Gah! Sorry for the long wait! I had some issues and some fun little not wanting to write ideas. BLAH. But here it is. I hope all is well with you all.

Read and enjoy,

--MC

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Don't Look Back in Anger

Slip inside the eye of your mind
Don't you know you might find
A better place to play
You said that you'd once never been
All the things that you've seen
Will slowly fade away

So I'll start the revolution from my bed
Cos you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside the summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

So Sally can wait, she knows its too late as we're walking on by
Her soul slides away, but don't look back in anger I hear you say

Take me to the place where you go
Where nobody knows if it's night or day
Please don't put your life in the hands
Of a Rock n Roll band
Who'll throw it all away

So I'll start the revolution from my bed
Cos you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside the summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

So Sally can wait, she knows its too late as we're walking on by
Her soul slides away, but don't look back in anger I hear you say

Don't look back in anger
Don't look back in anger
Don't look back in anger
At least not today

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My mother used to tell me when I was little that my father died protecting her and me from a powerful demon. When I discovered it was a lie, I couldn't forgive her and I left her company and her comfort forever. However, now I guess I realize that it wasn't too far off, since in destroying himself far away from our house, he did manage to save us from him. And Naraku was a powerful demon who directly gave him the curse, so I guess it could all be construed as my mother telling me the truth. Or not.

My childhood was an idealistic time, I guess you could say. Extraordinarily sweet and innocent to balance out the harsh times to come. Sometimes the memory of my youth is the only thing that kept me going, wandering through the hills and valleys of my homeland alone, dealing with the demons inside myself who sometimes seemed more powerful than the ones I actually fought with my houriko and my kazaana. It wasn't hard to pass through territories without encountering a demon at all, but somehow the kazaana given to me by Naraku attracted a fair bit of notice from notably bad, good or indifferent youkai. It wasn't that they knew, exactly, but it was if the aura of Naraku that constantly clung to my body was like a marker, or a tag, as if knowing that I had once dealt with him I could perhaps be a worthy opponent. Monks, on the most part, were left alone by mostly all species, the ceremonial garb giving a begrudging respect, human, demon or otherwise. Now, not to say that there wasn't the stray crazy individual that was desperate for money or for goods or anything that would stoop to attack a monk—but I suppose desperation could lead you to do almost anything.

Traveling with the group always had always left some sort of bitter taste in the back of my throat, as if I hadn't drank anything for a while and my mouth had become parched and swollen with the recesses of my own dry spittle. It wasn't that I detested company, I mean, as a human I desperately craved the contact that only other humans could provide, but I had gone too long without any kind of company—steady company, that is, that it left me feeling uncomfortable, awkward, unable to show people who I really was, because being alone so long, I had lost myself along the way. Perhaps it was when the skyline kissed the hills to the east or was it where the river met the forest in the south or where the demanding darkness of the overgrown wilderness covered me in the north, or was it the sparse, open west that made me lose myself there. When I looked at all my surroundings, I found myself dropping back from the group, so moved past the point of words to even describe the memories that assaulted me. Sango had lived in a village, full of family and close friends all her life. Inuyasha had been pinned to a tree where before he had lived a life of luxury, albeit ridicule in the home of the Western Lord. Shippou had his parents and Kagome had her future. Yet I had so little to grasp, it felt almost wrong of me to feel an affinity towards the trees, the grasses, the land—instead of with human contact. When I meditated, I had to go out and find a spot where nature lent itself to the four elements—water, wind, earth and fire—a place where these four elements could come together in a blessed union.

Those moments are where I felt the idyllic peacefulness of my childhood returning, where I could see my mother's face smiling at me as she prepared the day's rice, laughing at my precocious antics of always managing to find myself in some sort of trouble. My father was rarely home as it was, he had taken to the bottle as his answer to his solutions long before the thought of defeating Naraku ever did. So many men of my past had been ruined by the effect of the bottle, leaving it as an obvious conclusion to the loneliness all the years I had spent wandering. Even Kushino, the medicine Buddhist I had spent some time with in my much younger years, had died of the effects of alcohol on his liver. No amount of praying could have helped him then, but that was just the pessimistic side of me coming out—the ruin to any real intentions of becoming a monk.

