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The ABCs of Death
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If you're looking for a story with a happy ending, it's best if you turn away now. This isn't a story for the faint of heart. It begins one cold night in the midst of a storm filled with an inky darkness that sank into the marrow of one's bones. Bursts of lightning lit up the streets, and steadily made their way from one end of the city to the other. In the middle of one street, much like any other, lay the body of a young woman choking on her own blood as rain fell unforgiving against her mutilated flesh. It was stupid to have stayed out so late but she had been running so far behind in her studies recently. A few extra hours at the library seemed innocent enough and it wasn't like she couldn't protect herself or so she thought.
The blood didn't gush in a constant flow, but in time with the beating of her heart. At first it came thick and strong, flowing through her fingers as they clasped the punctured flesh of her stomach. She felt the blood move over her hand, the thick fluid no warmer or cooler than her own skin. After a few moments more, and the blood was still leaving her rapidly paling flesh, but the pulses were slower, weaker. The warm crimson liquid oozed into her rain-dampened uniform. Time itself had become irrelevant; the seconds could have been hours, or hours mere seconds. In that suspended moment she was the eye of her own storm; but for that moment of perfect calm and mental clarity, she played the past year of her life over and over. Each moment, each smile seared into her mind bringing her comfort in these last moments on earth. One face in particular dominated her thoughts and suddenly visions of what she had hoped to pass replaced reality. Thoughts of stolen kisses in the nights and words she would never hear echoing in her numb mind.
"I love you," Kagome rasped as a single tear slid down her muddy cheek, "I'm sorry."
Five hundred years in the past, a silver haired man gasped loudly as he bolted upright in his chosen tree branch. That dream had been so real. So very real. The memory of that dream accelerating inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could breathe but they just wouldn't. His breath came in gasps and as he softly landed on the ground, he felt his heart hammering inside his chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin. Still, he refused to accept it as real. It was a dream. Only a dream. Nothing more.
With speed he had scarcely achieved before he managed to reach the well before damn near flinging himself inside. It wasn't until he reached the well house that he allowed himself to breathe. A move he instantly regretted. The scent of tears and screams of grief echoed inside his empty chest. The notable lack of Kagome's scent took his breath away. A voice, an unfamiliar voice in the courtyard, speaking truths he didn't want to hear. That he couldn't accept.
"We found her body about an hour ago," the voice murmured apologetically, "There was nothing we could do."
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The sun shone brilliantly and the brilliant colors of the spring day under it's glare were offensively bright and cheerful. It was as nature itself was conspiring to show a man who had now lost everything how the world would go on without her. It shouldn't. The world itself should be grieving for having lost her. It should be cold and damp with silent air. But the birds still sang and the flowers still bloomed.
Glancing at the others in attendance, Inuyasha could barely stop himself from screaming. Her so-called friends stood silently by as they watched the casket lower into the cold, unforgiving earth. They spoke of meaningless lunches and memories that didn't really express how special she had been. He would wait to give his speech. When it was just them. Away from prying eyes or accusatory mutterings about how much of an asshole he'd been to her. Maybe he'd change first. Back into his robes instead of the stuffy black suit her mother insisted he needed to wear. Which he did wear without complaint. He had wanted to look his best for her after all. His very best. So he agreed. He'd bathed in those soaps that smelled so much like her. Braided his hair in one long plait. Made sure every inch of him was polished and pristine. She would've loved it. It would've made her very proud.
Still, for what he had to say, he wanted to look like himself. Her true friends had all written letters - mainly with Miroku's help as he was the most literate amongst them now. He would read those to her when they were alone. She needed to know how many people she'd saved. Whose lives she had changed for the better. How much they all loved and admired her. And then he'd make the bastard who did this pay.