Child birth is the one time in a human's existence where they are truly innocent. This same notion comes in play with kittens, lambs, puppies.. Ect.
Youths not yet tainted by the world's affairs, native, happy–giggles, laughs, cries all of those innocent traits.
An innocent so ethereal and not of this world, when we age— the blinders which once shunned us, are removed, that curiosity, that grand wild imagination, the innocence our gazes once held, become beckoned and sad.
The only way to damp our raging flame, would be in the guise of nature's splendor–plants.
Flowers, such beautiful things – coming in an array of different colors, some small, others imposing. A mere plant responsible for countless pieces of art, music, literature—meanings which could fill small libraries, each derived from the conclusions of ancient religions, sages, or just common folk. However they all share one congruousness, they are pure, and they open a window into our own soul.
They allow us to betray our constant by flaunting a twig of the olive branch of freedom…
In this regard it was similar to Plato's allegory of the Cave.
Yet… Rue… was not innocent, his hands have dealt with the strings of death—stained, his mind already developed, he possessed 16 years of life burdening his soul.
But… Now was not the time to mill over such a confusing – dare he say paradoxical ordeal, it was just too confusing to wrap his mind around.
So, Rue simply rested–not as he had any say in the matter, his body's grievances merely opted to do such, it was weak, frail simple motor movement amassed too much energy from his feeble reserves
It wasn't in his control anyways… lifted into the air, aloft from the ground, the little Rue was being gingerly cradled within the warm, maternal embrace of his mother's arms.
It felt nice, though its solace didn't distract him from his body's lack of control, but otherwise it felt nice.
Every so often the little Rue would instinctively reach towards the sky in an attempt to cusp his mothers face with his small hands.
Her expression was so bright.
With a soft sway of her shoulders, she began to hum a soothing melody as to calm her restless child.
Her tone was graceful, and even though her vocals were not uttered – just from the soothing rhythm of the vibrations, one could tell she was quite the enchanting singer.
It was a sad tune, a lonely tune laced with joy– it was bewitching, it was so obscure, Yet it felt nice.
His mother's beauty was exotic, rightfully so–with her gemstone like eyes, fine skin, and sweet bearing.
Even though a week had passed since his untimely demise and reincarnation, Rue was constantly denying the reality of it all.
It made no sense, and if true had essentially confirmed the existence of the ethereal concept of the soul — a conundrum argued over the tiles of history, a mere topic which had fascinated the minds of peasants, kings, and many philosophers alike.
However even with his world shattering discovery, Rue never gave it a second thought, it wasn't worthy of his attention, he had greater demons to see to.
Searching his mothers face seemingly searching for something–anything to pull him out of his trance of pessimism, Rue sighed, and with a heavy heart he roamed his thoughts.
…
…
Reaching her abode's genkan, Rue with practiced movement, slipped off her footwear before gently swiping them out of the way towards her husband's own dormant footwear.
With a slow stride, Kiku entered the cottage's cultural space, the floor groaning from strain before returning to its normal silence. With an affectionate gesture and warm smile towards her beloved husband, Yuto smiled in response.
Patton the space next to him, Yuto beckoned for her to sit next to him, "Good morning" he voiced quite.
With a nod Kiku replied in likewise, before taking her space next to her spouse.
With Rue cradled delicately in her arms, she leaned towards her husband, pressing her lips against his cheek in a quick, affectionate kiss— after the small gesture of intimacy, Kiku and Yuto began to speak quietly to one another.
Not that Rue minded anyhow.
With a deep mental sigh, Rue exclaimed his pent frustrations within his train of thought— when chiding all of the positives, it was such a drag to laze all day, trapped within this weak shitty body.
It was like a prison of flesh, and it demanded almost all of his will to keep his ever waning sanity from snapping.
Giving the interior of the cottage a quick glance,
Rue as he had for the past week, saw the same accustomed sight, the interior held a minimalist charm, Tatami mats, sliding paper doors, and shoji screens created the rooms configuration.
There was hardly anything, and yet it looked like a habitable, comfortable space.
Thus Rue began to dwell on the minor scrutinies, which had nagged his fancy over the past week.
Simply, he had a question "Where am I?" It was an ideal question, and one he genuinely desired to know.
From the meager information garnered from his mother's light strolls and quick tends to the farm, Rue had essentially learned a lot and yet nothing.
His meager findings were solely based on his observations, anything auditory— the apparent tongue his mother and father possessed was not he possessed, it sounded Asian, so it was most likely Chinese or it sounded the part, an inherent assumption given his lack of knowledge.
