Note: This chapter is the emotional one. It's a flashback into Miroku's past. Kind of to set
up for the rest of the story. Have fun and read on....
Twilight had befallen the group and hours had passed since the sun's reassuring face had
shined on them. Fast asleep, everybody welcomed the safety and rest the night provided. Miroku,
though, found it hard to force sleep upon himself when he could not stop thinking of one person.
Lately, he'd been having a reoccurring dream. Not a nightmare, but disturbing nonetheless.
It was a blessing that he could dream about his mother every time he closed his eyes, but it made
him think. Had he truly gotten over her? Losing his second parent had been one of the hardest things
he'd ever endured.....life's a trial.....
Tilting his gaze toward the stars, Miroku recalled the dream in his mind:
Robe pulled up to his knees, eight year old Miroku waded into the chilling river that ran
adjacent to his family's shrine. The curious monk's son eagerly searched the water for anything with
legs or fins. Cherry blossoms glided like a dancing ballerina down to the rushing river. Just as
Miroku slipped and landed butt first in the water, he heard his mother, Lady Sakura of the Shrine,
calling him.
At this point in the dream, the quiet spring scene melted in a rushing whirlpool and Miroku
would find himself in a dark abyss of emptiness. As he flung his limbs in desperation, he realized
that he could find nothing to hold on to for comfort. Slowly the air around began to thicken and
enclose around his arms and face. Opening his eyes, Miroku found his head buried in his mother's
lap. Looking up, he saw her reassuring face.
Lady Sakura was a beauty, an elegance, the embodiment of a flower. Soft petal cheeks tinted
with pink as if a rose had kissed her face. Sakura's sapphire eyes twinkled and her ruby lips curved
into a smile as she cooed, "Miroku, I love you."
Speechless at his mother's simple love, the child Miroku found himself unable to return the
message, a real life mistake he still regretted.
The Lady's face faded into the sky as Miroku came to the end of his dream.
Lady Sakura had died of a malevolent disease shortly after her husband had disappeared into
his own black hole. Ever since Miroku had been born, her body was weak and unable to exert itself
with the same strength she had in her youth. The monk remembered hearing his father say that when
Lady Sakura was in labor, her body was at a moment of weakness. This allowed an evil spirit to
enter her body. She spent the rest her life fighting an internal war with the spirit, which caused her
body to be sick and fatigued. After ten years, she lost.
Miroku sadly remembered his mother's gravesite. In the spring, he would lay cherry
blossoms at the mound. Lady Sakura had always worn them in her hair.
Thinking of these fond and tragic memories brought to his mind the thought of a new young
lady in his life: Sango. Her form was that of a perfect goddess, a divine black-haired beauty. Every
time he was around Sango, he could sense the warm essence of her soul, her sweet yet tough
attitude. Miroku could dwell in this heaven of her's for an immortal life.
"What a lady," Miroku whispered to the galaxies above. With a new more pleasant thought
in his mind, the monk shut his eyes and slept soundly for the remainder of the night.
up for the rest of the story. Have fun and read on....
Twilight had befallen the group and hours had passed since the sun's reassuring face had
shined on them. Fast asleep, everybody welcomed the safety and rest the night provided. Miroku,
though, found it hard to force sleep upon himself when he could not stop thinking of one person.
Lately, he'd been having a reoccurring dream. Not a nightmare, but disturbing nonetheless.
It was a blessing that he could dream about his mother every time he closed his eyes, but it made
him think. Had he truly gotten over her? Losing his second parent had been one of the hardest things
he'd ever endured.....life's a trial.....
Tilting his gaze toward the stars, Miroku recalled the dream in his mind:
Robe pulled up to his knees, eight year old Miroku waded into the chilling river that ran
adjacent to his family's shrine. The curious monk's son eagerly searched the water for anything with
legs or fins. Cherry blossoms glided like a dancing ballerina down to the rushing river. Just as
Miroku slipped and landed butt first in the water, he heard his mother, Lady Sakura of the Shrine,
calling him.
At this point in the dream, the quiet spring scene melted in a rushing whirlpool and Miroku
would find himself in a dark abyss of emptiness. As he flung his limbs in desperation, he realized
that he could find nothing to hold on to for comfort. Slowly the air around began to thicken and
enclose around his arms and face. Opening his eyes, Miroku found his head buried in his mother's
lap. Looking up, he saw her reassuring face.
Lady Sakura was a beauty, an elegance, the embodiment of a flower. Soft petal cheeks tinted
with pink as if a rose had kissed her face. Sakura's sapphire eyes twinkled and her ruby lips curved
into a smile as she cooed, "Miroku, I love you."
Speechless at his mother's simple love, the child Miroku found himself unable to return the
message, a real life mistake he still regretted.
The Lady's face faded into the sky as Miroku came to the end of his dream.
Lady Sakura had died of a malevolent disease shortly after her husband had disappeared into
his own black hole. Ever since Miroku had been born, her body was weak and unable to exert itself
with the same strength she had in her youth. The monk remembered hearing his father say that when
Lady Sakura was in labor, her body was at a moment of weakness. This allowed an evil spirit to
enter her body. She spent the rest her life fighting an internal war with the spirit, which caused her
body to be sick and fatigued. After ten years, she lost.
Miroku sadly remembered his mother's gravesite. In the spring, he would lay cherry
blossoms at the mound. Lady Sakura had always worn them in her hair.
Thinking of these fond and tragic memories brought to his mind the thought of a new young
lady in his life: Sango. Her form was that of a perfect goddess, a divine black-haired beauty. Every
time he was around Sango, he could sense the warm essence of her soul, her sweet yet tough
attitude. Miroku could dwell in this heaven of her's for an immortal life.
"What a lady," Miroku whispered to the galaxies above. With a new more pleasant thought
in his mind, the monk shut his eyes and slept soundly for the remainder of the night.