He was wondering around the Rashomon with his thin clothes, trembling in the chilly wind, finding something to fill the stomach. As he was passing piles of the dead, he looked into the distance, and the two shaking body took his attention: One was lying on the ground without a single piece of cloth on the body, and the other was leaving, trying to wear something. Piles of all kinds of hair was scattering on the ground, signaling the evil business done by the standing man.

The soldier was furious. He looked down his thin and shabby uniform, and murmured: “How could a man rob something from such a weak person in the cold winter?” He took up the sharp knife and held tight, hurrying with his shoes whose soles were worn out, chasing the one who was wearing the clothes before submerged by the darkness. Wind blew through his ears and eyes, stinging his ears and blinding his view; snow and ice passed through his feet, but the harsh environment didn’t keep him calm. I should chase the clothes back for the poor person, he thought. The idea flash through his mind as he ran as fast as he could, trying to catch the fleeting man.

He finally reached the man. The man was also in shabby clothes, with hunger on his face. He hurried emotionlessly, lowering his head and shaking his arm as if he was innocent in the previous scene. He hurried in a rapid pace as the soldier called him down, and looking at him with a confusing eye. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Who are you?” The man was not surprise to see the soldier, but he still looked at the soldier in a vigilant eye.

“Where did these clothes come from?”

“It’s none of your business.”

The man glared the soldier, and continued walking in the freezing night.

The soldier held up his weapon to the man: “You robbed it from an old woman! I’ve seen it! You must give it to me, or,” he drew the knife across his throat, making a silly sound, “your blood will wash your sin.”

The man grumbled. Perhaps he felt guilty for what he had done, or perhaps simply because of his fear towards death, he took off the clothes, and handed it into the soldier. His hands and body were trembling, trying to get used to the harsh climate. Snowflakes struck on his warm body, bringing away his warmth, depriving his vitality and hope towards life. The soldier took over the clothes, and within a few seconds, disappeared in the inky night.

The soldier ran and ran, until he was exhausted by the exhibition. He sat down, and starring at the clothes. It was full of disgusting smell and different spots, submerging by the man’s body temperature. He hesitated for a moment, and finally put on the cloth. The feeling of warmth and intimacy rushed through his body. “What did I forget?” He thought, as continue wondering around the Rashomon. He forgot what he forgot. I guess we could say he refuses to remember what he forgot