InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A First Time For Everything ❯ Waiting for You ( Chapter 16 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: MIztikal_Dragon 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.19.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 314 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.19.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 314 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own anything, don't make money off of this. I might have gone crazy, but at least I know that this disclaimer is true... sigh
This is just something random...
A First Time For Everything
‘Waiting for you’--Jim Brickman
As a child I always thought of the piano as a happy instrument, the cool ivory and black keys glowing with hidden sound. It was an instrument I had always filed in my head as an instrument of love and compassion, of sweet melodies that made the night seem just a little less darker-- my own personal safe haven.
I had grown up with one near me, the notes whispering into my ear at night when my mother would look inside her soul or at times after school when I sat by her side, pretending I was the next Mozart. Yeah, those were precious times filled with a sugary-sweet happiness that only lasts for but a while.
By the time I was eight I knew how to play better than any gifted high school child, and by ten, well-I was told I was greatness in the making. It didn’t last though, like many stories told, everything changed on one of those dreary fateful nights, the ones that steal away all the good things in life and leave you stranded in a ocean of water, struggling to stay afloat.
There are bits and pieces that I simply cannot remember; whether it be because mentally I could not handle the stress and cope or the head trauma I sustained, but sometimes it feels like a little of both. Sometimes I wonder if all the love I felt as a child was a hint at the suffering I would feel later, as if lady luck had been stashing my happiness in a checking account that allotted me only so much before I was to be punished, shoved down the slope of misery in a never ending spiral of darkness.
We had been walking home from one of my important recitals because the night had been so beautiful and the neighborhood was upscale and supposedly safe. It hadn’t really been a long walk and all I had known then was that my mother was proud of me, she had been gushing for the previous two blocks and my smile would have never been allowed to falter, I was too happy. It hadn’t been late, barely nine-or so, but it was no longer summer so the darkness had fallen early as it so often did in the winter months.
My small hand had been clasped tightly in hers, our arms swinging merrily and the streetlights had simply vanished. I shrieked and panicked, my mother’s hand violently torn from my own and screams, horrible screams filled the night air. They weren’t from my mother, but from some unseen creature, loud and piercing and deafening. I had been too scared to call out to my mother, droplets of wetness falling onto my face and onto the beautiful white dress my mother had worked hard to save money for and purchase.
Something slimy touched my arm, another thing, more solid and sharp traced over my cheek and I couldn’t find the strength to call to my mother. What was going on? Where was she? What was happening? The shrieks grew louder, sounding as if they were circling around me and I could feel my tears sliding down my face, I was scared.
My shoes slapped against something thick and I fell to my knees, a large soft cushion catching the brunt of my fall and it was then that I managed to cry out, the shriek’s dying out and the streetlight that had failed me flickering back on as if it were a beacon of hope.
The cushion, I had been told later hadn’t really been a cushion at all, but my mother’s mangled body; however, I do not remember seeing her after being drowned in the darkness. I had been found in the early hours of the morning, carelessly wandering the streets, my white dress stained red, the wet tracks of my tears the only place where blood had not tainted my skin.
My guardian angel, my savior had spotted my aimless path as he headed from his extravagant home, a small briefcase in his hand and at first I’m told, I was thought to be some evil specter. His cold eyes watched me as I drew closer to him, his cold and sharp eyes drawing me out of the darkness I had been sucked into and slowly he came closer, his silver hair swaying with each step.
He did not say a word as he offered me his hand and I could feel something tickling in the back of my mind. I hadn’t known at the time that if I had refused him and kept going I would have been devoured by the demons who had taken my mother the night before, but then again the idea had never cropped up as I reached desperately to him.
I recognized the dried red that coated my arms, but did not, could not process it as blood and yet when his fingers wrapped around mine I instantly knew I was safe. My savior couldn’t save me from the misery or suffering I would feel in later years, nor the emotional pain that wrapped around my heart and threatened to strangle me. He couldn’t keep the dreams or the fear from my mind, but he kept me away from all the physical hurts.
All the years of my mother’s overabundance of love kept me appeased from my saviors lack of it, kept me from attempting to find love from different places, places that threatened to hurt me, destroy me and in time I learned, as of consequences to my actions that it wasn’t that my savior did not care, but that he showed it differently than everyone else. I learned to read between the lines and that’s where my love for him began to bloom. He may not have been able to show me his emotions; however, I was not broken enough to throw away the possibilities. I could be the weak one if he needed me to, be strong if he could not show it to me. I would be the glue that kept us together and he would be my rock.
In time I came to realize that I was glad that I accepted him because it was my music that drew him to me, but my mother’s sacrifice that bound my savior and myself together. She gave me love from despair, like a phoenix rising to the ashes and I learned how to love a demon.
