a/n: Okay...those who read my Artemis Fowl story, I decided to discontinue the story, for now. I'm too lazy. Those who know me know that.

Disclaimer: Don't own Inu Yasha—if I did I won't be writing this. This story is about Sesshoumaru's childhood and why he is like this. crier warning Thanks to Rebecca a.k.a Hell's Angel of Death for being my worst critic/editor. Dude, I hate you! Now, to the story...flame all you want! It's nice to know you care! 'Tsk. Ya right' If you don't review you suck!!! Enjoy!

Pains and Cries of a Perfection

Everyone is wearing black. But why? They all go up to a nice, big mahogany box and cry. I heard some say: "Why. Oh, why did it have to be you?" I thought it was odd. I wonder why they're here.

"Sesshoumaru", said a voice. I turned around and saw my mother's trusted handmaiden with her face stained with tears. I watched her confused, begging for her to continue. Though she kept sobbing, "My lord, you father wants to see you." Her eyes were like a fountain. She held out her hand and I took it as she lead my to my father's apartments.

There I saw my father with his head on his hands, making it challenging for me to see his face. Everything in the room is soo quite, sad, and mournful.

"Father..." He looked up at me. I saw he was crying as well, it scared me, "What's wrong?"

His eyes are fixed on me, "Sesshoumaru, your mother's-" he paused for a beat as he felt me stiffen as I heard mother being mentioned. After a few moments of agonizing eye-to-eye contact he continued, "-gone. We lost her." Those last three words were the worst thing he could say. It took a while to sink in, but as soon as it did everything that happened today became clear...the people, the mourning, the crying, the peoples condolences.

It hurts. It hurted soo bad. "No. No, no. NO! It can't be!" I mumbled recovering from the shock. "NOOO!!!" I ran out of the room. No one followed me. I heard my father's fading voice telling the servant to let me be.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I went to the yard where the mourners of my mother's death are. The word stabs daggers into my heart. It just can't be happening—not to my mother. No.

I arrived at my mother's coffin. Elaborate and lined with gold. It was beautiful. But it didn't matter; my mother wouldn't be able to see it anyway. I looked into it. There I saw my mother lying cold and lifeless. Now I have proof, she is gone. Her porcelain face is pale. The sight crushed me. The thought of my mother trapped in a box is simply...disturbing. More tears came. I didn't care at that moment, I felt like I want to disappear off the face of the earth and be buried alongside my mother.

Everything was too much to bear. I ran to the dark forest, the setting seemed to be appropriate in this situation. I retired to the nearest tree, still crying. Soo much happened in one day. No, it was all a dream—a horrible nightmare.

I couldn't fool myself it was all real. I clenched my fist until my claws dug into the flesh in my palms until it drew blood. Why did she leave? She promised she will be with me forever—forever is too damn short! She can't just abandon me, I'm her child. My sorrow and sadness is mixed with anger. I felt my blood boil but tears continued to roll down my cheeks unchecked. She was my mother. Did she have to leave? She deserted us—she deserted me! My head dropped. The daggers in my heart dug further. Sometimes they would be pulled out to ease my pain but are only used to strike once more. It can't be real...but it is.

I managed to cry myself to sleep. I knew I couldn't live through the burial of my mother. My mother trapped in a box buried deep within the soil. The thought of it made me gag. Never!

The next morning I woke up I felt cold. I guess the events from the day before were the possible cause. It was obvious that I have awoken hidden power within me. I had a mask I used to hide all emotions. To me nothing mattered! I decided that caring for anyone—trusting anyone for that matter would just bring you pain. I went through a metamorphosis. My mother's death opened my eyes about the world. I am a cold-blooded killer. As my instincts demanded, I hunted. I felt the blood of my prey running through my claws...how satisfying.

I went home soon after with my new self, my cold mask piercing anyone who dared to look. My father understood, I was practically identical to him.

I was perfecting my swordsmanship and constructing a reputation. A couple of years later, when I was old enough, I was informed that my mother was assassinated by humans for no apparent reason. The news shocked me. I swore to seek revenge for my mother's death. I don't know who killed her but I hated all humans.

As I spreading the word about the killing perfection that was I, I learned more about humans. They hated demons. I hate them. We're even.

Late, my father brought home a new "mate" –my stepmother. Father found better reasons for my hatred to grow. Does it not matter that mother is dead? It's not like he can just replace her with some whore. I hate him—he doesn't understand! Does this bitch seriously think she can replace my mother! Tsk. No one ever could!

When I found out the human mate was carrying a babe, I knew that the babe would soon hate me. Doesn't matter because I hate him back. I'm sure it would spare me the pain of him/her telling me so. Worthless half-breed!

That's why I distrust everyone, because they doubt who you are. Somewhere in there that small speck of doubt has the tendency to turn into hatred. Soon you will find out about it then you will be hurt regretting the day you trusted that person. If that happened to me it will be another painful memory that will have such a huge impact in my cold yet fragile heart.

I'm scared to lose someone I care about and be hurt again. I just can't let that happen. If it does I know I would die. So I won't let it. Never.

The End

So that's it folks...stupid I know. I came out of absolutely nowhere but still plz. R&R. Thankz!!