Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this journey... especially for the one who understands that beggars can't be choosers. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.
Chapter 2: Final Indignity
I failed. Nausea washed over Miroku, and he gagged and coughed, spattering the ground with even more blood. Roaring filled his ears, and as it drowned out all other noise, he felt as if it was cutting him off from the world. I know this sound. The sucking hollowness tugged at him from within, mercilessly dragging him towards the void. This is death.
Even breathing hurt now, but he wasn't ready to stop fighting for his next lungful of air. At the very least, he wanted to say goodbye, but options were scarce. Violet eyes drifted towards Rin's stoic protector. His friends may have been ignorant of his predicament, but his final struggle wasn't wholly unobserved. Sesshoumaru-sama. Unsure if the taiyoukai would even acknowledge his summons, Miroku released his ineffectual grasp on his wound and beckoned weakly with a gory hand. Please. I cannot make it to you.
He could have wept in relief when Sesshoumaru said something to his young ward, then slowly strode forward. I would have preferred a friendly face, but it seems I must settle for a familiar one. Miroku desperately wanted company before death forced him onto the lonely journey into the next life.
Sesshoumaru stopped directly in front of him, and Miroku raised his dimming gaze to that of Inuyasha's half brother. Yellow is an unsettling shade for eyes, he through randomly. Predatory. Pitiless. He cursed himself for being ungrateful, but he didn't really want the last thing he'd see in this life to be the expressionless face of a demon who couldn't care less. At least Sesshoumaru-sama has deigned to bear witness to my demise. Tears welled unbidden in his eyes. It is better than being alone.
Miroku's legs trembled, then gave out, and he sagged to his knees. Letting his staff fall, he reached out like a small boy to pluck at Sesshoumaru's trailing sleeve. It hurts. In his last lucid moments, the monk realized that he'd liberally spattered the taiyoukai's pristine hakama with blood, an indignity he would have doubtlessly paid for with his life if he hadn't already been on the brink of death. An amusing thought. He tried to wipe the stain away, but his half-hearted dabbing only made matters worse. What a mess. The ghost of a smile lightened his expression as he sought Sesshoumaru's gaze one more time. With his very last breath, he whispered, "My apologies."
End Note: This installment was written for the Live Journal community iy no kakera, where I hold a claim on Sesshoumaru & Miroku. I'm slowly working my way through two different prompt tables. This particular chapter owes some of its inspiration to Set #2, Theme #97, Dying. 400 words. Posted on June 18, 2010.