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When The Lotus Strayed The Samurai


An alley cat can appear as great as a wildcat under the colourful lights of Tokyo. I have spent countless nights stalking my prey for the past couple of months, much like this feline at the garbage. When life becomes work, your life is on the line for work.

I am part of Chīfufamirī, an underground illegal syndicate. We are Yakuza. I was born into this lifestyle and raised by my kyodai to follow in the family tradition. I am still in the shatei ranking, but within time I will rise to the oyabun of the Chīfufamirī.

My back was still sore from irezumi, the process of traditional Japanese tattooing. Wooden handles and metal needles attached to silk thread. I was granted the privilege to carry the image of the samurai. I am trusted with the code of the Bushido, the way of the warrior. The Samurai stands firm with his sword at hand showing courage as he protects the koi fish on his journey. He stands loyal in knee-deep water, a force of nature that no man can break, much like his bond to the Chīfufamirī. Lastly, the Samurai is appearing to stare up at the sky in hope, towards the boasting phoenix.

My target is in the apartment I parked outside of, but my eyes strayed for the very first time. The gracious stride, the vulnerable posture and the joyful eyes.

“Jundo!” As I rushed out the car she halted like a gazelle being alerted of a predator on the prowl.

“Hansamu?” She inspected.

“Yeah… It’s been a long time, how is uncle Kōfuku?” I bowed my head timidly.

“He is well. Hansamuchīfu it’s good to see you, I see you still have all your fingers” she joked.

I laughed, raising my head out of a shy child association to this girl.

“They’re all still here,” I spread them out in front of her face.

“I had my irezumi completed yesterday.” I pressed on for a conversation.

“Hhmm, it was good seeing you Hasamu. Take care of yourself,” she said as she began walking away.I pulled her hand, “Jundo, wait.”

“What?” She snapped her hand back.

“I was wondering…” My eyes stooped back to the ground.

“Hansamuchīfu, you haven’t changed.” She smirked.

A loud gunshot trembled through the neighbourhood coming from my target’s apartment.

“Uhh… Jundo I better go.” My attention diverted to the fourth floor of the building’s window.

“I’ll see you later I guess?”

“Yeah, potentially with one less finger.”




You can now view this story as well as other short-stories in my collection 'Kapav Garcon, Kapav Zaco' here.

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©2018 by Abdul-Ahad Patel.