InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Inu Yasha in the Cupboard ❯ Rain ( Chapter 1 )

R A I N

The rain came down in torrents, nothing but sleek, pouring sheets, endless blankets falling from the dismal gray expanse of sky, falling unto an expanse of black umbrellas. The raindrops shimmered as they spattered on impact, that slithered to the ground one by one, in a soft pitter patter heard by all, seen by all and felt by all. It was chilling to me and depressive, as I felt the water dance upon my skin, as if I were being bathed in the tears that my mother shed, the tears that we all cried inside.

I was not crying. I wanted to, and felt all the symptoms of sobbing within me, but it was as if my tears were given to the skies, and were shed along with the pouring rain. The grass was soaked beneath my feet, making standing even more unbearable in these already painful and tight black shoes - but I could never complain. Even if my toes would be permanently pressed and molded into each other because of the poor conditions my feet were in, I would still never complain. Now was not the time for such disgusting selfishness, or self-thought. I couldn't even think, never mind think of myself, as my mind continued to draw a blank as I still stood and watched the process go by.

There weren't many of us. Grandpa didn't have too many relatives that were still alive, only having had two children, mother, and Uncle Tsutomu, who stood over to the left with his wife. We hadn't seen them in the last seven years for we lived such long distances from each other, but now they were here, and it was no time for a happy reunion. Still, it was just them, the minister, myself, my mother and my brother who stood to watch the lowering of Kinto Higurashi's casket - to watch the funeral of my most beloved grandfather.

I took a deep breath and quickly held it. I cleared my mind for just one second, allowing the sound of the rain to fill my ears, feeling myself having been so close to erupting into a flood of tears, but instead deciding to keep composition, and so I stood tall. I had no strength in me to stand tall, and there was nothing to say that my heart didn't need mending, or my soul didn't felt torn, yet I had already lost my mother to her own state of an unbelievable depression, and I didn't feel that I could lose myself and let this entire yet small family fall to pieces. As for Souta, my younger brother and only sibling, I didn't know what to think of him. He stood beside me, exactly my height, for he was growing quite quickly as a teen. Souta was now fifteen, and I was now twenty, still five years apart, still very much his older sister, even if he could pass as my twin brother with his now very matured appearance. But I couldn't even bring myself to look at him at this moment, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the ground ahead of us, for if I knew that I even spoke to my dearest brother, I would begin to see something I could never stand any more of. I saw plenty of sadness; I felt it, felt the destructive power of loss and depression, easily signified by the mourning of my poor mother. But Souta… he was different. Souta was young. He was at a fragile stage of life, one that had troubled me dearly. Souta had been getting in more trouble than usual in high school after having left middle school last year. I was worried for him, concerned for his health, his attitude, his studies and so forth. With my job and with all of the tackling into getting an acceptation with Hokkaido University, I barely had time to really connect with my brother as we had when we were younger siblings. That's where Grandfather always stepped in. It seemed that even if my brother was a reckless teen on the verge of hormonal imbalances, he always had a sense of reverence with Grandpa, as if he were a child again endlessly eager to yet hear another story, to listen to another of Grandpa's enchanting tales about the Higurashi shrine and fables and legends of an enriched Japanese history that Grandpa knew at heart. There was no doubt about it - Souta was close to him, possibly the closest of all of us, and I just didn't know what my brother would come to be after losing a friend like our grandfather.

The patter of the rain began to grow dominance, almost echoing out the minister's words, as the closing prayers were given. But no matter if the rain were to sound like the crashing of the waves, or the fierceness of thunder, it could never drown out the sounds that so plagued my mind. It was the sound of my mother's sniffling and weeping, of her misery echoed by her motions, of the realization that she had lost her mother, she was losing her father, as I had lost mine long ago, as she had lost her husband. It was the sound of my brother and his breathing slowly, being utterly wordless, silent to the world as he watched his only father figure disappear from sight, probably having been much too young back then to remember when his real father… had gone as well.

I closed my eyes, feeling my black hair pat against the side of my face, slick now as the rain continued to pour drenching us all from head to foot, even under shelters of hooded umbrellas.

I remembered. I remembered losing everyone one by one; I remembered that each time it had rained as sadly as it did now. I remembered how each time my heart had fallen to countless pieces, how our lives were scarred with emotional bruises. I would always remember these things… the rain and the sadness and the tears - the pain. As much as I wanted to, I could never come to truly forget the pain of losing someone I so dearly loved.

I opened my eyes slowly, water trickling upon my black lashes.

A droplet of water lay upon my cheek. A droplet that hadn't journeyed from the sky, that hadn't landed upon my face, that wasn't a kin of the rain. I had created that droplet in my reflections of my own grief. I knew by the ache that overwhelmed me, by the tight grip I lay upon my umbrella handle, by the way I tried to seize my chest from a lonesome wail - I had finally begun to cry.

To Be Continued...