It wasn’t long before Motoko knew for sure that her Keikogi and Hakama did not fit. She made one embarrassing attempt to squeeze into the garments, only to have her bosoms pop out. Simply lacking the attire of her school was disgraceful. To be unequipped meant, on some level, to be unprepared. On the other hand, dependance on material things was also a sign of weakness. She didn’t need clothes just to meditate as long as nobody saw her. Motoko sat in a lotus position, and took shallow breaths.
In her minds eye she envisioned a candles flame. This was part of a technique her sister had taught Mokoto; it was meant to empty the mind. She focussed on the flame, She concentrated fully on every imaginary flicker or crackle. Mokoto allowed the whole universe to become nothingness, the flame all that mattered, all that was real. Then she blew it out.
All the outside noise was gone. If the universe was trying to tell her anything, she was prepared to listen.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
This is boring Motoko paused. Boring, where had that thought even come from. She was disciplined, she was a warrior. It sounded like her inner monologue, yet such a lazy thought should have been foreign to her.
She remembered her training. She would be ordered to meditate for hours, and her father would strike her with a wooden sword it she showed any sign of falling asleep.
Wait! Father... Again that wasn’t right. It was her sister, Tsuruko Aoyama, who was in charge of most of her training. Wasn’t she?
Motoko focussed upon her memories of her sister. Soon her mind wandered, into a dream...No a vision, and spiritual... oh wait, it’s a dream, or maybe a memory? They were close to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The roar of the waves was so vivid it was deafening. Tsuruko Aoyama age 15, demonstrated a technique and a much younger Motoko copied her motion for motion. She did it right on her first try, yet little Motoko repeated the movements over and over again, burning each step into her muscle memory, making it a habit hat she could perform free of all thought. Yes, this was the sister Motoko remembered. Tsuruko opened her mouth, Motoko braced herself, ready to take in any wisdom her senpai had to offer:
“You’re really lucky Motoko. I didn’t have anybody to show me this technique when I was your age. This will be a great advantage to you. Remember, rub your chest every day, just like I showed you, and your breasts will be huge.”
Modern day Motoko face-faulted.
Motoko continued to meditate on her sister, Tsuruko. In her reverie she saw her sister bowing before their honored parents. Tsuruko told Mother and Father how they would make a training journey into the mountains. She promised that young Motoko would purify herself under the sacred waterfalls, and scale the traitorous peaks. As soon as they were out of fathers sight, she took Motoko to a frat party mixer. The only waterfall she did lay under was a slashed keg of beer (at least Tsuruko still knew how to handle a sword).
This made no sense. Her memories of Tsukuko were like willow the wisp. Every time she got close to one, a pure moment, it was replaced with something lewd and inappropriate. Much of her own training remained intact, yet Motoko began to wonder if the Onichan she admired was anything but a figment of her imagination.
Mon Apr 29 17:12:50 2013
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