Shiro's Tale, Or, I Have a Weakness for Men Who Cry

When I finally summoned the uterine fortitude it required to once again lift myself so that I would be perpendicular instead of parallel to the ground, I found that my fury had scarcely been abated.

I demanded that Shiro explain what in the purple fuzzy dice was going on.

What follows is the story he told me:

“Well, Your Highness… A few days after your daring rescue from my pursuers in Concord, I managed to make contact with a few like-minded individuals in my… organization, if you will.”

“You see… Our leader, the Great and Terrible Shiruken has recently become a bit erratic. Though he’s always been a horrible leader, until now he has ensured the continuation of our clan by selling our services to the highest bidder. Also, he has maintained the honor of our band from all comers. Our clan has the highest reputation among the assassins’ guilds. Our speed and secrecy knows no b—

At this point I interrupted Shiro’s narrative flow by saying, “Come on Shiro… Will you get to the story part of this story already? I know how big and bad you ninjas all think you are, blah, blah, duty, blah, blah, blah, family honor. I get it! Now please… Continue.”

He lowered his brows and took a page from my book by growling. After a short pause and a staring contest with me, he gave up and resumed his narrative.

“The point is, he recently engaged us in some jobs that were exceedingly lucrative. Unfortunately, doing these jobs caused us to lose face before the other guilds… Shiruken was advised by his most trusted allies and family members that he should under no circumstances take these jobs… But he failed to heed any advice, and signed several contracts with--- Oh Spirits of Kamigawa--- I can’t even speak the name---“

At this point he interrupted his own narrative by… Oh Holy Mother of Carlos… SOBBING. His narrow black clad shoulders shook, tears poured down his pock-marked face, and his eyes, which had been the caramel color of cream soda, turned the muddy, hopeless brown of contaminated pond scum.

At that moment, if the two of us had an Awkward-Off, he would have beaten me like a rented Kia.

If there is one thing that never fails to melt my cold, cold heart… It’s a crying man. No, seriously. It’s one of my few soft and weak spots.

Of course, having my deeply frozen heart melted under any circumstances really pisses me off. Do you have any idea how much liquid nitrogen costs these days? Well, let me just tell you… It ain’t cheap my friends. It would take me weeks to earn enough money to re-freeze my heart.

Plus, it really friggin’ hurts.

I hauled off and whacked Shiro on the back of the head. Like a stuttering engine or a skipping Girl Scout, he coughed and then came back to some semblance of his former ninja self.

I was incredibly relived. The emotion caught in the back of my throat returned to my stomach, like a burp that never saw the light of a high school cafeteria. However, not wanting him to know how greatly his tears had affected me, I growled and said, “For the love of Carlos, Shiro… spare me the Jerry Springer family shit.”

He gulped, took a few deep breaths to center himself, and spat out the most dreaded name in all the lands and upon all the seas of this tiny, blue-green planet.

“Shiruken signed seven contracts with---The College Board.”

I drew my breath in with a sharp hiss.

“NO!!” I shouted. “How could he? With the ninjas on the College Board’s side in the coming battle against standardized testing… The company may be---”

“Unstoppable.” Groaned Shiro in a deep and totally hopeless baritone.

I leaped to my feet, shoved Mr. Congeniality’s head off my lap (where he’d made himself quite at home I must say…grr), and grabbed Shiro by the oxygen tank.

“We have to get out of here now! I don’t have time for anymore of your Sally-Girl whining! The forces of Standardized Testing must not be allowed to reign over the face of the earth!

“I would rather have dinner and drinks with a family of rabid squirrels! I’d rather have a pool party with zombies! Why, I’d rather hang out with Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan in a cabin in the Ozarks, discussing geo-politics!

“Hell, I’d even rather return to my former Saltmine for a rousing afternoon of chit-chat, poisoned Kool-aid, and stale granola bars with the Super-horrible-intendent, Sammy Davis Jr. herself!”

I pulled Shiro to his feet, and punched him as hard as I could in the chest in order to get him motivated. This technique worked on him like a defibrillator on a heart patient. He seemed to wake from a dream-like trance, and his eyes focused on mine.

Once again, my arctic blue gaze met his. His back stiffened like someone had just shoved a frozen eel up his colon. He said, “This way!” turning on his heel, he shot off into the darkness at the back of the cave, with only a failing glow-stick to light the way.

I followed. Every footstep felt like it could be taking me closer to doom. My guts roiled like spoiling venison by the side of I-93.

And then I felt Congeniality following along in my wake. I smiled a mischievous grin, and gave a small snort of laughter, way down deep in my throat.

I slowed down just enough to let him catch up with me, and then I stuck my foot out, tripping him up and sending him rolling into a low boulder sticking up from the ground.

I’m not usually so petty… But torturing that smiling bastard just a little bit brought the spring back into my step, and a smidgen of hope into my desolate soul.

“Damn you, College Board! You’ll taste the bitter flavor of my poison-covered multi-tool this very night, by Carlos!!” I shouted into the darkness.

(There’s a story there… Can you tell?)


I raced on, into the cave depths and toward a conclusion…

Perhaps.