground. Shishio-san had snatched me from the explosion and held me under his arm.

Looking none too pleased, Shishio-san dropped me as one would a sack of rice. The hard ground hurt my bottom, but that was the last thing on my mind.

"I don't understand any of this."

Frustrated that his earth-shattering demonstration had done nothing to my dense mind, Shishio-san jabbed his finger at the black goo, "This stuff is called petroleum."

"Pe-tro-lee-umh." I slowly repeated the word to make sure I got it right. "So it's good for blowing things up?"

"No. It's a type of fuel, just like coal. The explosion was meant for you to see its power."

"Why did you say it's gold then?"

I thought I heard Shishio-san cursed under his breath at my ignorance.

"This stuff worth a lot of money, so in away, it is equivalent—no, maybe even more valuable than gold."

"That makes sense. Why didn't you say that from the beginning?"

"Remind me not to use figures of speech on you from now on."

I was about to ask what 'figures of speech' are, but held my tongue back in time. I rather not go through all that again.

Dawn broke by the time we returned to the lepers' place. The shack was eerily still. The old man remained rooted in the corner where I left him. In the mix of dim light and dark shadows, his lopsided head seemed to be severed, hanging on his shoulder by a thread.

"Oji-san." I shook him. His breathing was so quiet-for all I know, he may have stopped breathing already.

My eyes caught sight of the small blade in his hands. Amid the darkness, the sharp steel blade shone like a shard of the white sun rising outside.

Suicide.

"Oji-san, it's morning. Open your eyes!"

Suicide.

"Wake up, oji-san! Oji-san!"

He stirred. Took him a while longer to open his eyes. They seemed almost glued together from dried tears and crusted rheum.

"What's the big fuss, boy? I only dozed off a little-I haven't slept a wink in two days, you know? Why, it is morning already!"

The old man stretched his arms and groped for his wooden peg feet. I handed them to him, casually and unafraid. Thanking me, he tied them to his thighs, pulled down his trouser legs and propped himself up. I watched all this and thought it was just as natural as seeing someone tying his sandals.

"Your knife. What was it for?" Curiosity urged me to finally ask that question.

In response, he tapped on the makeshift walking cane that he was leaning on. "It'll last a thousand li, I reckon."

"You're going away?"

"I'm going to find my Yumi-chan."

"You don't know where she is though. You don't even know if she's alive or not."

"My child is missing. How could I stay here and do nothing when my child is missing?"

With that said, the old man bade goodbye to his fellow villagers and started the hopeless journey on his wooden pegs and walking cane. I watched him trudged down the beaten path that led to the 'normal people's village', going about as fast as a crawling infant.

His pegs will break, and so will his cane, but not his will.

Oh world, stop your bickering nonsense and behold that legless old man searching for his as-good-as-dead daughter!

I know that I was supposed to be inspired by this old man and have faith in the ever-resilient human spirit and all that glorious stuff, but I was too busy thinking about myself. I couldn't, could not, shake off the anger that was knotting my stomach. A living monster with teeth, that immense anger yanked my guts and squeezed my lungs. I could hardly breathe. My mouth and cheeks twitched and my fists trembled uncontrollably. I tried to calm down, but it was no use. I had gone beyond fear. I was in a full blown panic mode. Anger would eat me alive; I got to let it out. I slapped myself and pulled out my hair and shook my fists at the sky and kicked the dirt and snapped the tree branches and bellowed at the indifferent trees.

Why won't anyone come for me? Why won't my mother and father look for me? I'm missing too! Come look for me! I'm hurt, I'm in pain-my head won't stop spinning, my nose keep smelling vomit and blood and tar, my wrists and my ankles are shredded from all that sword practice. I'm hurt but I can't cry. I hate it. My face can't stop twitching and I'm scared it'd be screwed up like that for my whole life. Come, mother and father, please come! Call my name, ask for the little boy that can't stop smiling. Please, look for me! I'm still alive. Don't believe what they say, I'm not a bad child.

I'm not a bad child!

I'm not a bad child!

I'm not a bad child! How many times do I have to scream that out loud to convince you!

I'm not a bad child.

I'm not a bad child...

I'm not a bad child...

I'm not...

I'm...

Nobody came. I should've known better not to waste my breath. Life isn't like fairytales, in which all you have to do is cry out and angels would pop up and dry your tears and solve your problems. I was pretty sure that plenty of people were crying at the same time I was and no angel came to them either. Perhaps our cries drowned out one another, so the godly beings had no way of telling who was who.

Whoever made up fairy tales was a cruel liar. Telling children to cry their throats out at some figure of fantasy dust that would never come. Liar liar liar liar.

I touched my eyes. They were dried. I wasn't freaking out anymore; my face wasn't twitching anymore. Crying out was such a useless act. I swore I won't waste my breath like I did from now on. Instead, I would make like water, always calm no matter how much life shook me up.

Down at the normal people's village, they were crying as they made a funeral pyre for the dead. From where I stood, I could see the column of black smoke rising all the way to heaven-if there was one. I wondered who would make a funeral pyre for these people when Shishio-san was through with the village, after he had sucked out the last drop of petroleum from its land. They probably just get left out in the open to rot. Layer upon layer of flesh and blood, broken down and mixed into the dirt, broken down and mixed some more, until they become part of the black goo to fuel others' riches and ambitions.

The weak is food for the strong, even after they die.

The world is crying at the same time, all the time.

End of part 1.