Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. Plain and simple.

A/N: I'm supposed to be writing my other stories. Obviously, I fail. -.-' But, I didn't spend my time typing this—this is actually an old report from my eighth grade English class in which I have edited to fit the InuYasha fandom. It's been rated "T" because of the suspense and some mentionings of inappropriate things not meant for children's eyes, and the first part shall be in KAGOME 1ST PERSON POV. This is my first two-shot, and I hope you guys will enjoy it! :D

And the Darkness Consumes All

Two-Shot

Part I

The knife slammed down on the counter, cutting the food article my husband said would go to waste if we didn't use it soon. I could hear him whistling through his deep breathing just a few feet away, like cutting food was just as tiring as moving around living room furniture. I tried to imagine him in my mind—the only part of me that could see images and remember what it felt like to have twenty-twenty vision. Inuyasha probably still had the same silver-white hair, I thought, hanging behind his back in that familiar way. His eyes most likely remained golden, with honey interiors, topaz outlines, and amber lines around his pupils. That was the first thing I'd noticed about him—his eyes—the first thing that had caught my attention. When I still had my vision—before The Loss occurred, the morning when I woke up and my vision had turned from mostly blurry to completely blank—I could look into those eyes and never think about anything but how unique they were. There was mystery hidden deep inside those eyes, a personal secret I wanted—needed—to unfold to truly know him. But even after I went blind and we were married, it seemed I could never reach my goal. Inuyasha still remained a brick wall with a heavy metal gate, his eyes the only key through. But I couldn't see any part of him anymore, at the least anything else.

I began stirring some soft, hot, mashed food—the meal we always had on Sunday nights—that was probably in a big pot similar to what Inuyasha pointed out once before The Loss. I could feel the heat floating around in the air, beating against my face rapidly, and stuffing my nose with steam. It was as if the food had somehow turned into a gas and was trying to suffocate me with all its might, using my blindness and its newfound matter against me. The heat burnt my face like a wrestler slapped me while I had the worst sunburn on Earth. It made my nose twitch and my lips moist, but most importantly, the steam caused my hair to grow damp and begin sticking to my face as if I was sweating horribly. Inuyasha says whenever he stirs the food, he experiences what I do, except for his eyeballs also burn alive, even through his eyelids when he shuts his eyes tightly. I suppose that's why I was always assigned to the duty of stirring the food: because Inuyasha suffered more than I did when keeping our heads above the burning pot. Well, that and I shouldn't be using knives to cut food when I can't even see where the cutting board is. I loved my fingers, thank you very much.

I detested my disadvantage—my vision loss—because it somehow always made me feel like Inuyasha was above me; almost as if I should depend on him to be there at every waking moment. To tell the truth, ever since I was diagnosed with blindness in our senior year, it seemed he'd been at my side the entire time, like a dog guiding blind people around town. (Honestly, I would've gotten one of those dogs if I hadn't been allergic. Instead I was cursed with my then boyfriend, current husband, who was ironically half–dog demon, though thankfully didn't stir my allergies.) Before we graduated high school, he had changed all of his classes just so he could help me move around school and assist me constantly. I was a defenseless princess and he was my bodyguard. While he was at work in the office, I walked—actually, he dragged and led me as he jogged—around with him wherever he went, whether it meant a trip to the copying room or to the staff lounge. Every one of his coworkers greeted us as a couple, and some even talked to me as if I were a child when we weren't in a hurry to get things done. After one year of bringing me to his work and losing track of me eleven times, Inuyasha had placed a beeper on me in case he ever lost me. This is what I have to say about that: "Hey, this is Kagome Higurashi. I'm sorry you can't find me, but if you please just press the red button on the device you're holding, you'll find me as soon as possible. Just wait for the beep… Beep." That thing would be the death of me.

