By Yasha-hime
You can't
make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
Actually,
an omelet sounds really tasty right about now.
One with bacon, green peppers, onions, a little bit of Worcestershire
sauce, and a double hit of hot pepper cheese, fried up over a mesquite fire...
But I
digress.
You can't
make an omelet without breaking a few eggs; likewise, you can't rebuild a world
without a few deaths. It's regrettable,
certainly! But any half-way decent
doctor will tell you a cancer needs to be removed and killed, and sometimes you
may even have to sacrifice some healthy flesh along with it to truly exorcise
the cancer.
I wish
people would understand that about me.
It's not that I like killing.
There's a vast difference between liking to kill and being able to
kill. I can kill whenever I find it
necessary, without agonizing over it.
That's not to say I feel no remorse for it--far from it, in fact. For each and every life I have taken, each
and every life I have caused another to take, I hold a prayer in my heart. I remember them all--and in the course of a
thousand years of living, I've found many good reasons to kill.
An omelet
is not a good enough reason to kill.
Not even if it's the last one to come out of the pan. But right now I could cheerfully at least
threaten death for an omelet.
I believe I
should get something to eat. Maybe then
I can stop thinking about omelets. It's
just a terrible shame there's no one on this benighted island who'd be willing
to offer me a few slices of hot pepper cheese and some eggs. If indeed anyone on this island has any hot
pepper cheese. Eggs I'm sure I could
find.
I hope this
sudden craving for an omelet doesn't mean my spirit is hungry. It's always distasteful to feed it. Killing is one thing, but eating souls is
rather chilling. Still, if the Spirit
of Fire is hungry, I'll have to find someone for it to eat. I'd certainly rather not be the meal
myself. At least I can keep the Spirit
under control; it would be truly regrettable to have all the world's best
shamans crisped like ants under a magnifying glass.
Then the
world would be doomed to drown in its own wastes, with no spiritual 'doctor' to
excise the cancer. A grotesque image at
best, isn't it? I and mine are the only
ones who seem to be able to see that the pain of killing off the cancer now
will be nothing compared to the pain of letting it continue. This is a time of drastic action.
Why can't
Yoh understand that? I wonder about
that with nearly every waking moment.
Why can't he see that only the shamans are fit to survive? He's so much like me--he knows the pain of
being outcast simply for being superior, he knows what it's like to be alone
all the time. I've never understood why
he thinks pretending to be inferior helps.
One's superiority always shines through.
If he were
anyone else, I'd simply kill him and be done with it already. But I could never kill Yoh. Yoh is my heart.
Well, that
sounds melodramatic, doesn't it? But in
a peculiar sense, it's true. Oh, don't
get me wrong, I'm not hot for his body or anything like that. It's not romantic or sexual or
anything. Though I wouldn't mind
getting a little closer to that icy blond of his.
Actually,
Yoh has been my heart since before I was born...this time. I know a person isn't supposed to remember
the womb, but I always have. Well,
maybe not the first time around. Okay, so
maybe only this one time. I remember
being in the womb with Yoh, listening to our mother's heartbeat.
More
importantly, I remember listening to Yoh's heartbeat. Back then we were always together. Literally and spiritually.
Yoh's very presence healed some of the scars on my soul. Yoh always understood me and always loved
me.
Unfortunately,
then we were born, and I've spent almost ever since desperately wishing for
that closeness again. And now that I've
found my heart again, he rejects me at every turn. All I can do is keep trying; one day I'm sure he'll understand me
again.
I wonder if
Yoh has any hot pepper cheese...?
Owari
Author's Notes:
Never try to write a fic when you're hungry. ¬.¬ I wanted a nice, lonely, angsty darkfic. Hao wanted an omelet.
Well, I didn't get my angst, and Hao didn't get his omelet. I guess we're even. Except now I'm going to have to cook Hao an omelet.
Who ruins perfectly good eggs with Worcestershire sauce, anyway!? - Y.