InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Stranger In My Bed ❯ Chapter 8
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Yoshimi Evangelina 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.13.2004 | Updated On: 04.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.0K | Visits: 274 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.13.2004 | Updated On: 04.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.0K | Visits: 274 | Status: Completed
Hello everybody! Bad Kittir - thank you so much for your review, it really REALLY meant a lot to me! I’m sorry to say the next few chapters will be coming slowly (maybe not at all?) during the next few weeks, cuz I’ve got exams all the way till the 30th April. So just hang in tight till May :) Kay?
Take care and hope you enjoy this chapter!
***
“Sesshoumaru-sama?” I call after him. Now that the lights are back on, I’m forced to look at the ravages of our recent skirmish. The dead dragon, the dead demoness... worse still, the half-eaten corpses of those orgiastic revelers. And that acrid odor of SHIT and piss in the air!!! I’m reminded of my friend’s experiences as a vet’s assistant: how the bowels let go when the animal is euthanized.
386-mississippi, 385-mississippi...
I’m holding my nose closed, keeping my back to the wall, my eyes to the ceiling... I step on something: a dismembered arm. Lying close to it is a mangled face, tongue lolling out like a burnt sausage. It’s eyes stare vacantly at me, like two dull marbles in its sockets. I can’t believe it used to be alive. I’m surprised at how removed I am from this whole massacre. Shouldn’t I be feeling something? All I’m worried about is stepping in shit. I find myself bending over and closely studying this dead body. It strikes me with the same sensation as walking through a butcher’s shop, or a chinese store with dead ducks hanging from hooks. The meat is an inanimate object.
I’m reminded of the same hollow feeling I felt looking at my mother in her coffin. So pallid, so still. Everybody complimented me on how well I handled the whole situation. No breaking down, no throwing myself at the coffin. Others said it was chilling to watch the expression on my face, as if I was just looking at an aquarium. In a way, I was. The body in the coffin wasn’t really my mother. It was just an empty shell: there was nothing in her features to remind me of her spirit. I might as well be looking at a blank sheet of paper: I felt cheated. This wasn’t how I wanted to remember that strong, indomitable, warm, loving woman.
I‘m surprised to find fresh tears in my eyes, my fists clenched. It’s been five years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday. “Sesshoumaru-sama!!!” I yell again, this time in anger as if it’s his fault that I’ve just remembered my mother’s funeral.
I find the curtains are drawn to reveal a staircase. The door above is ajar. I walk up the stairs and find myself in a garden. It’s beautiful. There are potted orange trees, roses, iris, hydrangeas, hyacinths... It feels like I’m in the Garden of Eden. There are heating lamps to maintain the green house temperature, overhead sprinklers to keep the plants watered.
Sesshoumaru-sama is in the very center of the garden, resting against the trunk of a magnolia tree. The scent from its blossoms infuses the air with tranquility, I feel my heart lift.
This little garden Paradise on top of a high-rise condo convinces me of several things: that no matter how high humankind can make buildings, how small they can make a camera, how brightly they can light the sky - there’s still a reluctant desire to be close to nature, no matter how ridiculous a condo rooftop in the middle of a highly urbanized city sounds. Money can buy you anything.
He turns to regard me for a second before he returns to watching the bands of fiery orange make their way across the horizon where the sky meets the flickering, undulating lake.
Sesshoumaru-sama is lying against the trunk of the tree, one leg folded underneath him. His right arm rests on top of the raised leg, twirling a magnolia blossom between his fingertips. Astarte’s last words linger in my mind, her memories of a young boy who liked watching the cherry blossoms fall in spring. I think I’m seeing that boy right now: He seems content, happy. There’s a stillness about his face, his lips have lost their usual frowning tenseness: they appear soft and contemplative like the warm amber glimmer rippling across the lake. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. And yet, I feel drawn to join him in the silence.
“How is your wound, Sesshoumaru-sama?” I whisper, kneeling beside him in the grass.
“I have seen to it myself.” he returns in a soft tone. He nods curtly at my bag. “Should you not eat? It has been hours since we left the Owl-Spirit.”
I pick up a blossom on the ground and inhale the fragrance. “The smell of these flowers makes me forget about hunger.” I’m sitting with my legs to the side, my left hand stretched to the ground as I hold it to my nose.
He says nothing, but when I look up, I realize he’s been looking at me as if in complete agreement. There’s also something else in his eyes as he looks at me, soft and yielding. Before I can say anything, however, he looks away again. I’m dismayed to see the tenseness return. My stomach rumbles.
I make myself a corned-beef sandwich, which Sesshoumaru-sama commands me to eat at a distance from him. “Human food stinks just as badly as humans“, he says with more heat than usual, as if it’s all my fault.