Inuyasha was extremely overprotective of me. Every decision he made probably revolved around my safety and wellbeing. He wouldn't let me ride any amusement park attractions, fearful that I might not buckle myself correctly or would fall out of the vehicle by accident. I couldn't take my once daily jogs alone in the woods anymore because he was afraid I'd get lost, hurt, mugged, raped, beaten, eaten, or killed. It seemed I could never be alone without hearing his voice nearby or the annoying beep coming from my jeans' back pocket. It was sad because I could only paint and be inspired when I was alone. But then again, I gave up that dream after one year when I came to the conclusion that artists needed their sight to be successful.

It was because of this overprotective quality that made me freeze once I heard the knife being slid back into its drawer. I heard his footsteps as he crossed the room, past me and towards the garage door. He was most likely shuffling around for his jacket; I could hear the fabrics scraping against one another as he searched for the coat under what must have been a dozen clothing articles. I realized he'd founded it once there was a pause to the scraping but then was continued.

I stopped stirring, leaving the spoon in its position while I walked towards the noise. It was somewhere to the left of the stove—that I could easily distinguish—but I wondered if our house even had a foyer before the garage door. If we did have a foyer, was it in there? As I felt around for my own jacket, I asked, "Where're we going? What about the food?"

"I'm going to the store," he said, point-blank, but I could imagine his eyebrow rising at my questions. "We ran out of flour, milk, and eggs."

"What are we making?" I asked. Besides the stuff in the pot—what was its name?—and what he was cutting up—probably vegetables, if we were following our usual routine—what else did he have in mind? I still was feeling around for my coat, but could only sense the cold, hard drywall surrounding us in every room we entered. And once I found something different than the wall, instead of a soft fleece material, I felt a solid, smooth surface. Where is that coat?

"Cake," Inuyasha answered, as if I should've known all along. "Remember, 'Gome? It's for Rin's sixth birthday party."

I didn't know any of this. For a moment, my mind grew blank as I tried to remember who Rin was. Normally, I could only identify people by their voice, facial features, breathing pattern, or appearance, but ever since The Loss, depending on my eyes was mostly useless. The only senses I could rely on now were touch, smell, hearing, and taste. But it was weird to taste or smell someone, so I mostly depended on the air and atmosphere shifting, feeling people's faces, and memorizing how their lungs worked with both breathing and oral sound such as talking, humming, and singing.

After a short moment of silence, Inuyasha added, "Rin—our niece. The one you said had a small face and cleft chin with model-like lips?" I suddenly recalled the details I would notice and take note of after feeling someone's face. But before I could say anything, my husband added, "You know—my half-brother, half-bastard Sesshoumaru adopted kid and your sister Kikyou's blood daughter?"

Oh. Sesshoumaru and Kikyou. I couldn't believe that I didn't remember Rin was their daughter. Well, had been her daughter. All I could manage to wheeze was "Oh. I see."

He sighed, sounding exhausted from just explaining who Rin was. He also brought the topic of my sister becoming a statistic of breast cancer after Rin had been born. That, and also reminding me that my niece no longer had a mother to take care for her, but only a middle-aged father who'd adopted her. Oh, and how I never was able to actually see my sister for one last time before she died, holding my hand tight, but her grip loosening as her heart stopped beating. Then her hand turned cold, and the life that had returned ever since The Loss disappeared along with her spirit.

Inuyasha must've realized I was in deep thought. Instead of asking for assurance that I was fine, he whispered, "I'll go now, okay?"

I chased away thoughts of Kikyou as his words sunk in. "Aren't I coming along?" Anxiety flowed through my blood at the thought of being alone for the first time in a long time. I was going, too, wasn't I?

"No," he said, sounding baffled by why I would even ask that. "I need someone to stay here and cook dinner. If we both leave, no one will be able to make sure the dumplings don't burn in the pot." Ah, so that was what I stirring. He concluded, "I'll be back in less than one hour."

I heard the door open and close, then the garage door follow. More air had entered the room since Inuyasha left, fiving me an empty feeling that I didn't want to greet so warmly. The car engine started roughly, but softened as he drove away from the house, the garage, our dinner, and—most importantly—me. He'd actually left. I never thought it would happen, but it did. He wasn't there anymore; I had the house to myself.

