AN: I got this idea one day when I was up late one night and thought it would be very interesting to do a story from the point of view of someone different, or even better yet, the life story of someone that nobody usually looks at. Thus, this was born. I'm not quite sure if I will be able to go through with this story successfully, but I hope you find the idea interesting or at least different. If not, tell me so. It will be a great deal shorter than all of my other stories though.
Read with criticism and an open mind.
BIOGRAPHY OF BLACK
_CHAPTER 1_
Oh, how we prize ourselves. We live through our lives, trying to be what we wish we were, become what we can only imagine. The majority fail, often miserably, yet they will defend themselves ruthlessly, taking pride in what achievements they have managed to scrounge up or stumble upon purely by accident. I, on the other hand, know exactly who I am, what I've become, and am largely pleased with the results. My life has been one of hard work toward the unattainable goals, which, through fate, as I would have it, and hard work, I have managed to prove attainable.
Do not misjudge me, I am not as narcissistic as I may appear at the moment. No, I just know the truth when I see it. Something which rarely occurs anymore. Really, what has become of life on this earth? Each thing struggles to live, like a mindless amoeba, ready to push, to kill, do anything to continue surviving. Lethal viruses spreading throughout the world devouring then abandoning. Ruthless, indifferent, cruel lives of self-indulgence, of self-survival. It's beautiful, is it not?
At a certain point, I was informed by an ally-yes I do have them-that I appear to much of the world as an enigma. Now this was not a surprise to me; it's much expected that one such as myself may be an enigmatic character, I revel in the unknown. And yet, I decided that perhaps it was time that I introduce the world to its formerly known Hitomi Kagewaki. Perhaps I would let a little of my enigmatic character seep into the minds of others and dwell in their subconscious's corners until the proper day. After all, they will soon enough know exactly who I am. Yes, through this, dare I say "diary", I would introduce them to the mind of one who a small few know as Naraku.
I have heard that a persons upbringing decided on who they will become. So, let us start there. I will try to spare you as many dangling clichés as possible. Can't stand the damnable things, myself.
I suppose, though, that I will have to begin with how I came into the world, though it is a most disagreeable, lackluster subject which I often like to forget entirely about, they were such dull days. Yet, I believe most honestly in the importance of understanding one's background, for then one can better understand one's self. So, in the spirit of the typical, I begin.
I was born to a archetypical village woman in the small, unknown farming village of Hanajima. My mother was a simple woman of simple blood, but apparently sufficiently beautiful. I received many a physical trait from her such as the wavy, black hair which I was told later seemed as an enticing web of black silk threads. Very appropriate it seems. But back to my mother. She was pale for a villager and had good, smooth hands that did not betray her to her profession, which was that of a farmer and merchant, yet she could hardly be told of excelling in any intellectual qualities. But then, it was rare to find an intelligent and beautiful woman in those times. And so, she attracted the attention of the nearby feudal lord who was having certain difficulties with his marriage as it were. He had merely to catch my mother out of the corner of his eye and she was his. For a powerful feudal lord, any woman in the area was his if he wished. So, being the ever-acquiring feudal lord that he was, there was nothing to stop him when he set his sights on my lowly mother and I, as a result, was born the bastard child of a lord and laborer. I suppose I may thank him for the first hint of perseverance that accompanied my mannerisms. They character of getting what I please and nothing else was set in me from the beginning. Yet he too was not nearly an intelligent dictator. But I am not one to complain, for they brought me into the world, and both the world and myself have benefited…accordingly.
For some time, my father supported my mother and myself, sending us money monthly and assuring that I received proper clothing. He had perhaps fallen in love with my mother in the village while he grew to dislike he marriage arrangements at home. But word travels quickly in small villages and areas. A rumor of my mother and father's trysts soon was born to the wind and my father, the not-nearly-intelligent-dictator was forced to cut our funding in fear of being shamed and looked down upon by those of surrounding villages and systems, whom he shadowed over, yet would be helpless against in case of revolt of social shunning. Social positions are a powerful and easily broken thing. Hm, it seems I learned one thing from Dear Old Father. Sufficient enough for him.
So, in his stead, my mother and myself became social outcasts, though none would say it aloud, we were not welcome, my mother and infantile self. So it would seem that the only logical reasoning for a simple woman like my mother would be to migrate to a new village and start over with a clean slate. Hmph. I despise those who run from their obstacles. Obstacles are meant to be faced. But back to my mother once again, she transported herself, myself, and our minimal belongings (all which could be contained in a single sack) to the small, and just as unknown, village of Henka. And indeed, we did begin fresh.
The first thirteen years of my childhood were spent in that village, fairly satisfactory, where I learned many valuable lessons such as one can gain the attentions of women with the base bribery of gifts which also just happens to be the case for men. Distract a person by giving them what they wish to see, and you own them. I also learned that humans are naturally deviant and malicious creatures. This was a lesson I found in an abusive man my mother took on, a man dedicated to the drink and a man driven to hostility and abuse. It is true that he beat my mother, something that I did not approve of in the slight, but he taught me that men can destroy themselves utterly and perfectly.
