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: 293 | 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: 293 | 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.
