Title:
All Those Kinds of Hate
Type:
Fanfiction, drabble
Fandom:
InuYasha (by Rumiko Takahashi)
Genre:
General (I guess…)
Word Count
(story): 250
Warnings:
Character death (sort of). And if
you're one for the overly happy stuff this ain't for you. Ain't
very bad
though... just sad. And a little cute (at least it's supposed to
be).
Summary:
"He hated many things. Even though he seemed cool and indifferent
to everyone on the outside, on the inside he truly hated them all."
A small look into the mind of Sesshoumaru and his feelings towards
various things, people, and Rin.
Authors
Note: I have had this account for
a long time (Six months maybe?) already, and I haven't been able to
make myself upload any of my stuff yet. So this short drabble is my
debut. Please be nice. Please review and tell if you like/don't
like it and if you have any idea(s) to make it better. Also I'd be
very happy if anyone could help with grammar/spelling errors, it
doesn't seem to matter how many times I re-write or correct my
stories, there's always things I don't notice. Anyways… enough
chattering on my part, ne? Here goes nothing then. Enjoy.
All Those Kinds of Hate
He hated many things. Even though he seemed cool and indifferent to everyone on the outside, on the inside he truly hated them all.
He hated humans.
They were frail.
Weak. Things not worth his time. It was a trite hate.
He
hated his brother.
He was a disgrace. A bastard child roaming the
lands, keeping constant rumours of the disgrace, once obtained by
their father, alive. It was, he felt, an entitled hate.
He
hated his father.
He had abandoned his lands for one single human
woman. It had cost him his life and it had cost their family the
Western Lands. But he was dead. It was a pointless hate.
He
hated himself.
He had fallen to the same disease as his father, as
his bastard brother. He had taken care of, cared
for, a human girl. He was weak, but
this hate was strong as ever.
He hated mortality.
It was
that one cause of death that could not be undone by any means he
controlled. One he would never be able to defeat. It was such a very
painful kind of hate.
He hated his daughter.
This small
human girl who'd found him and had managed to place her small
grubby hands on his heart. This girl who'd refused to let go. Who'd
held on for so many years that these recent days without her had made
him feel lonely.
But it was a helplessly weak
hate. He could never keep it up for very long.