Allusions- Deny Thy Father, Renounce Thy Name

Allusions- Deny Thy Father, Renounce Thy Name
By Arashi(arashi@fushigiyuugi.net)

al·lu·sion (-lzhn)
n.
1. The act of alluding; indirect reference.
2. An instance of indirect reference.

As he watered some of the plants in the Koneko no Sumu ie, he wondered if he would ever remember who he was. It hadn't mattered so much before he had met Masafumi, but something-

a dark haired figure watched over the
little blonde boy who was
playing in the sandbox all the while
crushing a line of ants under
his shoes when the child rose and
exclaimed
"Ni-"

about his-

death-

face reminded him of something that he couldn't quite remember. Just when he thought he had it, it darted to the corners of his mind, and all he managed to catch was a little glimpse of-

reality-

insanity, because, really, who would believe that he was connected with the Takatori's? They were the enemy. It was his goal, job, DUTY to destroy the dark hunters of the night. It just didn't MATTER if, somehow, he thought he felt something-

love-

for them. It was just a silly notion. Silly silly and stupid. But

"What if?" wondered Omi aloud. He jerked sharply as he felt water drip onto his apron. "Kuso!" he swore. As he tried to save the overwatered plant from drowning, he-

a woman sat on a stone bench in a
flower garden laughing as rain splattered
down on the heads of herself and
another smaller figure
clutched her hand tight and smiled
as they braved the stor-

dropped the whole thing, pot and all, onto the floor. As he blushed and cleaned up the mess among the startled eyes of his fellow workers and customers, he forgot what had happened.

Hi-ro-fu-mi. One word. Just a name, a bunch of meaningless letters slapped together to form a word. But that wasn't ALL. Hirofumi. Their next target, and the son of Reiji Takatori.

Takatori. Takatori, Takatori, Takatori, all he HEARD every day every minute every second, Takatori, Takatori, Taka--. No. No no no no no no NO. Not. Not-

Takatori-

that not that not that, he didn't even know what he was denying anymore, but no no no no no. Not.

He was going mad. Or, he thought he was. The words played in his head so much, that he didn't even know what they were, what they meant, why they MATTERED so much anymore, and he grasped for that bit of recognition that lay JUST one step in front of him, and at the same time, he jerked back in fear-

people tearing him away pushing him and
dragging him into a car away from family from
brothers mother father HELP
help help help help help help HELP
HELP M-

And the memory dispersed as quickly as it had appeared.

Looking at things-

reminded-

hurt now. Just going on ached in a way that he didn't recognize. The slightest action would send him off into-

a memory-

a bit of insanity. And he couldn't remember WHAT. He didn't remember what he saw, what he felt, only knew that it was IMPORTANT, but terrifying at the same time. Every time one of those episodes came on, he grasped for the truth, but knew that when he reached it, he would be condemned to his own hell. And so he hovered between both, and suffered.

Not. Not that. Not that that that that. NOT. As he fought against himself, he denied it all, and cast it away as the effects of stress, maybe the guilt of his job, or maybe even-

memories-

insanity. Because, of course, it couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, not not not not not TRUE.

In the course of denying it all, he forgot everything.

His own private little hell. But he kept on repeating that it was better. Better than accepting the-

truth-

lies. Because that was what they were. Lies. Not true. NOT TRUE. They-

were real-

COULDN'T be.

And maybe one day, he would believe it.