My mother, on the other hand, was completely dedicated to me. Even after my father's death, she stayed loyal to our familial bond, never allowing me to hate my father for his disappearance or get into too much trouble with the local girls. And I adored her, as any child would adore her—her long, silky neck, the way her skin smelled when she hugged me and the special treats she would give me right before I went to bed every night. She laughed in this loud, clear way, never allowing the person who she was laughing with to think—even for a minute—that what they were saying wasn't about the funniest damn thing she had ever heard in her entire life. I loved that about her, our house was never without laughter at least most part of the day and it seemed perpetually sunny, as if my mother had deemed it so with her happiness. She didn't have a name to me then. She was simply "mother," nothing more, nothing less. I didn't know who she really was, and when I left that day, I'm guessing she didn't really know either. It wasn't either of our faults, it was simply what the relationship was—I loved her because she was my mother and she took care of me—she took care of me because I was her child and she loved me. But loving someone doesn't necessarily entail that you know them, and that was just about the hardest thing for me to learn as I wondered the grassy moors that I traveled, to either escape from my past or run to it. When I die, I know it will come down to that high, clear laugh and that long silky smooth neck that smelled of sweet rice and ripe, wet bamboo shoots. I'd like to think that my father died that way, sometimes, and it comforts me a little that at least in my death, I won't be entirely alone. Not this time.

Thinking about my mother brought the usual batch of nostalgia back in full force. So I shed a tear because I felt the emotion necessary in the situation at hand and quickly wiped it away and moved on with my life. Thus it is with memories, I suppose.

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Ever since I discovered that I did indeed not realize what I realized about Kagome, I had drawn within myself, feeling too much when she would come to my side and comfort me. Little touches I cherished, her small hand as it caressed my shoulder. Her arm as it gently brushed mine as we walked. Her hair as she turned to make the ramen. I would stay up later than my body should allow doing her watch with her, discussing with her, talking with her. Days, weeks, maybe months passed like this, my body aching to kiss her again, my heart dying for release. Reality was hardly a factor anymore. I didn't have to sit there and believe that I was really caught up in thinking about anything else. My heart had chosen her and I couldn't really move on. Now that I believed she could be the one person that could save me from dying by making me live, I would not be swayed. I couldn't be. Not when I had a least some inkling of a chance to win her.

My feelings for Inuyasha had become terribly, annoying. I wondered why the focus was perpetually on him, being guided from place to place by his desires, his own relentless selfish wish to become a full demon. He was an extraordinary creature and I was a mere man. If Kagome was telling the truth, saying that in her time youkai did not rule the earth as they once did, then Inuyasha would undoubtedly been the most important thing to her on the trip to the past. What is our fascination with the extraordinary? What about the ordinary? I'm ordinary. I'm hardly an extraordinary person, especially since I am branded as a monk, something less then an exciting hanyou bent on transformation. He had so many issues and had so much angst it made me want to relieve myself of my dinner.

However, this relief was often brought about in the form of battle. I yearned for battle now, eyes almost practically bleeding red when Kagome would shout that there was a shard in her the vicinity.

"Shard, Inuyasha!" She would call. Cue the annoyingly large and disgusting creature that we would inevitably take down because hello, we are the stars of the show. Anyway, they would proceed to drip spittle from their teeth as they grunted at Kagome's necklace of shards, exchange some rather vulgar pleasantries with our resident hanyou and then start fighting with anything that resembled a thing that could move. And sometimes it didn't even go that far. I swear on Buddha that I have seen enough drooling freakish barbarian youkai attack too many an innocent tree to make me want to crusade for their protection. Kagome had told me that in the future everyone was worried about the environment and trees and stuff, so I figure why would it be presumptuous to start early? Well, I was always a little precocious. I might have said that before, but life is bound for repeats. I still managed to grope Sango even though I knew the repercussions included severe head injury and swirly eyes.

