some things never sleep

a sinner's fruit

not long go in the Isuki woods,

parents frenzied and their children yelped,

for the waters killed whenever they swept,

oh, careful boy, careful girl

don ́t go drown in them

-ancient proverb, teller unknown

They whispered in between hisses and songs that wells were to be the death of an entire village.

Children would mock with naive laughter the tales of killing wells -ridiculous, wasn't it? Mothers would tremble with fear and hugged their babies tight. Fathers would oil their rifles as they pronounced words of future victory. Whatever inhabited the wells of Isuki would feast on rotten flesh once the fresh one was gobbled down. And what would Ryūnosuke and Gin do? The siblings would await for the storms, collect the masses of raindrops in clay pots, and boil the water in makeshift fires. There were no children, mothers, or fathers to impede their procedures, anyway.

Rashōmon, flowed from the whimsical mouths of street fabulists. No, it's the Devil, slipped out from the gritted teeth of vehement believers. One way or another, terror etched itself into the bones of even the bravest. Of the families and the devoted and the innocents. Of the ones who were to lose a limb or two -a sibling or a parent or a friend. With only a handful of rusty coins in his worn pocket and his sister ́s grip on his elbow, Ryūnosuke decided he had nothing much to lose when he trailed by a young merchant ́s side, darted his fingers into her basket, and plucked a couple of berries. Most meant for the jutted bones of Gin ́s shoulders, the leftovers for his ever-dry throat. A polluted pair of lungs and old rags were nothing much of a loss, to be pragmatic.

Darkness was soon to arrive and inundate the light-blue of the sky; and they were so far from safety, driven out from the wooden shade of an ancient bridge by the allure of food. But they had company -and it was all because Ryūnosuke ́s fingers had not dipped fast enough, as pathetic as it seemed. All through the winding of rows of cherry blossoms, the merchant had followed, basket cradled. More than once had he snarled warnings at her to get lost in the tremors of the woods, along with thoughts of foul language that the reader shouldn ́t view -as Gin had commented, he sounded like a rabid dog. She had urged her brother to dump the berries back where they belonged, maybe then the merchant would end her stalking and only maybe would they stumble into a river and catch a fish on their way.

"Fine," He had reluctantly grumbled and released the now mushed fruits. Steps didn't march away, but rather close. Blonde and fair, with a practical composture eclipsed by the unfortunate perturbance of someone who had never been robbed -she still tailed at their backs. She asked the same question over and over again:

"Which do you like the most, red or blue?"

Gin had blown a stray dark lock off of her eyes, barely dedicating any attention.

Cut short of manners, Ryūnosuke had offered, "How about a snapped neck at the bottom of a well?"

"Brother." Gin mouthed a warning.

"Gin." He said plainly.

If anything, that made the woman's trail vigorous. Merchants were truly a thing, Ryūnosuke thought.

"The red of a cherry is livelier than a rose ́s," She rambled at Ryūnosuke, as if she were content to direct most of her passionate words at him. "They are small, yet soft and sweet. A taste brief to experience, but surely magnificent! They are a safe comfort for the nighttime sleep. And my, do we all need some. Men won ́t stop boasting about how they ́ll kill the Rashōmon, always on the hunt, yet the thing doesn't seem to die." She heaved out a sigh, replacing it shortly after with the approach of a smile. "You look like a boy who would enjoy a cherry or two."