"He is an evil man, do not cross him." My mother would tell me everyday he came and left, leaving my mother with bruises and cuts, each day I bided time patiently and furiously. Was that what evil did? Resurrect a barrier around you so that none can touch you?
Each day, he gambled more and consumed more sake than the last. There is nothing I enjoyed more than watching that man kill himself slowly every day, gradually freeing my mother of his hold. I also learned that if a man could destroy himself utterly, there was no reason why could I not, through intelligent and not-so-intelligent means, destroy a man utterly and perfectly myself. You may ask why I would chose to do so. There are many answers, but I can not relate them. Think of this instead. Have you ever out of malice or curiosity or perhaps even plain boredom, crossed a slug by chance and rush to gather the appropriate amount of salt? Have you ever sat and watched as the creature bubbles, shrivels and mutates, dying slowly under your watchful eye that can only be fascinated because it is not a fellow human you are killing, but a freakish monster, a grotesque being that is withering by your hand alone, because of your fancy? Ah, then you understand.
But I have gone off on a tangent. For a village of such inadequate size, I learned a generous amount of useful knowledge. I learned at an early age that in order to succeed to the top, one most gather valuable allies and from the time I was a child, I have excelled in choosing wisely who to keep in my company. I befriended the best farmer's son and my mother and I had an adequate amount of food even if our own did not suffice. I am led to believe however that I acquired none of these skills from my dear parents but who am I to assume. I never met my father. But my mother was surely nowhere near as tactful as she should have been for a single mother in the Sengoku Jidai.
In that new village, I ran rampant and did as I pleased, though always remaining sickeningly loyal to my mother and being always mindful of her. When I was mocked for my feminine looks, which I inherited from mother, by the other children I would stare at them blankly while my mind calculated the swiftest and most effective way of punishment. Needless to say, I was soon respected and feared amongst the other children. And though I received the solidarity which I so desired, it came with its price-solidarity. I was respected and feared and inescapably alone, excepting my mother and the other women she worked with who I had charmed infallibly with my polite mannerisms. So, you can imagine that I faced a small distress as my mother's health started to weaken. It was not obvious, but to my eye which was trained in her daily ways, it stood out like a sore or thorn in her side. She moved less fluidly and her white skin looked even more impossibly porcelain than before.
In my thirteenth year, a disaster befell our little village. There was word that an army of thieves had been terrorizing nearby villages, burning them to the ground and leaving no survivors. It was only a matter of time before the fell upon ours. They came without warning, dark men riding dark horses. They carried swords, spears, arrows, and torches and spared nothing on the village huts.
The thieves plundered the entire store of the village, taking everything they could lay their hands on, slaughtering the small children amidst the pleading and manic screams of their mothers, licking the blood from their fingers as they went from hut to hut, setting them ablaze.
My mother pushed me into a haystack, hoping to hide me and I watched, in terrible fascination as people screamed and ran frantically amidst the black smoke, coughing the names of their loved ones, hoping to find them in the yellow, red, and orange glow shrouded in the black haze of smoke and ash. Two men galloping past spotted my mother and she tried to run to me, but was caught by the arms of the two men with faces shadowed from the roaring blazes, not a two arms reach from my hiding position. She screamed and kicked with her tired body, successfully damaging the two thieves, but only causing them to grip her tighter. She called my name then, a piercing shriek that rang out. The only thing I could her against the flaming, frantic backdrop. I rushed forward out of the hay, to my mother, striking a blow with my sword to one of the men who managed to doge it and receive only a cut on the arm that was holding my mother. Both men threw my mother to the ground where she hit the ground, her head striking a rock with a dull thump. The two men advanced on me, drawing their swords. I attacked them readily, a fire whelming up inside me that had never been there before. A hatred so consuming I could see nothing else. I attacked wildly at the two men and managed to drive them away from my mother for a few seconds, only to receive a blow to the head from behind. I faintly heard a booming voice shout somewhere in the distance.
"Kill the small children, bring what women you wish and kill the rest, and bring all able men and boys…" His voice faded out in the background and the last thing I saw before closing my eyes to darkness was my mother's profile, laying not ten feet from me.
Oh…..if you will excuse me, I have a matter to attend to. My dear Kagura has returned with important news and information. I will continue this tale at a latter hour. Until then.
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AN:Ok, I know this was short, but I wanted to see what you guys thought of the idea first. I think I may have to rewrite this if I do continue it, seeing as it has turned out Pretty. Damn. Boring. Well, if you guys do approve, I have some interesting ideas for just why Naraku has turned out how he is. If you guys don't like it, I'll focus my attention on something more agreeable. In the words of Naraku, 'Until then.'