Title: All That Could Have Been
Rating: G
Summary: Nothing hurts more than watching someone else have what you want most. Nothing hurts more than knowing you could have had it.
Mood Music: "And All That Could Have Been"- Nine Inch Nails
Author's Note: This was something that's been kicking around in my head for awhile, so one night when I really should be working on college essays, I sat down, put some music on repeat, and wrote this. More notes at bottom.
All That Could Have Been
The two of us
Were never meant to be
All these
Pieces
And promises and left behinds
If only I could see
In my
Nothing
You meant everything
Everything to me
Gone fading everything
And all that could have been...
-Nine Inch Nails, "And All That Could Have Been"
It's not easy to follow them without being noticed. Inuyasha's keen nose requires me to constantly check the wind, making sure that it blows my scent away from him. I know I smell strangely, of grave dirt and clay. I am not among the living anymore, the look on his face before he can collect himself on the times we have met reminds me of that. I have more than one reason to hide for the moment. The monk and exterminator are easy enough to fool, as is the kitsune child. They rely too heavily on their sight, and while I and my soul-collectors stay hidden from view, I am safe. The firecat is hardest to fool, and I am not entirely sure I have managed to decieve it.
I do know who I have not managed to decieve. I cannot decieve her, any more than I may decieve myself. The girl who wears my face and was born from my soul, who carries my own sacred duty around her neck. I can feel her in a corner of my mind, a naggling little itch. She feels me in the same manner. I can tell by the way she will sometimes lift her head and look at where I stand, when I know that I am so securely hidden that she cannot possibly see me. The gleam of pity and sorrow in her eyes angers me, makes me seethe in a way that I never felt when I was alive. Perhaps it is because I know that were our positions reversed, I would not feel the same. Were I the new and she the old, I would look upon her with pity, yes, but pity mixed with contempt. There is no contempt in her gaze. In her eyes, I see only sorrow and a deep, heartfelt wish that she could make everything right.
I do not know why she does not warn the others that I follow them. I know she fears me, and well does she have reason to. Perhaps she understands. Does she feel the same call, the same need to be near him? She follows him, I see, for reasons other than duty. She loves him. She cannot help it, she is no more than a reflection of myself.
They have stopped for the night and she and the exterminator are working in tandem to prepare a meal. The child runs around, fetching the little bits and pieces that she asks for. At some unspoken signal, she opens her arms, and he jumps up to her embrace. I feel my heart tighten. While I lived, the village children followed me. They would watch from a distance in awe, and sometimes, when I smiled, they would approach hesitantly. Rarely did they play around me, and never did they jump into my arms with loving abandon. She holds him to her for a moment, then the child drops to the ground and runs off in search of something. She watches him go with a fondness in her eyes.
She turns and laughs some words I cannot hear to the exterminator. The setting sun catches a glint of pink at her neck. The other woman laughs back, and the easy camraderie between the two is nearly palpable. She lays a hand on the woman's arm, and turns away. There has been food cooking on the fire, and she lifts it up and turns to the opposite side of the clearing.
He is there. He sits apart from the others, as he often does, but tonight he is not in a tree. He does not distance himself so far, not as far as he used to. His pose is indolent, lounging against the roots of the tree as he tries to pretend that her slow approach has no effect on him. I remember him sitting like that, once long ago, pretending indifference for me. I remember that I was not fooled either.
She steps up to him, an odd sort of container with a bright label in her hand, and sits beside him. She says something before handing him the container. Like the starving animal that I know he is not, he begins to devour the contents of the container. They speak without looking at each other. She smiles once, a flash of bright teeth and even brighter spirit. His eyes flicker to her, then concientiously look back at his meal. She lays a hand on his arm. In that small corner of my mind in which she and I are one, I can almost feel the rough texture of his sleeve against my palm. I can still remember how he felt in my arms, his own arms wrapped around me, and all the world seemed silver through his hair that fell in front of my eyes. His embrace is the only place I have ever felt whole.
It does not feel so long ago to me. The feel of his hands on my shoulders, claws lightly pricking my skin through cloth, is still vivid in my memory. I still remember what I dreamt the night before I died. Visions of small children, with black hair and purple eyes, who ran into my arms and hugged me as the demon child does my reincarnation. I remember waking with such a sense of happiness and such a desire to feel their small arms. I do not dream now.
Across the clearing, they rise up from their seats. She brushes dust from her skirt as she speaks to him. Her words do not please him, he looks away with a scowl. She returns it with a scowl of her own, and says something as she turns on her heel, ready to march away. With a hiss of exasperation that I can see in his form, he turns and grabs her arm.
I can feel his hand on my own skin, feel the heat from his body. So close. I feel his claws rake my scalp as he runs a hand through her hair. I can hear a faint whisper in his voice, more intimate than any kiss, meant for her. In his eyes is such a look of caring and love, I want to cry if my body would shed the tears.
I have seen that look.
For a single moment I can see through her eyes, how, I do not know. I see his eyes bright with love unnamed. Then I am back to myself, alone. Their fire is the only light around now that the sun has set. In the distance I see them step back, though not apart. At the same moment, the child breaks away from the circle of the fire and approaches the girl, calling her name. She opens her arms and he leaps to her. He curls himself into a red-haired ball in her arms and she cuddles him while my one time love watches. Behind her, his eyes still shine.
I turn away from the image. The dark haired girl and the man beside her, a child in her arms and the look of love on the man's face--
My servants rise into the air to signal my presence. I will not follow them again. In the girl I can see too clearly what we could have been.
Fin
Author's Note (con't): Okay. So, why did the author of The I-Hate-Kikyo Poem actually write something vaguely sympathetic to Kikyo? Simple. Because I do feel sorry for her. I mean, she really got screwed over pretty badly. Not just with the betrayal situation, but also with the fact that when she was resurrected and got to see him again, he was in the company of a brand new girl who looked just like her. As a fellow female, I can understand that she has issues. What woman wouldn't? I know I'd be pretty pissed if my boyfriend replaced me a few months later with someone who looked exactly like me.(I don't count the fifty years as actual time-of-separation... she was dead, he was unconcious. Therefore by the time she's brought back to life by Urasue, it's only been a few months since their whole fiasco.) Does this mean I think that killing the new girlfriend is the best way to work through one's issues with one's ex? Of course not. Actually, I support killing the ex, but since that pretty much defeats my entire point here, we'll ignore that.
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-Aradia