I’m too pacified by the magnolia tree to retaliate. My peaceful smile just irritates him even more - he stands up on a pretext of stretching his legs.
I watch him stalk away in that slow, measured gait. I stow this piece of knowledge away next time Sesshoumaru-sama’s royal edicts annoys me.
Take care and hope you enjoy this chapter!
***
“Sesshoumaru-sama?” I call after him. Now that the lights are back on, I’m forced to look at the ravages of our recent skirmish. The dead dragon, the dead demoness... worse still, the half-eaten corpses of those orgiastic revelers. And that acrid odor of SHIT and piss in the air!!! I’m reminded of my friend’s experiences as a vet’s assistant: how the bowels let go when the animal is euthanized.
386-mississippi, 385-mississippi...
I’m holding my nose closed, keeping my back to the wall, my eyes to the ceiling... I step on something: a dismembered arm. Lying close to it is a mangled face, tongue lolling out like a burnt sausage. It’s eyes stare vacantly at me, like two dull marbles in its sockets. I can’t believe it used to be alive. I’m surprised at how removed I am from this whole massacre. Shouldn’t I be feeling something? All I’m worried about is stepping in shit. I find myself bending over and closely studying this dead body. It strikes me with the same sensation as walking through a butcher’s shop, or a chinese store with dead ducks hanging from hooks. The meat is an inanimate object.
I’m reminded of the same hollow feeling I felt looking at my mother in her coffin. So pallid, so still. Everybody complimented me on how well I handled the whole situation. No breaking down, no throwing myself at the coffin. Others said it was chilling to watch the expression on my face, as if I was just looking at an aquarium. In a way, I was. The body in the coffin wasn’t really my mother. It was just an empty shell: there was nothing in her features to remind me of her spirit. I might as well be looking at a blank sheet of paper: I felt cheated. This wasn’t how I wanted to remember that strong, indomitable, warm, loving woman.
I‘m surprised to find fresh tears in my eyes, my fists clenched. It’s been five years, but sometimes it feels like yesterday. “Sesshoumaru-sama!!!” I yell again, this time in anger as if it’s his fault that I’ve just remembered my mother’s funeral.
I find the curtains are drawn to reveal a staircase. The door above is ajar. I walk up the stairs and find myself in a garden. It’s beautiful. There are potted orange trees, roses, iris, hydrangeas, hyacinths... It feels like I’m in the Garden of Eden. There are heating lamps to maintain the green house temperature, overhead sprinklers to keep the plants watered.
Sesshoumaru-sama is in the very center of the garden, resting against the trunk of a magnolia tree. The scent from its blossoms infuses the air with tranquility, I feel my heart lift.
This little garden Paradise on top of a high-rise condo convinces me of several things: that no matter how high humankind can make buildings, how small they can make a camera, how brightly they can light the sky - there’s still a reluctant desire to be close to nature, no matter how ridiculous a condo rooftop in the middle of a highly urbanized city sounds. Money can buy you anything.
He turns to regard me for a second before he returns to watching the bands of fiery orange make their way across the horizon where the sky meets the flickering, undulating lake.
Sesshoumaru-sama is lying against the trunk of the tree, one leg folded underneath him. His right arm rests on top of the raised leg, twirling a magnolia blossom between his fingertips. Astarte’s last words linger in my mind, her memories of a young boy who liked watching the cherry blossoms fall in spring. I think I’m seeing that boy right now: He seems content, happy. There’s a stillness about his face, his lips have lost their usual frowning tenseness: they appear soft and contemplative like the warm amber glimmer rippling across the lake. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. And yet, I feel drawn to join him in the silence.
“How is your wound, Sesshoumaru-sama?” I whisper, kneeling beside him in the grass.
“I have seen to it myself.” he returns in a soft tone. He nods curtly at my bag. “Should you not eat? It has been hours since we left the Owl-Spirit.”
I pick up a blossom on the ground and inhale the fragrance. “The smell of these flowers makes me forget about hunger.” I’m sitting with my legs to the side, my left hand stretched to the ground as I hold it to my nose.
He says nothing, but when I look up, I realize he’s been looking at me as if in complete agreement. There’s also something else in his eyes as he looks at me, soft and yielding. Before I can say anything, however, he looks away again. I’m dismayed to see the tenseness return. My stomach rumbles.
I make myself a corned-beef sandwich, which Sesshoumaru-sama commands me to eat at a distance from him. “Human food stinks just as badly as humans“, he says with more heat than usual, as if it’s all my fault.
I’m too pacified by the magnolia tree to retaliate. My peaceful smile just irritates him even more - he stands up on a pretext of stretching his legs.
I watch him stalk away in that slow, measured gait. I stow this piece of knowledge away next time Sesshoumaru-sama’s royal edicts annoys me.