Anyways, Inuyasha would usually retort with the ever genius:

"I shall kill you with my gigantic sword! Be of awe!!!!!" And then proceed to make an arse out of himself until I lent him some of my houriki while I staffed the minor youkai to death (sometimes even passed death…even Buddha doesn't have no respect for the life of a species that's main claim to fame is a stoic pretty boy who wears eye make-up). I would have a couple good lines (yes, innuendos intended) such as:

"Taste the wrath of my staff!"

Or

"Beware the large-staffed monk!"

Or my personal favorite:

"Corrupt me not, youkai scum!" I think I really liked the idea of cursing something without being castrated by Sango for a dirty mouth since anything really went while fighting. I could always just blame it on the being in the heat of battle as well. But nonetheless, battle had definitely allowed me to work off most of my…frustrations. I think its safe to say that youkai kind was lucky that I did not discover this alternative before I joined the shard group or Naraku might be dead right now. That was really just all talk, but I like thinking it about myself anyway. Helps me get to sleep at night.

Sleep, as we were speaking of it, wasn't really giving me the time of night anymore, really. I would toss and turn and disturb everyone with my random mumblings to myself about concentrating on my focal meditation point. But somehow my mind would always drift off to Kagome and well, not even a cold spring could douse my fervor enough for me to sleep. So, senses ablaze, I went to sleep every night with the stench of lust clinging to my robes. Even Inuyasha had stopped complaining.

So it would be inevitable that one of the worst conversations of my life happened to be on a night such as this. A night that would haunt my memories even after I had thought I had attained all possible happiness. She had known, of course. For a while. But it had taken her all this time to confront me about it, in her own delicate way.

"Houshi!" Sango whispered fiercely as I tossed for the third time in a minute, grumbling to myself, completely disgruntled. I ignored her, not in the mood for idle chit-chat or a verbal frenzy of insults. "Houshi!" She whispered again from the campfire, and I couldn't help but lift my head. With her insistent wave I pulled myself out of bed and sat next to the log she inhabited, trying to calm myself to some normal state of consciousness.

"What do you need, Sango?" I asked impertinently, annoyed. She blushed. Go figure.

"Why…" She paused. Out with it woman, I thought, resisting the urge to rub my temple. "Why…have you not been sleeping?" She looked at me and my annoyance cleared a little. She was my friend kind of sort of. Well, we fought together, we didn't really know each other, but we fought together. And in Sango's book, that was probably one of the most intimate things you could do for someone. So I smiled slightly for her.

"A lot of things on my mind…" I said honestly, shaking my head a little. She looked at me still, her eyes unblinking.

"Is it the kazaana?" She asked, not afraid to talk about my impediment suddenly. I shook my head sadly, not agreeing or denying the question. I actually felt a little surprised. I hadn't really felt bitter about the whole kazaana situation for a while. But sadly, I had felt entirely too bitter at other things which just made me in a constantly bitter state which, you know, wasn't fun. Obviously. Who wants to be constantly bitter about things? I don't know if I could be even function without being bitter about something. Perhaps that was why I was chosen to carry this curse, I thought, idly touching my hand. Perhaps I was meant to be like this. Happiness wasn't a part of my life from the beginning. Perhaps, in a sick, masochistic way, this was all meant to be.

"Is it Kagome?"

The hand lazily fiddling with the rosary almost ripped the thing clean off in surprise. Of course she knew. I knew this already. But her saying it to my face was a little different than inferring she knew more than she actually did. Which I always sort of hoped back in the drawers of my mind. Somewhere round there…

"What?" I decided to play stupid. It's worked before. She looked at me, creasing her forehead.