I'm alone, I thought, completely alone. But this was what I wanted, wasn't it? Hadn't I wished Inuyasha would leave me alone for a while, just so I could have space and time for myself? I'd always wanted him to leave my side at least for a moment so I wouldn't feel like I was being hawkeyed constantly. But now I was wondering if alone time was what I'd really wanted.

I walked back to the stove, feeling around for the pot, wondering how long it would take for Inuyasha to return. I needed to know when Rin's party was. How far away the next time I'd hear her voice was. When I'd be reminded of my older sister Kikyou's face whenever I heard her breathing friend Sesshoumaru's voice and her energetic daughter Rin's laugh—

Suddenly, a pain entered my hand through my skin, boiling my blood and stinging each of my nerves. It was as if I were just stabbed by a fire torch, one with a sharp, molten knife on the end. I pulled away from what must've been the pot and felt my hand before wincing from the pain and cursing from self-blame. I breathed on my hand once, as if air could cure its burn, but ended up grimacing again from my injury's tenderness. Inuyasha had told me repeatedly in the past how I should be careful not to burn myself. Apparently, I hadn't listened all that well.

I turned away from the stove and felt around for the sink, making sure to keep my burnt hand at my side to avoid further contact with other objects. I felt things hard, cold, soft, and rigid until something pokey rubbed against my palm. It hurt even worse than the burn—I must've touched the knife Inuyasha had been using early. After cursing again, I shoved my burnt hand on the counter—feeling intense frustration as the stinging grew worse—until I felt a cloth material against metal. I grabbed it and plunged it down the metal until I felt something wet. Water—either clean or dirty, I'm not sure—soaked into the cloth, and I wiped my opposite hand first in case blood had leaked from my wounds. There must have been, because something thicker than and just as wet as water slid down my hand and onto my wrist. After cleaning up my bloody hand, I placed the washcloth on my burnt one, letting it make the pain worse at first, but then begin to soothe it slowly. There you go, I thought. Now you just have to make the bleeding stop before—

An unexpected creaking noise came from behind me; it was the sound of a door opening softly, almost sneakily. Inuyasha gets home, I finished, my muscles tensing, wondering if he'd come back early. But I'd doubted it, because Inuyasha didn't open doors silently, and I knew that he would've greeted me instantly with a complaint about one of the grocery store workers being an idiot. Since I couldn't see anything, I didn't turn around to check if anyone was there; it would just be a waste of my time and make me believe that something or someone was truly there. Instead of showing concern and scaring myself, I remembered that the house had been built in the eighties, was old anyways, and probably creaked on its own. Just relax, I assured myself. The odds of you being attacked are—

A feminine, high voice mumbled afar, cutting off my thoughts and officially draining all of the energy out of me. I stiffened, my muscles becoming useless and my breathing difficult, because I recognized the voice. It wasn't a real person, but a fictional character from my favorite television program I recorded on DVR.

The thing that made my stomach churn was that Inuyasha and I hadn't turned on the television all day.

High! I wanted to scream. The odds you being attacked are high, 'Gome! Run, Kagome! Scream with all of your might! Kags, get out of there before you're hurt! Find a way out, Kagome! Even with my own terrified warnings, my body remained still. I couldn't breathe or think on my own. I couldn't get a brain wave to travel to my muscles, demanding that they move even more quickly than I had at my high school track and swim meets. Someone is in the house, my brain kept telling me. I could sense the urgency in my thoughts, the fright of something horrible happening. Get out now, while you still can! My muscles… They're useless. You're useless! Move it!

I hadn't sensed the air shift, but I could feel an unfamiliar breathing pattern in the room. Then it came closer to me. It kept getting nearer until it was right. On. My neck.

I wanted to scream, to run to the phone, to find the buttons needed to dial nine-one-one. I'd done it before; all I had to do was find the lower right hand button above the last, then the first button out of them all. But I couldn't. I didn't feel like I could do anything at all. It seemed I was frozen in time and space—my vision gone by my own circumstances—with a mysterious, unknown stranger who had invaded my home.

A/N: I'm sorry for the cliffhanger—this was supposed to be all about suspense and whatnot. My teacher said I did pretty well, and now I'm wondering what you think! :)