The Broken Flower
After
the execution was carried out, the illustrious geisha 夜嵐おきぬ
Yoarashi
Okinu's body was taken to a private place, stripped of her expensive
dress by the jailers who wiped away the blood and kept for
themselves
her
head was reined by her executioner and displayed on a pike by the
road while the rest of her remains were determined to have either
have been quartered by being subjected to a sword tester or have been
sold the richest bidding medical school to be used by students until
not a single strip of flesh remained.
One would, if tempted to imagine what happened to her illustrious body before being swallowed off by history.
One would, if tempted to imagine what happened to her illustrious body before being swallowed off by history.
The scandalous head was impaled soon after her beheading while Tokyo's women still cursed and spat at her gurgling corpse. A few ill mannered country lads pried open her immoral loins and teased the parts they had once enjoyed when they solicited her talents, at last they filtered into the crowd with youthful laughter.
Daylight faded into a buzzing darkness, with the bright flickers of wagons lighting up the few stragglers as they pooled at sake dens, parks, and other places. Men poured back into their houses, satisfied with her death, some slept with a lazy grin, feeling fortunate to have enjoyed the whore’s talents before her execution.
Four large hounds burst into the clearing. They ran with their noses near her naked trunks, sniffing and circling around her blue tinged folds of her sex. A few moments later, four men in the Imperial government's cloths stepped into the mud.
Soon her naked body disappeared from sight.
One of them turned back and saw beetles fed undisturbed her gore streaked face, her upturned eyeballs seemed to disregard their theft. Dreamily her head wobbled in the night breeze.
~
Laying her down in a gilded room their black eyes ran over her body like a caress, smiling lazily, they disarranged what cloth she wore, arched her back, thrust out her backside, and teased her whitened hips.
The leader pulled out his baton, and stuffed up into her hips until her bowls splattered off in frenzied festered blasts. The others watched with burning interest until at last it gathered then flowed out of her hips with a shuddering plop.
They sat her up, emptied of blights, then teased the hanging breasts, till they again rose to their vices. They dressed her in her usual amethyst robe, a thing of incandescent silk that once enthralled hundreds of suitors to her bed. Then, with the supreme effort against the sudden urge to rape, the officers took turns and fingered her ice colored thighs until her treasured opening warmed with pinkness and dripped in a slimy mockery of arousal. Their dogs watched in the distance, confused, uncomprehending.
Finally, the officers wiped their faces with their slime coated fingers, they left only one sultry light flickering, and one by one left the expensive room, careful not to disturb any furniture.
The dead geisha sat, propped with folded knees in the misty room of dangerous warmth, her straining neck hissed with blood, extended as if made to look like a gracious bow. Waiting for her demon lover: A shadow puppet of his desires.
Laying her down in a gilded room their black eyes ran over her body like a caress, smiling lazily, they disarranged what cloth she wore, arched her back, thrust out her backside, and teased her whitened hips.
The leader pulled out his baton, and stuffed up into her hips until her bowls splattered off in frenzied festered blasts. The others watched with burning interest until at last it gathered then flowed out of her hips with a shuddering plop.
They sat her up, emptied of blights, then teased the hanging breasts, till they again rose to their vices. They dressed her in her usual amethyst robe, a thing of incandescent silk that once enthralled hundreds of suitors to her bed. Then, with the supreme effort against the sudden urge to rape, the officers took turns and fingered her ice colored thighs until her treasured opening warmed with pinkness and dripped in a slimy mockery of arousal. Their dogs watched in the distance, confused, uncomprehending.
Finally, the officers wiped their faces with their slime coated fingers, they left only one sultry light flickering, and one by one left the expensive room, careful not to disturb any furniture.
The dead geisha sat, propped with folded knees in the misty room of dangerous warmth, her straining neck hissed with blood, extended as if made to look like a gracious bow. Waiting for her demon lover: A shadow puppet of his desires.
Our souls do not survive our darkest fear.
