Author's Note:OK, so I did promise a really long time ago that I would do a story about Sango and Miroku so here it is! It takes place in modern times and follows the story of a young Miroku whose not the best influence on anyone. It's not done yet because that's just my trademark ^-^. So here it is, ENJOY YO!


White Bleeds Red

Ch.1

He felt as light as the cold December air that was blowing over him. His face was numb and cold and his fingers were almost non existent to him. Staring straight up, he could see nothing but the swirling white snowflakes that were rapidly burying him as he lie there. No matter how hard he tried he could not, for the life of him, remember how he had gotten here. All he could remember was being at another party, smoking another joint, and drinking another beer and then… then there was snow and an unbelievable pain in his back. Just then a convulsion ripped through him as the hypothermia he had began to ice over his insides. It felt as if his body was being torn apart, and as the pain washed over him, a memory flashed before his eyes. It was actually more of a sound than anything. He saw black before his eyes as he heard something cutting through the cold air,and then he was on the ground. As the spasm stopped he realized he had been hurt, badly; and left there to die.

"To die," he thought as more and more snow began to fall on his face. It felt as if it was slowly suffocating him.

"It can't end like this, it just can't," he thought as he finally grasped the true severity of the situation. "I've wasted my life on nothing that wound up killing me…" he thought, realizing that it was a bit too late for such an epiphany. The thought was frantically swept aside as he began to panic, trying desperately to move. It was either the skull splitting pain in his spine or the mind numbing cold (or maybe a combination of both) that prevented him from even lifting a finger. All he could do was lie there and let tears that felt like glass fall from his eyes. The tears that fell froze on his cheeks, leaving small, salty diamonds on his frosted face.

"Not like this, please, not like this," he begged as his eyelids began to get heavy and the world began to fade. The last thing he saw before the world finally flickered out of existence was someone peering into his face, and then he had the sensation of being lifted. It was but a black nothing after that.


"Am I dead?" he thought as he finally came too. As he opened his deep magenta eyes, he reflexively squeezed them shut again against a blinding white light. As he lay there, he realized he could feel his face, but he still could not feel or move anything below his neck.

"I must be dead," he thought as he tried to listen to the things around him, but all he could hear was a static like silence. He began to relax and he soon realized he could actually hear a steady beeping sound and hear voices around him. He could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying though and what he heard made no sense to him: "…paralyzed …comatose …lucky not …be dead… two minutes… would have died… she saved… life…"

The voices began to grow fainter until they were completely gone and there was only the steady beeping and the sound of the machine that was apparently breathing for him. He figured this out as he listened to the voices and realized there was something shoved down his throat. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

"They can't be talking about me. I mean I'm not in a coma or paralyzed!" he thought frantically. Just to make sure though, he opened his eyes and looked around. He saw he was in a hospital room that only he occupied and what was even more depressing was to see nothing but a plain off-white colored room. No feeling. No color. No life. Leave it to a hospital to make you feel worse than you already did.

"I must be in hell," he thought as he closed his eyes and gathered himself enough to open them again. He saw that he was also hooked up to some machines and an I.V. or two. He also couldn't move his neck so he could see what he looked like, but he did see a tube that looked like it was coming from his stomach.

"Shit, I am paralyzed," he thought as he closed his eyes and tried to wrap his mind around life in a wheelchair.

"If I even make it outta here," and once again, the thought of death gripped his thoughts. He tried not to think about being in the hospital, about possibly being on his death bed, about the night this all happened; he tried to just not think at all. So he slept, but even his dreams brought him no peace. He kept remembering bits and pieces of that night every time he drifted off to sleep. He remembered praying to an invisible force to spare him and of the person who saved him. He still couldn't capture the face, but he remembered her smell.

Her; he was saved by a girl, but whom? He tried harder to remember more about her. He saw nothing but beautiful green eyes hovering over him and her smell. It was her smell that haunted him. He knew that smell, and knew it well, that much he was sure of. It was a sweet smell, like kiwi with a hint of coco.

"God damn it!" he cursed to himself, for no matter how much he racked his brain, he just couldn't place that damned smell. Soon enough though, the indistinguishable voices came back and he suddenly felt warm all over, and then he was floating.