Incarcerated
Prologue
Summary: The seishi have been reincarnated into modern times but cruel fate has led them to repeat the triumphs and failures of their past. The modern world views their lives differently from ancient China and they are struggling to survive. When Miaka discovers the plight of her seishi, can she truly leave fate to it's own devices or will she attempt to fix things like the good priestess she is? Can she make a difference in their lives or is she doomed to failure, making things worse in the process?
Warnings: Violence, language, mature themes, spoilers for the whole series. On pairings: Nothing but the usual, Miaka/Taka, Tetsuya/Yui, Mitsukake/Shouka and so on. No yaoi.
A/N: It has been revamped :D A million thank yous to the wonderful KittyLynne for her fantastic beta work on this chapter :D
The first half is no longer quite so wordy and gets the points across better, see ya at the bottom!
Murder. Rape. Kidnapping. Theft. Armed Robbery.
Your average, law-abiding citizen finds such acts unforgivable and those convicted of these crimes are people to be hated and feared. Almost as many would feel that redemption is impossible for these souls. People in some of the lowest stations of life look upon those in prison and think 'at least I am not as low as they are.' You will have to search to find someone who sees past the stereotypes to the person underneath, to understand why they truly are there.
A prison is a dark building, full of anger and sorrow. Those on the inside consider the outside to be a different world, a place where they are no longer welcome and no longer belong. Once inside, the kind of person you are dictates how you deal with the one reality of life there; learn to live by the rules set by the strongest or don't live at all.
There are many kinds of people to be found in that hierarchy. Some have done terrible things and feel no remorse or shame. Many others feel regret for what they have done, but even more so because they were caught. Some believe what they did was right and had to be done. Still others feel true remorse, take their punishment as being deserved, and do their best to prove they won't repeat the mistakes that landed them in jail. Though these convicts have accepted their fate, resentment and frustration towards their situation can still build and produce reactions from depression to an explosion of anger to outright violence. For all inhabitants, prison is more than a physical cage.
So, consider what prison would be like for someone who wasn't guilty of a crime and is being unjustly punished. Each day means being treated as a criminal, a lowlife with no right to freedom. If they try to assert their innocence, their appeals are denied. Any objections or protests, and they have their status beaten into them. As days turn into months and months into years, even the innocent will begin to believe in their own guilt; why else would fate allow them to be tortured in this way? This however leans both ways, with those who are not guilty yet believe they are. These take the punishment and seek more, driving themselves dangerously close to the edge. Some withdraw into themselves. Some become suicidal. Still others continue to fight for their freedom and continue to suffer for it.
A righteous mind finds it all too easy to judge; if someone is in prison, it means they did wrong. Black and white, never shades of grey. You will have look hard and long to find someone who sees things differently, someone who is wiling to help because they have realized not all those who have been convicted deserve to be punished.
XXXXX
The soft yet final clink of the handcuffs locking shut behind you, holding you in position and taking away your mobility. Such a small sound with such a final meaning. That sound robs you of your freedom and replaces it with the certainty that you are caught and wont escape. It means that your run of life is at an end, at least for now, and your fate is now in the hands of others. I've always feared and hated that sound, and now to hear it sends terror shivering down my spine. It is the ultimate price to pay for my way of life. I suppose I've lived a 'bad' life in the eyes of society, deserve to be caught and punished. But society doesn't understand me, or the people I'm with. We aren't all bad, just different. And I've never killed anyone. I slump against the cold metal of the police car; loud, piercing sirens screaming in my ears, and sigh, cursing softly.
"Shit. Keirou's gonna kill me."
XXXXX
The steady drip of blood onto the floor. Blood once warm and full of life, now wasted as the treacherous heart pumps it away. I reach forward with my hands and try to stem the flow of blood, the musical laugh now tinged with pain ringing in my ears as she tells me to stop, that it's too late. No, I tell her and continue to try as the steady beat of life's drum pounds in my head and through my fingers. She is slipping away and I am crying now. Every moment my soul becomes blacker and is weighed down that much more with the crimes I have committed here today. I beg her to wait, to hold on, the ambulance is coming, though I know in my heart she wont make it. My screams mix with harsh wail of the sirens that are just too late to save her.
And now I sit here in this dank cell, still able to feel her blood running through my fingers. Wringing hands that I can never wash clean no matter how hard I scrub. My back is flat against the harsh stone wall and I slowly draw my knees up to my chin, hugging them tightly with my arms. I wont allow myself to cry, I don't deserve the release. The unforgiving light of the moon shines down on me through the bars of the window as I slowly lower my forehead to my knees and whisper into the dark night.
"I deserve to be here."
