InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Dead Girls Don't Write Letters ❯ Mail ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Inu Yasha or any of the characters therein.

Kagome Higurashi toyed with the pen in her hand. Gazing down at the blank paper in front of her, she tried to remember what is was she was supposed to be doing. Dad was gone again, too much stress, he had said. Part of her wanted to be mad at him, to hate him for leaving. But, another part didn't blame him. That part wanted to leave too. Get away from the dirty dishes that no one had time to wash, get away from the sympathetic eyes and antidepressants. Mom just lay about everyday, not even bothering to change out of her house coat or even brush her hair. She would sit for hours staring into space, watching unseen pictures on the walls.

There was a sharp crash in the direction of the living room. Kagome leapt up and rushed in, to find her mother on her knees, shattered glass and water all around. On the side table were three small pills. "Mom! You didn't take your pills again!" Her mother waved a shaky hand.

"I don't need those." Kagome looked closer at her mother. Her face was streaked with tears. Sitting on the sofa, where her mother had obviously dropped it, was a delicate, fabric covered book.

"I thought we agreed you would only look at those for an hour a day. Mom, I know you've been sitting down her for three. Why are you doing this?"

"I needed…to see her face." Kagome sighed.

"All right then, let's get you to bed." She helped her mother off the floor and guided her up the stairs to the master bedroom.

As soon as she had her mother situated, she returned to the living room to clean up the broken glass. She scrubbed hard, knowing that eventually she would have to put away that horrible, innocent looking book.

She rose to her feet, hoping to flip the cover over and quickly place it on the shelf, but once again, like so many times before, she was caught in the photos. A little girl with straight black hair sat sedately on a flowered couch. In her arms was a squalling infant. The baby's face was red and scrunched up like a little wrinkled fist. The caption said, `Kikyo and baby Kagome, 1987.' They told her that after she was born, they had to put a new slip cover on that flowered couch because of all her spit-up. She looked at the dirt brown slip cover that adorned the couch today. Kikyo had that beautiful couch, and Kagome got the ugly one. Typical.

Slowly, she turned the page of the book. A teen stood, smiling happily at the camera, while a small 8-year-old stood next to her, arms akimbo, a frown on her face and a Barbie backpack slung over one shoulder. The caption under this picture read, `Kikyo and Kagome. First day of school. 1995.'

The next picture was more recent. A tall young woman lounged on a porch swing, a dreamy smile spread across her stunning features. A younger girl sat on a wicker chair, a book in hand, not looking at the camera. The caption said, `Kikyo and Kagome, the day before Kikyo leaves for college, 2002.'

Kagome shut the book suddenly, as though bitten. She went over to the bookshelf and replaced the book, aligning it with all the other fabric covered spines. A framed photo leered from coffee table. Kikyo. Next to her, a smaller photo of Kagome. Kagome had always been pretty, warm brown eyes and shoulder length wavy black hair. But Kikyo, Kikyo had been beautiful. Startling blue eyes peered out from a heart-shaped face. Her rich black hair fell to her lower back. A straight nose and full red lips added to her classical beauty. Shaking her head, Kagome leaned over and pushed the photo of her sister face-down onto the table. Kikyo was gone. Thank God.

Hearing the sound of an engine outside, she went to the kitchen to gather the mail shoved through the mail slot. Shifting through the usual jumble of last notices and credit card bills, Kagome froze when the tip of a red envelope caught her eye. It couldn't be. The letter must have been written before the fire and only arrived just now. Yes, that was it. She opened the envelope, hands trembling slightly. This was silly; it was just a piece of paper. Unfolding the stationary bordered with little red roses, Kagome read the words written in her sister's curvy handwriting. Dear Mom, Dad and Kagome, I know you probably think something terrible has happened to me. I'm sorry to have caused you all such pain. But don't worry! I'm coming home! Expect me on the 5 o'clock train from Kyoto on Tuesday the 14th. Don't meet me at the station; I'll come straight to the house. Love you, see you soon. Love, Kikyo

No. This couldn't be happening. Disjointed thoughts flashed through Kagome's head as the terrible letter fluttered to the cold, unfeeling linoleum. One complete thought rose to the surface of her mind. This couldn't be real because dead girls don't write letters.