M10 A Poetic Post for a Poetic Killing Machine

     Arriving at my new mission after a long break, I see the flashing sun as the graceful samurai walk by, with all eyes on them. They draw their sword the slightest and people carry on, as if none were to happen. The silver and steel glint as they ease back into their den. Although the samurai can kill, they are going to teach future samurai instead of shedding blood. They approach a building, rimmed with red, and their student eyes shine for a second as their masters pace in, only to teach them the art of death.

     I slither in and witness plain wooden floors, and curtains of flattened bamboo. The swords almost act in the presence of me, shining, but with the rusty blood of battle still needing to be washed off. A woman swoops at it's presence, and disappears behind a thin wall. There are few students, yet I'm blended with the floor, slightly, and even with their 6th sense, they do not detect me. The samurai could hold stiff poses for hours without complaining, so I crawl to their feet after the master leaves. There is a slacker among them.

     I act like a statue, as he slowly closes his oak eyes at me... I feel pain at my sides as I lift off the ground, snared, and hear the sound of a banshee, half dead. I dangle like a woman held over lava, and the banshee continues to grow in strength. The child stops screaming as it's master approaches him and treats him like a lost puppy. The  man sees me. His eyes widen first with surprise, then with glee.

     He declares in Japanese "You will make a haiku of this!", as I feel a growing pain at my sides. My mind turns to stone as I fall to a horizontal wall. A cution falls under me as I prepare to be squashed like the bug they think I am. They pick up their paper, brushes, and boxes of ink, and stroke the paper. After my mind is back on course, I feel a calming breeze settle over me, as the students read their haiku. 5, 7, 5 ,7 ,7 syllables. He whips the student in the back of the head who went 5, 7, 5, 7, 5.

     His 6th sense shows, as in a moment as he grabs the stick, and leaves it sprawled on the floor, broken. As I watch a Japanese argument over a stick pass, I narrowly escaped another haiku of how odd and ugly I am. They sit cross-legged like Buddhas, as I ease away. A woman comes around the side on her horse, responding to the boy's earlier cries, and as horse gallops, she shoots an arrow to my side to eradicate a reptilian pest, leaving me terrified as the boy yells again. I run at full speed, while my claws gnaw at the ground sending me away in a trail of steam.