At times like this the struggle without Google translate became vastly evident— why can't everyone just speak English?
Sure it was arrogant self—serving desire, but nonetheless a desire, and a flawed one at that.
Not finding solace within his thoughts Rue began to once more become utterly bored by the stale ambiance.
His mind was in a resounding chaos— his will was dampened, and his desire to live was close to, the skirmish between his desire to live and not, was thin – it reeled his mind.
This whole manifesto of an experience felt nothing short of a never ending fever dream, but the weak pulse of his body–the weak steady breaths of his respiratory system gave light to the truth of his hell, he was alive.
The reminder felt mocking, it was the constant taunting he hated.
Months passed…
Each day held a similar routine as the last, this fruition of time– each day felt more bland, dull then the last, it was predictable.
Rue was a teenager trapped within the mortal coil of an infant, his lack of movement led into depression, the small balance of his control were his thoughts, and eyes. Otherwise, his body felt as if it was running off the primal fumes of his hippocampus and instincts.
Day after,
Day after,
Day after,
Day!—This groveling scrutiny of existence. If Rue could–he–would–have long since killed himself.
His corpse would be festering with the weeds, and his flesh molted and ravaged by wildlife.
However in this game of life, not all things aligned with our weary cravings.
After an ample time of thought, Rue came to a devastating conclusion.
One he had stifled and denied, due to its insanity.
He had either reincarnated, transmigrated or both.
Normally he would have dismissed such a plight, using his bias rationality to justify the absurd nature of the situation. Yet… now, such a mindset would only demure him from the truth.
Both realities were grim, those pieces of fiction he indulged in in his junior high, and began to dismiss, criticize—-mock by his later years, may have become his reality… It was obscene, unfair!
Rue's mind trembled at the thought of his given conclusion, he itched towards the Pretentious forefront of poorly written Chinese literature, the ones filled with chunni bastards, and protagonists who find heavenly artefacts as easy as breathing air, stacking golden fingers as gluttonous pokemon–player would with paper cards with illustrations of animals.
With a whirlwind of emotion – excitement, nervousness, and fear Rue internally voiced the common cliche.
Had he received such a golden finger, a cheat, something anything to balance the odds.
Fate was a sly bitch, and he didn't want to take his chances.
'System?'
Nothing,
'Status!'
Also yielding nothing—after several other scattered attempts, Rue much to his dismay realized, nothing would come of it.
Those coveted cheats had apparently alluded him.
Was he really not worthy of a golden finger?
Fate had played her cards well— Blissful oblivion and all—- Yet, such even with knowledge of his dealt cards, he was content.
So what?
Even with such a disadvantage, why fret–why cry–why curse the world for its misgivings, it was an already known reality that life was unfair, so what would change now?
With an internal scoff Rue schooled a muse, 'So what if i've died, does that make me inherently better than others who are living?' he paused and added, 'Nah, I died and that's it, I guess I could argue that my reincarnation was enough of a golden finger in itself, though of course in a different manner.'
How many of the millions–if not billions of people, received the opportunity to seize another chance at the game of life?
Hardly any.
Currently he had a mother and father who both rejoiced in his birth, going to such lengths, it was beautiful?
They seemed caring enough, they seemed well off, happy—close… such a sight was foreign to him.
Tension was the norm in his family's affairs. The mother and father of his past life— before they split, would commonly stir up discord in the house.
Abuse and demenstic violence was common, his mother would be hit, punched, bashed—in more ways than one—he recalled an infamous footnote within his memories, one which caused the majority of his childhood trama… where his father raped his mother… forcing himself on her, she cried and pleaded with his father to stop, when the deed was done—-Rue's mother snapped, it was the straw that broke the camels back, no longer would she bare the burden of this toxic marriage.
Taking her case to the court she filed for divorce the following day— With the palpable damage on her body, and recitations of the events from Rue and close relatives, she was able to successfully gain full custody of Rue— his father was no longer present in his life.
His story was a common one on Earth, many poor souls are unfortunate enough to possess such a tragic past. Rue was one of them, yet even so… he lived past that adversity, even in his past life he never associated himself with his past, sure he reminisced about it from time to time, but that was more for his own curiosity, and self– journey.
Even if he didn't possess a golden finger, he no longer cared, it didn't matter if he was transmigrated into a Wuxia or Xianxia, he was fortunate enough to be alive, he had a small family who seemed to love him.
His life might be better this time around.