[h3][Color=SkyBlue][U]Gen Itoshi[/U][/Color][/h3]
[i]Sunday, May 3[sup]rd[/sup], 2015[/i]

[i]Warakuma Park[/i]

[color=SkyBlue]"Wait, what do you mean hit the- ah!"[/color] Being tossed a weapon is never a nice thing, especially for someone who has never held one. Gen dodged it as best as he could, landing on his backside and with the kama resting at his feet. A close call. Good thing the grass was soft; spring has saved someone's derriére once again! Still, Gen looked a bit wary now. [color=SkyBlue]"You could've handed it to me..."[/color] He pouted, taking the handle and raising it up to eye-level.

A swing was all it took. Gen brought slowly slashed the air in a horizontal motion, his arm extended yet not fully so in order to avoid clashing with Rikimaru. It was a trigger. The weapon triggered a succession of thoughts locked inside Gen's mind. The kama was a weapon, weapons are used to kill. Kill. Kill like those cowardly thieves that kill his father, letting him to die, bleeding on the floor after protecting his own son from death, embracing it himself instead.

The first year's eyes widened as much as they were allowed to, and his hand loosened its grip on the kama, letting it once more to fall on the soft grass. A frightened gasp escaped his mouth as his knees were about to give, his legs wavering back to the picnic table. His widened gaze was fixed on the killing object, its sharp end thristy for blood, demanding its favored drink with the most malicious voice that had ever been heard, crackling with laughter. Gen's body started shaking, his breathing ragged and irregular. [color=SkyBLue]"I... I..."[/color] He closed and opened his mouth several times, but could not find the proper way to say it. What was he even trying to say? I am sorry? I cannot go on? I have to leave? [color=SkyBlue]"Rikimaru-san, I... don't like those [i]things[/i]."[/color]