Night of Honor

When he first entered the lake, the water that lapsed at his ankles didn't bother him. It felt refreshing, pure. But the further he swam, it began to seep into his core, stealing its heat - slowing his muscles, tensing his joints, constricting his mind. He was ready for it though - he had practiced, come prepared. He just let go - let his mind wander, away from the tingling in his joints and the tremors that were rocketing through his body. It managed to find its way back to when he was younger. How he'd sit at his fathers feet, watching him polish the handle of his sword, telling glorious tales of battle, how one's honor was measured by their death. He'd discuss how when he was a child, he went through the same rite of passage. It had been that way for as far back as he could remember. Before the Englishmen had found their land and the discovery of gun powder. It had always been their tradition.

When he let his mind snap back to reality, he could finally see the island in the distance, standing erect amongst the mirror-like water. Looking over his shoulder, he was surprised at how far the shore was behind him - it was almost out of range, lost on the horizon. His kimono, hanging proudly on branch was the only beacon to where land was. By this point, his legs were becoming tired. He wasn't sure how long he had been swimming, but he knew he had to hurry to the island. It wouldn't be long.

As his hand finally grazed the edge of the rock, he was surprised at how smooth it was. He had expected it to be covered in a layer of algae, slimy to the touch. Yet, its whole surface was covered in a brilliant green moss. Radiant and beautiful. Soft against his fingers. It was welcoming.

There had been stories of how previous boys weren't able to climb upon it. Some gave up and swam back, ridiculed by their families, forced to leave. Heads hung low - shunned. Others kept trying, too proud to give up, eventually succumbing to exhaustion, drifting below the surface and drowning. As the images of their bodies flashed through his mind, he instinctively pulled his feet up, scared to graze the bottom. Before he knew it, he was on top of the rock - unaware of how he even managed to scale it or what path he chose.

Out of the group of boys that were selected this year, he was the first to go, but also the smallest, deemed ちび of the town. Others had doubted him. If he'd even be able to muster the courage to go through with it. He had heard that some believed he would spend the night in the woods and return back to the village the next day, claiming to have lasted the night. It all bothered him. All he wanted to do was make his father proud. And for that reason alone, he'd succeed.

As he sat there, back against the tree, he was as comfortable as possible. The rock he sat on barely offered any room and the tree that inhabited the island stood directly in the center, cutting off any hope he had of being able to spread out. His skin had dried some time ago, but the sun had fallen beyond the mountains that enclosed the lake and the wind was beginning to pick up, forming miniature waves along the surface of the lake, enough to dust his skin with mist - bringing forth goose bumps. The night was only beginning and it had far to stretch. It wasn't going to be easy. But he had to persevere.

For his family.

For his father.

To return home a man.

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