XXXXX
The cold iron of the bed digs into my back as I slump against it but I am dulled to those feelings now. There is no sound in this place, nothing but the pale, washed out colour of the moonlight filtering through the bars. My hair falls about me now but I haven't the energy to put it up. I laugh once at the irony of it all and close my eyes for an instant. That short time is enough, in that single instant I am back there in the shadows of that terrible night. You are laughing, coaxing us down the passageway, wanting to be home quickly. It seems like no time at all before that laugh is extinguished, replaced by a scream and the drip of blood. I cradle your dying form in my arms as he tries to fight and is beaten harshly. Two people on my conscious, two people I will never, can never forget. I snap my eyes open again, the pain and guilt flashing in my mind once again. I hid at the back, I let you two be hurt, killed. They don't allow sharp things in here, but that's no matter. I shuffle forward, rolling up my sleeve, and glance at my arm, pearly white scars shining in the moonlight. I choose a place and set my arm against the sharply rusted bed post. Slowly I pull it back, relishing in the pain as a burning red line appears across my skin. I never cut enough to become ill, I don't deserve to die. I tilt my arm up and allow the blood to run along it and pool at my elbow, fascinated by the shine. I talk, though I know you can no longer hear me.
"Such a pretty sight. Red always was your favourite colour."
XXXXX
The walls are white. The floor is white. The glaring fluorescent light is white. The bed is white. My clothes are white. My skin is white. Everything I can see is white. White perfectly describes my life. Blank and clean, no emotion, no soul. The only break in the monotony is the ebony curtain of my own hair. Nurses dressed in white, bringing me white pills on a white tray, always compliment me on it. I like the nurses far better than the doctors, the nurses never mumble and give me strange looks when I talk to them about my dreams. The nurses smile and nod reassuringly. They say I'm crazy. Of course, they don't think I can hear them when they say that. Delusions and perhaps multiple personalities, one of them said. When I first came I'd try to defend myself, but my mind is so muddled now that I can't think straight most of the time and find it easier just to float through their examinations, answering with any old answer. After all it never seems to make a difference to their reactions. They tell me I'm manic-depressive and anti-social and then give me more of the white pills. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe the whole world is crazy. I don't know anymore. I sigh, then turn over until my face is pressed into the white pillow and all I can see is blessed black. Perhaps I'll have one of those nice dreams tonight, the ones the doctors encourage. The 'good' dreams. Not the ones about that made up place, but the ones about a time before all the white, a time when I had friends and we were happy. I like dreaming about the times when we were young best of all. I mutter into the pillow, because I find that I'm talking to myself more and more often now. Better than talking to the hallucinations because at least I talk back.
"I am so sick of white."
XXXXX
Sometimes, during irrational moments, I miss the sounds of people. It doesn't happen often now, for I am used to the sounds of nature and animals, but when it does I start to remember her. She and my father were my world. Everything I did, I did for them. When they were gone, there was nothing left to live for, yet I know she would never approve if I killed myself. Now I live out a silent penance in this desolate place. Some days I don't speak a single word, the animals don't mind. My thoughts fill up the silence. Her thin, pale form lying wasted on the bed. The quiet words from people who don't understand offering condolence they don't mean as they deliver soul crushing news. Yes, better to be away from them. I cannot live among them now that I have committed such unspeakable acts. I stroke the cat that has come to nuzzle me, as he always does in the darkest moments.
"At least you will never look at me with judgement."
XXXXX
The books are with me night and day. Wherever I am, there is sure to be a book along too, even on my rare trips off campus. I'm achieving the highest grades recorded for some time. So why is my heart so empty? Even the gushing letters of praise from my parents can no longer warm my soul. They are soured with the glaring face of my ignored brother. Before I came here I had never worried about friends. I was happy with my parents, my brother, and the few people like me who loved to study. Now I watch as others laugh merrily with their friends and go out to have fun. I don't seem to have room for fun. I think it really hit home when I didn't get a single visitor in the hospital after I was injured a few weeks ago.
And now I am having strange dreams that I cannot decode, frustrating me who has never had a problem he could not solve. I glance down once at the book on my lap before flinging it across the room to crack loudly against the wall. The silent tears slip down my cheeks and I cover my face with my hands, once more crying out my fears and loneliness. I sob in a cracking voice.
"Wont anyone ever notice me?"
XXXXX
I'm used to my new home now. Routine is the key. Everything is planned out to the last second, from sun up to sun down, though not by those who think that they're in charge. My room is not uncomfortable, though sparse, and I have grown accustomed to the people I now live with. Sure, I miss my old friends and wonder if they're all doing all right, but I'm confident they'll live. He's late with his visit though. But I shake aside my worries. It'll be a long time before I have the chance of leaving, but I guess that's the price you pay for a dangerous life.
Most days I can keep up the act, even with myself, but in the dark of the night nothing I can do can stop the trembling, the creeping worries that eat at me, the longing to be free. This place is slowly driving me insane, but I lock the part of me that knows that away deep in the back of my mind. No matter what happens to me I have to survive, for the good of everyone waiting for me. No matter what they put me through, I can't break. I slump against the wall and sigh.
"I have to live, even if my life is not worth living."
So, the shift from 2nd to 1st person isn't too jarring I hope. Each paragraph is a new seishi, but I'm not telling who. You have to work each of them out, but as the story continues you should be able to guess. I'm having fun with this one, so the next chapter should be up soon ;)
See ya guys :D