Last night I dreamed that this Japanese family consisting of a mother, a father, an older son, and a a couple of younger children.
In my dream they were living during some war-stricken time, which war, I couldn't tell you, but it felt very much like the time of Ghenghis Khan:
Or maybe I was just thinking of a Samurai:
Anyway.
So because of the war, this family was forced to leave their home and go live up high somewhere on the mountains.
Here, all boys had to participate in training on how to fight using a sword.
Since he was a child, the eldest son had convinced himself he would become a warrior to defend his family's honour and protect them during times such as these, and so he had always fooled around with swords.
It was a life almost thrust upon him because his father had fought in a war when he was a young man, and so his son had to carry on the legacy.
What he didn't understand was that this place was no joke. They took the title of warrior very seriously, and not everyone would survive training.
Still he enrolled, adamant and serious about becoming a warrior. Of course this made his parents happy, not that they would ever show it. Such were the times where affection towards one's child would seem weak.
In my dream, the mother disappeared. I think she took her daughters and went to work in the rice fields, because in Japan, idling about is not allowed. So it was just the father, the eldest son, and the two young boys. They all watched with false optimism as their son went on to become a warrior.
At the training centre, each potential warrior had their own 'teacher', I guess you could call them.
The particular teacher of this boy had a long scar going down the left-hand side of his face, with long black hair tied in half ponytail:
Dressed in a simple red and black samurai dress, with a sword always hoisted on his left hip. Similar to this:
When they first duelled, it was clear that the boy was no match for the teacher. The hope was that, with training the boy would get better. It soon became clear that the teacher did not like the boy and was trying to make him fall.
Then the 5-finger rule came into play.
Each time the son failed in a battle, the teacher would chop off a finger on his right hand. Losing one finger is shameful enough, but to lose all of one’s fingers would bring such dishonour on the family, that the only thing one could do would be to commit ‘
seppaku’, which is to commit suicide.
As the boy tried desperately to please his father and teacher, the teacher was too hard on him, and never gave him the chance to prove his potential, slowly but surely he started failing all the time, becoming more and more of a disappointment.
When he lost his first finger, his pinky on his right hand, his father became angered.
He picked his son up and threw him back at the teacher, forcing him to do better.
Then the second blow came and the teacher cut off his ring finger. Bleeding and in pain, the boy knew it was too late to turn back now. He must fight or die. Crying or running away would be dishonourable, and cowardly. No matter what, he could not bring such shame upon his family.
The boy continued to fall, all the while trying against an opponent he was never ready to face.
Soon he lost his middle finger, then his thumb.
Now with only an index finger on his right hand, not able to grip a sword, the boy knew what was coming.
Literally all that stood between him and a most certain death was a finger.
At this point the father was so disgusted with the way his son fought, that when the teacher knocked him off his feet, the father picked him up, but instead of helping him up, he showed his disappointment in his son by throwing him into a pot of boiling water.
The boy's left leg burned, the flesh melting away as he quickly tried to jump out of the pot.
With one final blow, the father picked up the sword from his son, now lying on the floor, and cut off the final finger on the boy's hand.
Broken, beaten, burned, abandoned, and ashamed, the boy cried, clutching his leg. He looked up at his father, who scowled at him and handed him the sword.
The boy looked at his teacher, who smirked back at him.
Finally the boy took the sword from his father, and looked at his two younger brothers who had been hiding behind a turned-over table. Filled with shame and sadness, the boy hoped one of his younger brothers would do better than he did, and would bring honour to the family.
With one final inhale of the breath, the boy sat on his knees, closed his eyes and drove the sword into his abdomen, as his father stood over him, before he fell to the grown, silenced forever.
Why did I dream this? I've never had an affiliation or obsession towards Japanese history or Samurai's as many people are. I went to bed with no thoughts of Japan whatsoever. And yet I dreamed this, a very elaborate dream, one that I feel has the potential to be a good story.
Normally I am an active participant in my dream. Or I at least identify with a character within my dream, seeing the story through the eyes of someone else.
In this case though, I felt a definite separation between me and my dream.
It felt as if i were watching a movie.
Nevertheless, I think it could make a good film, or is at least the basis of what could be an interesting film.
Any screenwriters out there, let me know if you're interested in writing this story, I'd be happy to sell you the rights to it.
But, if you see this as a movie out there, just know that I came up with it first :)
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