Miroku stared down the quivering black hole, thoughts of death haunting his mind. The only thing that he had kept him from ending his pain so far was a picture of his six year old daughter, Sachi, sitting on his desk, which was almost straight ahead of him. Miroku adverted his gaze back to the gun barrel that was in front of him, the one thing that could end all of his pain.
All it would take was one little squeeze, and he could see his beloved again. But if he did that, then who would watch over his beloved Sachi, who was a spitting image of her mother? Miroku glared at the gun, then back at the photo and with deadly pin-point accuracy, shot the Sachi picture's head off, and thus stopped the one thing that was keeping him from joining his beloved in the eternal abyss.
"Daddy?"
The words were whispered, so low that even Miroku couldn't almost hear them. He turned around slowly, his mind snapping a little bit more with each degree that went past him. By the time that Sachi could look into her father's eyes, the violet orbs that her mother had been bewitched by were glazed over with insanity. "Yes dear?" His voice cracked at the end of the question.
"Why, why did you shoot my picture?" She was holding the stuffed dog plush her mother had made for her right before she was born. Miroku raised his gun, and showed off his SWAT training again by shooting the dog plush, right below his daughter's hand. Sachi screamed out in terror and in rage; the toy was the only thing Sango had left for Sachi, other than a few pictures and a college fund.
"Daddy! Why did you shoot Snowball?!" Sachi closed the distance between herself and Miroku and started pounding her small fists into his muscular chest. "Why Daddy, why?" Miroku looked down at the one thing that had once kept him alive, and leveled the gun at her head.
Sachi looked up, and while she stared up, her father started pulling the trigger. Suddenly, Miroku snapped back out of his momentary state of insanity, right as he pulled the trigger. A small voice shouted in the back of his head, NO!! You stupid fool! You killed the only thing that you had going for you! You're a fuck-up, just like you were the whole time you were growing up. You're nothing but a no good, stupid, PILE. OF. SHIT! The last three words were individually emphasized. Miroku realized the voice to be that of his father.
He looked down at the corpse of his daughter. Her blood and brains were spread across his shoes and pants legs. Flash-backs started, and Miroku recognized it to be the night his father his father killed his mother in cold blood, much the same way he had just murdered his dear Sachi.
"You stupid whore," Miroku's father started, "all I asked for was a cold beer, and you can't even do that much? Get your sorry ass over here! I wanna talk to you up close." Miroku's mother obediently came, slightly cringing. Miroku's father stood up, a behemoth of a man, standing at nearly 6' 5" and easily weighing 280 pounds of nothing but muscle, although a beer gut was making itself known.
Miroku's mother stood before the man, her head hanging down low, not wanting to look the beast she had married in the eyes. "All I wanted was one damn beer, and you can't take enough time out of your schedule of doing nothing to get that for me, the man who provides you a roof and keeps food on the table? Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Miroku's father snatched the young woman's hair violently up, and slapped her across the face, palm and then back-handed. He repeated process twice.
Miroku's mother started to cry, her tears mixing in with the blood that was dripping from busted lips. By now, Miroku had heard the commotion and was peering down at the broken family from the stairs, hidden by the shadows that had once scared him. His cold-hearted father, Sesshomaru, grabbed a roll of quarters and wrapped a fist around it, and began to punch his beautiful mother, Kagome, in the face repeatedly, breaking her nose at first, then knocking several of her teeth out.
At first, Kagome tried to struggle, but then she realized it was futile. Sesshomaru reared back one of his powerful arms behind his head for another blow when Miroku just simply couldn't take anymore. "Stop it daddy!" He ran down the stairs, and tried to place himself between his father and mother.
The man with the heart of cold steel looked at his son. "You stupid pile of shit! Go back to your room. Me and your mother were just having a close up talk, weren't we dear?" The battered angel managed to nod her head yes, and Miroku just looked at her mangled and bloodied face, trying to imagine his mother back to the way she was. Sesshomaru reared back one of his boots, and kicked Miroku in the testicles, causing the boy to pass out.
"Sesshomaru! He had nothing to do with this!" Kagome coughed hard, and she spit up blood. "Please just don't kill my baby boy. Do whatever you want with me, but don't hurt my little boy anymore."
"Oh, you better believe I'm gonna do whatever I want with you," Sesshomaru said. "And it won't be quick either. I'm gonna make you pay for not listening to me bitch."
About an hour later, a blood-curdling shriek woke Miroku up from his pain-induced sleep. He couldn't move for a moment, and his torso felt like it was on fire. Another shriek was heard, but this one was cut short. Miroku managed to get up, and he went to his father's study, where he knew Sesshomaru kept his guns. He looked into the desk where the .357 Ruger six-shot magnum was kept, always loaded.
Miroku staggered back into the living room, and sat down in his mother's favorite chair as he waited for his father to come back.
Two hours later, Sesshomaru walked back into the house, muddy and with the scent of whiskey all over him. Miroku stood up and managed to hold the heavy gun up with both of his hands. He pulled back the hammer. "You don't have what it takes to pull that trigger. You're just like your mother, a no good, pile of-" Sesshomaru was caught off by the deafening sound of the report. A split-second later, the hollow sound of a corpse hitting the ground was heard. The police were at Miroku's house within three minutes.
Miroku was only nine at the time.
"I'm no better now than I was when I killed my father," Miroku said, choking up, "I don't even deserve to live. I'm coming back to you Sango." With those final words, Miroku went to his own desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out the same .357. He held the gun up to his head, and with those final words, Miroku finally ended his pain that was within.
