• The wind was the only sound she heard as the memories rushed back to her. The words that were spoken were not but a whisper, and yet the meaning was clear. It was of a memory that doesn't exist, of a battle that never took place, leading to the death of a man who was not real, causing tears that never fell. The scenery of the memory was vivid, but the faces were blurred. The snow fell just as the cherry blossom fell now. The wind swirled the snow flakes around as if they were waltzing. The samurai walked next to a young maiden, their fingers entwined. Her pink kimono, showing softness and purity, was of high contrast to his black leather armor, which signified a great worrier, yet they looked as if they should be together. That if separated it would cause a great disturbance in the world. The memory was filled with smiles and shy glances to each other. She giggles and ran from him, hiding behind the now bare cheery blossom trees. He smiles and walks towards her through the snow then stopped dead in his tracts.
    The maiden peers to the side of the tree to see the samurai fall to the ground, an arrow through his back. The crimson blood stains the white snow. She ran, her tears falling freely. She yells out his name, but all he hears is the wind. Despite the tears that stings her eyes the blur is lifted from the worriers face. His nice, light brown skin, his black hair put up in a top knot, his brown eyes slowly graying away. She screamed but once more the only thing heard was the wind.
    The memory vanished from her mind, but the pain still stabbed her heart. The longing to be with him still haunted her, years after his death. Still never knowing who killed him and continues to blame herself. If she didn't talk him into running away with her, the Emperor would have never sent someone to kill him. So she stood there now, wearing her pink kimono from that fateful day, screaming in her mind about how no one took responsibility for his death, how the Emperor waved it off, saying he never knew anyone by his name, how this never really happened. She dropped to her knees and revealed a blade, the sword of her beloved worrier. She couldn't live with the pain of being apart from him. She pushed the blade through her stomach. The pain that the blade sent through her was over come by her joy of finally going to be rejoined with him in death. She fell to the ground dead.
    The wind blew the pink cherry blossoms around, softly lying upon her lifeless body. The world seemed to cry in sorrow for a split second, then silence; another cry louder then before, the silence once more. Finally a great cry of pain erupted from the earth until all that was heard was the wind once more.