"Is it because Kagome loves Inuyasha?" 'And not me…' hung in the air. I didn't want to acknowledge it but as I looked at her eyes, full of curiosity, I nodded, drawing in a quick breath at how fast her eyes burned with anger and sadness. "But…you stopped groping her a long time ago…you still grope …" She looked away from me, pulling on a loose thread on her clothing. I didn't know what to tell her.

"Sometimes you don't do things you want to do so people don't know you want to do them…" I answered, looking at her. I idly picked up a stick and started drawing random patterns in the soil with it, trying to distract myself from the task at hand. "And sometimes you do things you don't want to do so people think you don't want to do other things…" I winced as her eyes burned with pain. I clinched his teeth, grinding them together, but knowing that it had to be done. She couldn't continue to harbor these feelings for me. I would never return them. She needed to stop them now and the harsher I was, the more she'd hate me instead of Kagome.

"I…I thought that it meant you…" She murmured, still disbelieving, even though she knew in her heart it was true. She was the one who asked me. But like I said, hearing it out loud is different than inferring anything whatsoever.

"It didn't." I answered, making my voice as gentle as possible even though my words were anything but. "You are beautiful; Sango, but I do not love you." She stumbled to her feet, trying to find her balance through the tears. I didn't move, knowing my comfort would not help.

"You could have learned to love me!" She whispered fiercely, glancing at the sleeping hanyou and the object of my affection. I dropped the stick and looked her in the eyes, our gaze not wavering.

"No, I could not have." She gave an empty cry of hurt and ran off into the forest. I sighed as I stood up and followed her slightly, making sure to put up wards over her place of solitude, protecting from demons what I could not protect from heartbreak.

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The next morning was like nothing had ever happened, even though I had the decency to refrain from groping the girl. I didn't want to be killed by a heartbroken demon exterminator, I thought as I looked over at Kagome. I still hadn't told her anything about the feelings I had for her and I wanted to keep it that way. Although, (I rubbed my kazaana through the beads), I couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency as the jewels grew scarce and Naraku's bugs grew to a more familiar sight during battle. I could feel that the end was near, deep inside my bones. I'd rather not think about if "the end" meant the end of the journey, the end of the battle or…the end of me.

We set out and I wondered to the back of the group again, tired from my lack of sleep and frustration. Sango walked stiffly ahead of me, Kiara skipping merrily along side her. Kagome was having an intense conversation with Shippou ("No, Shippou, you can't have any more chocolate?" "Why?" "Because I don't think Inuyasha will appreciate you doing a repeat performance of the jig you did at breakfast." "What was wrong with that?" stifled laughter "Nothing whatsoever…") and Inuyasha was off in the front sniffing somewhere, being the dog that he is. Just like any normal day…any normal time. Sango glanced back at me quickly, as if worried I had stopped following the group. I sighed, continuing my slow pace, jingling the chains on my staff as I walked from habit. Most monks did it to announce they're presence. I did it so people could present themselves so I had an opportunity to tell them about certain ominous clouds. Sighing, I looked at Sango's back and whispered to the wind:

"Don't look back in anger…" I prayed, to Kami, whoever…that she would not look back in anger.

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Review Responses:

ArtificialRed: Thanks, that's definitely a compliment. I wouldn't agree that this is the best, but I hope it's making a mark…

Ceaseless Cloudy Days: I try not to be typical in my writings. I hate the same old plot lines. However, I do write in the long paragraph style. I am a very introspective writer; I really enjoy writing from one character's point of view and doing a kind of character study. So this is my crack at Miroku.

Morbidity: How I love thee. Let me count the ways. Ah…you make me happy…

Psychocynic: Were the devil have you been? You relieved me so much when you said its in the style of ISWT. That was one of the hardest things I struggled with when writing this. I can't go back to worthless dribble anymore. Unless its for Fred and George Weasley. They amuse me too much not to.

Suppistenshi: You're talking crazy talk. But not really. I really would like to be published. Bah…my dreams. My work. My life. dies That's all. How I miss thee. Come back!