'Perfection.
What is perfection? Is it the Gods? The Heavens themselves? Or, is it closer to me than I know? Could it be, possibly...'
She shook her head. No, now she was laying blame. And she hated laying blame. She sighed.
"O, perfection, perfection, what art thou?" She glanced again at the sky. Then sighed again.
It was useless.
The sliver of moon wavered in the inky sky as a gray cloud passed overhead.
She lay her head back against the cool bark, and felt the light autumn wind flow gently through her hair, carressing her cheeks, making them blush with warmth. Really, she wanted so much to do well, to be better than the weak human that she was in comparison to the others in her group.
The weak, frail, whiny human.
Her head hung. She shouldn't blame the others. This was her problem, something she alone had to shoulder.
But she couldn't stop her guilt, her hunger for pain, her need to be what she wasn't.
Her hunger for pain. Pain was what brought the memories back, but it was also what took them away. New pain would flood past the old pain, and cover it, and hide it, and seal it.
Pain was what she lived off, what she sought, what she knew. Coming to the feudal ages was the best thing that had ever happened to her; she'd never let anyone take it from her, this happiness she didn't deserve.
A fat, clear tear rolled down her cheek to rest on her chin. Another. Then another. A sob. And another. A cry.
"Mother..."
She lay on her side, now, rolled up into a tiny ball. It was her fault. If only she'd been there. If only she'd told her mother how much she'd loved her, so tenderly, so dearly.
But Mother had just had to say it. Perfect. "My perfect daughter," her mother had said. Perfect.
Sobs.
Father had called her perfect.
Tears.
His perfect doll.
Shudders.
And he'd touched her, hurt her, loved her.
Sobs.
And he'd pushed her too far.
Tears.
Too far. He'd pushed her too far.
Shudders.
Too far for her young mind to take. Too far for her young body to take.
Sobs. Tears. Shudders.
Then they'd seen a scary movie. A movie about a kid who'd killed his parents. Killed because they'd hurt him. Father had laughed at it.
"Kagome-chan, you won't go and pull that on your dear father, will you?"
"No."
No.
Yes.
And she did. And she'd killed him. Perfect. Before she'd made her move, he'd called her Perfect again. He'd called her his Perfect doll, his Perfect daughter. He'd called her Perfect as he'd stroked her bare back.
Up.
Down.
Up again. Down again.
And then she killed him.
She hated that word.
It was what made her act "so unlike the good daughter that Kagome was," as an interviewed neighbor put it. They'd done everything they'd could for her, and she'd acted as if she had recovered. Then her remaining family moved into her Grandfather's shrine, and they began anew.
She wasn't Perfect. Her marks were good, but not Perfect. She fell through the Well, and no one said she was Perfect. Just a poor, innocent young lady. Then with InuYasha, she met Shippou, Miroku, Sango.
But most of all, Kikyou.
She liked Kikyou. Really, she did. She had nothing against her; everything she felt anger or jealousy towards was the relationship that Kikyou and InuYasha had a lifetime ago. But she didn't blame Kikyou. It just hurt to see the one you love love another that looked so much like yourself. In fact, she wanted to befriend Kikyou, get to know her. And she would've, too, if it wouldn't have made things so awkward between everyone. So she'd kept silent. Kept low. Boiled with jealousy. But never hated, never grudged.
But when tonight, she couldn't stop her heartaches, and so had confronted her mother. She wanted to tell her mother about her pain, so that maybe, it would be easier to bear.
And it did become easier, for a while. A moment.
And then her mother had said it.
"My Perfect daughter."
Her mother had held her then. Happy that she'd raised such a wonderful daughter, a daughter who was caring and affectionate towards others, even at her own expense.
The word froze her blood, made her hands shake.
Visions of his hands on her body and memories of his voice flashed.
Perfect.
Perfect doll.
Perfect.
The word had to leave, had to never touch her again. She had to cleanse herself of it, and so she'd killed her mother too.
But it wasn't her mother's fault. It was her fault. All her fault.
Sobs.
Perfection.
Per-
Tears. Tears for the father that loved her the wrong way, for the life of the mother she'd never again laugh with.
fe-
Shudders. Shudders at the memories, of the fear that if someone else said that forsaken word, she'd have to clean herself again, and the person who said it.
ct.
SobsTearsShuddersSobsTearsShudders
Would it ever stop?
When will my world be... Perfect?
Ok A bit of a change of view of Kagome's character. You could say it's out of character, but I just thought, what if the characters are TRULY not we think them to be? And, like usual, I just had to write something up to post so that reviewers could show me their insight on the different situations I give them.
That's how I am. Odd, really. I come up with the most odd proposals in order to see people's reactions and opinions. All the different views of things truly fascinate me, and I can see it now; I won't ebe updating the other fics for a long time, but one-shots will be popping up all over the place. sigh. I'm so dead... ---- referring to all the reviwers of the other fics who are going to kill her for saying that. (and going along with it)