I do not own anything even resembling Inuyasha, his comrades or enemies.
Forsaken
Red eyes. It's always red eyes. They seem so cold that they burn into me with all the chaos and hatred this world can produce. Have they always watched me like that? I can not remember now. The crimson color so enraged and vengeful. They burns my soul. My soul, I seem to forget I have no soul. I can not even be sure if I really exist. Maybe I am just a thing produced in this nightmare, a product of the red eyes. The void is my home, an endless maze of total darkness. Red is the only color I see. The red of the eyes , the red of the blood. I can't remember any other color. Sometimes I wonder which is real, the abyss of black or the the flashes. These flashes never in color, a black and white mirage. A world of Men coming towards me only to stop at the last second out of fear, women screaming in a silent tone covering small children in a last effort to protect. Then the children crying diamonds that fall from saucer eyes. Their eyes so wide they seem to swallow the universe. Until the red seeps in. I soaks everything, a river moving at a sluggish pace. Nothing touched by it ever washes clean. I drown in it every time. The weight of my chains binding me to the bottom. I go under and all I see is the red. I am not a creature worthy of regret, to say I can regret is to say I had some light in me. This thing that I am does not deserve the light. I do not deserve to feel. I feel nothing. Hell is my home and the red eyes the flames. I see later the images of disemboweled men, slaughtered women, and of course the small toys splattered with their owners blood. Is this real? Is this some hellish nightmare reality? If I am, I, what horrors could I have done in my past lives that I should be doomed onto this bleak desert. Why am I allowed to function? What Gods have such spite that they would allow a thing like me to draw breath. The putrid earth that I crawled from should not have expelled a thing such as myself. I should have remained a festering lump in the cold hard ground. The red eyes forced me up and a malicious voice commanded my movements. So loud it drowned out every other sound and even now it commands me, calling me on my weakness and using it to pull my puppet strings. The voice is a violent thunder, but the eyes whisper of much worse. They tell me of failure, weakness, betrayal and doom. I embody these things. The red eyes call me a warrior of their cause because I am these traits. I see the truth in these whispers and I obey. I am the source of suffering and my hell extends to reach even heaven. I am a boil on this existence and yet a dark haired angel came to me, spared me, tried to wipe the red away, even when this divine beings blood caused the color. It is torture. To have someone so pure and strong even see me. It is a despair worse than that of the eyes when she weeps for me, holds me, tries to comfort me. I wish I could end this, push that dark haired angel away. The red taint is to infectious, if it were to saturate her and her comrades, the red eyes would drip with victorious venom and all the world would fall to darkness. Why? Why does that perfect being suffer so much to see a plague like me live? I will not allow it. I will die, or I will force death to face me. My sins are to heavy and my skin in hard from dry cracked blood. I will die and hope the red eyes lose their hold on that angel. That twisted dark haired angel that seems to pity and feel for something as sinister as me.
Forsaken
Red eyes. It's always red eyes. They seem so cold that they burn into me with all the chaos and hatred this world can produce. Have they always watched me like that? I can not remember now. The crimson color so enraged and vengeful. They burns my soul. My soul, I seem to forget I have no soul. I can not even be sure if I really exist. Maybe I am just a thing produced in this nightmare, a product of the red eyes. The void is my home, an endless maze of total darkness. Red is the only color I see. The red of the eyes , the red of the blood. I can't remember any other color. Sometimes I wonder which is real, the abyss of black or the the flashes. These flashes never in color, a black and white mirage. A world of Men coming towards me only to stop at the last second out of fear, women screaming in a silent tone covering small children in a last effort to protect. Then the children crying diamonds that fall from saucer eyes. Their eyes so wide they seem to swallow the universe. Until the red seeps in. I soaks everything, a river moving at a sluggish pace. Nothing touched by it ever washes clean. I drown in it every time. The weight of my chains binding me to the bottom. I go under and all I see is the red. I am not a creature worthy of regret, to say I can regret is to say I had some light in me. This thing that I am does not deserve the light. I do not deserve to feel. I feel nothing. Hell is my home and the red eyes the flames. I see later the images of disemboweled men, slaughtered women, and of course the small toys splattered with their owners blood. Is this real? Is this some hellish nightmare reality? If I am, I, what horrors could I have done in my past lives that I should be doomed onto this bleak desert. Why am I allowed to function? What Gods have such spite that they would allow a thing like me to draw breath. The putrid earth that I crawled from should not have expelled a thing such as myself. I should have remained a festering lump in the cold hard ground. The red eyes forced me up and a malicious voice commanded my movements. So loud it drowned out every other sound and even now it commands me, calling me on my weakness and using it to pull my puppet strings. The voice is a violent thunder, but the eyes whisper of much worse. They tell me of failure, weakness, betrayal and doom. I embody these things. The red eyes call me a warrior of their cause because I am these traits. I see the truth in these whispers and I obey. I am the source of suffering and my hell extends to reach even heaven. I am a boil on this existence and yet a dark haired angel came to me, spared me, tried to wipe the red away, even when this divine beings blood caused the color. It is torture. To have someone so pure and strong even see me. It is a despair worse than that of the eyes when she weeps for me, holds me, tries to comfort me. I wish I could end this, push that dark haired angel away. The red taint is to infectious, if it were to saturate her and her comrades, the red eyes would drip with victorious venom and all the world would fall to darkness. Why? Why does that perfect being suffer so much to see a plague like me live? I will not allow it. I will die, or I will force death to face me. My sins are to heavy and my skin in hard from dry cracked blood. I will die and hope the red eyes lose their hold on that angel. That twisted dark haired angel that seems to pity and feel for something as sinister as me.