E/N: Yayz. I really loved the song, it's beautiful. Next story comes up next! yayz
This is just something random...
A First Time For Everything
‘Waiting for you’--Jim Brickman
As a child I always thought of the piano as a happy instrument, the cool ivory and black keys glowing with hidden sound. It was an instrument I had always filed in my head as an instrument of love and compassion, of sweet melodies that made the night seem just a little less darker-- my own personal safe haven.
I had grown up with one near me, the notes whispering into my ear at night when my mother would look inside her soul or at times after school when I sat by her side, pretending I was the next Mozart. Yeah, those were precious times filled with a sugary-sweet happiness that only lasts for but a while.
By the time I was eight I knew how to play better than any gifted high school child, and by ten, well-I was told I was greatness in the making. It didn’t last though, like many stories told, everything changed on one of those dreary fateful nights, the ones that steal away all the good things in life and leave you stranded in a ocean of water, struggling to stay afloat.
There are bits and pieces that I simply cannot remember; whether it be because mentally I could not handle the stress and cope or the head trauma I sustained, but sometimes it feels like a little of both. Sometimes I wonder if all the love I felt as a child was a hint at the suffering I would feel later, as if lady luck had been stashing my happiness in a checking account that allotted me only so much before I was to be punished, shoved down the slope of misery in a never ending spiral of darkness.
We had been walking home from one of my important recitals because the night had been so beautiful and the neighborhood was upscale and supposedly safe. It hadn’t really been a long walk and all I had known then was that my mother was proud of me, she had been gushing for the previous two blocks and my smile would have never been allowed to falter, I was too happy. It hadn’t been late, barely nine-or so, but it was no longer summer so the darkness had fallen early as it so often did in the winter months.
My small hand had been clasped tightly in hers, our arms swinging merrily and the streetlights had simply vanished. I shrieked and panicked, my mother’s hand violently torn from my own and screams, horrible screams filled the night air. They weren’t from my mother, but from some unseen creature, loud and piercing and deafening. I had been too scared to call out to my mother, droplets of wetness falling onto my face and onto the beautiful white dress my mother had worked hard to save money for and purchase.
Something slimy touched my arm, another thing, more solid and sharp traced over my cheek and I couldn’t find the strength to call to my mother. What was going on? Where was she? What was happening? The shrieks grew louder, sounding as if they were circling around me and I could feel my tears sliding down my face, I was scared.
My shoes slapped against something thick and I fell to my knees, a large soft cushion catching the brunt of my fall and it was then that I managed to cry out, the shriek’s dying out and the streetlight that had failed me flickering back on as if it were a beacon of hope.
The cushion, I had been told later hadn’t really been a cushion at all, but my mother’s mangled body; however, I do not remember seeing her after being drowned in the darkness. I had been found in the early hours of the morning, carelessly wandering the streets, my white dress stained red, the wet tracks of my tears the only place where blood had not tainted my skin.
My guardian angel, my savior had spotted my aimless path as he headed from his extravagant home, a small briefcase in his hand and at first I’m told, I was thought to be some evil specter. His cold eyes watched me as I drew closer to him, his cold and sharp eyes drawing me out of the darkness I had been sucked into and slowly he came closer, his silver hair swaying with each step.
He did not say a word as he offered me his hand and I could feel something tickling in the back of my mind. I hadn’t known at the time that if I had refused him and kept going I would have been devoured by the demons who had taken my mother the night before, but then again the idea had never cropped up as I reached desperately to him.
I recognized the dried red that coated my arms, but did not, could not process it as blood and yet when his fingers wrapped around mine I instantly knew I was safe. My savior couldn’t save me from the misery or suffering I would feel in later years, nor the emotional pain that wrapped around my heart and threatened to strangle me. He couldn’t keep the dreams or the fear from my mind, but he kept me away from all the physical hurts.
All the years of my mother’s overabundance of love kept me appeased from my saviors lack of it, kept me from attempting to find love from different places, places that threatened to hurt me, destroy me and in time I learned, as of consequences to my actions that it wasn’t that my savior did not care, but that he showed it differently than everyone else. I learned to read between the lines and that’s where my love for him began to bloom. He may not have been able to show me his emotions; however, I was not broken enough to throw away the possibilities. I could be the weak one if he needed me to, be strong if he could not show it to me. I would be the glue that kept us together and he would be my rock.
In time I came to realize that I was glad that I accepted him because it was my music that drew him to me, but my mother’s sacrifice that bound my savior and myself together. She gave me love from despair, like a phoenix rising to the ashes and I learned how to love a demon.
E/N: Yayz. I really loved the song, it's beautiful. Next story comes up next! yayz