Three and a Half Lines

By Megan Powell

Three short stories set in Japan. A chance meeting inspires an unhappy woman to flee Edo in search of a divorce. A samurai’s unlucky trophy poses a supernatural threat on the battlefield. A family retainer investigates rumors of a wayward daughter’s death at the hands of a demon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Powell
• Release date: Mar 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301617159

Megan Powell

Megan Powell lives on the East Coast of North America.

Book preview

Three and a Half Lines

By Megan Powell

Copyright 2013 Megan Powell

Smashwords Edition

Three and a Half Lines originally published by MeganPowell.Net, October 2006, under a CC BY-NC-ND 3.0 License, http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/. Gaki Hara Do originally published by Sword’s Edge Issue 11, January/February 2003. The Demon in the Storehouse originally published by Spinetingler Magazine, Summer 2006.

Cover photograph by Marc Steensma, modified and published under a CC BY-SA 3.0 License, http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/.

Three and a Half Lines

Gaki Hara Do

The Demon in the Storehouse

About the Author

Three and a Half Lines

Haruko shivered. In her discomfort she could not appreciate the beauty of the season’s first snowfall. That failure of character stung; she strove for sensitivity and refinement. Numbness in her toes should not blind her to the beauties of the natural world. There were poems to be written about the snowfall.

Trapped in her twin miseries, Haruko did not see the woman in white until she was almost upon her. The woman in white was also apparently lost in thought, and Haruko stepped quickly aside to avoid a collision. She lost her footing on the slick ground and fell, her purchases scattering across the dirt.

Forgive me. The woman in white knelt and helped Haruko retrieve her packages.

The fault is mine. Haruko’s kimono needed washing, and for a moment she resented the other woman’s white, unstained garment. But it was a thing of beauty, like something out of a romance or a ghost story, and Haruko could not begrudge the continuation of beauty.

My name is Yukiko.

Haruko.

Might I be of assistance?

Haruko had lingered too long shopping. Tardiness or mudsplatters alone were enough to earn her husband’s rebuke. The situation could not be improved by the presence of a stranger. Thank you, but no. My home is not far.

Perhaps we will meet again.

Perhaps.

I shall endeavor to pay more attention to my surroundings.

Haruko returned the other woman’s smile. For the remainder of her trip, she did not worry about her muddied kimono or her husband’s anger. She marveled at Yukiko’s kimono, fine white stitching on white silk, covered with melting snowflakes.

There were poems to be written about such a garment, Haruko decided, but a merchant’s wife had little time for poetry.

* * *

Haruko had always considered herself a dutiful daughter, and her father never indicated disappointment in her behavior. She could read and write and do figures, so that she might assist with her husband’s business endeavors. But she was of course frivolous in her hobbies. She read romances, sensational tales of lovers and adventure and fantastic creatures. Sometimes at night she imagined herself living in the isolation of Uji, surrounded by faded worldly glories, refined and beautiful. And she imagined a gentleman on horseback, falling in love with her music, her voice, her very soul—all before he ever saw her face.

Edo was a far cry from Uji, and her father, though a refined and successful man, was not a prince. Still, Haruko allowed herself to imagine admirers sending her poetry,