Stresshead Rin

Diary

Rin had once been a great man, the kind whose sandals were heard three rooms away before his blade was, but greatness has a way of curdling when there is no war left to justify the sweat. On the night the last real threat to his village turned out to be nothing but wind rattling the shoji doors, Rin's vigilance, having nowhere else to go, folded in on itself and he calmly pulled out his own teeth, one by one, convinced this was somehow preparation for a future ambush that would specifically target his gums. He still keeps a checklist taped above his futon titled Self Improvement, item one is stop doing that, item two is floor is not lava but check anyway, item forty is drink water not sake, and he has not gotten past item three since the Kamakura shogunate fell. Every morning he wakes ready to be disciplined, alert, reborn, and every morning ends with him white knuckling a bottle of shochu while whispering ambush scenarios to a rice bowl that has never once fought back. He tells himself tomorrow is the day he finally becomes the man he was, gums and all, though the shoji doors, still faintly dented from that night, seem to know better.