Word count: 2, 791
Wander
Nothing.
I tried talking to myself, I tried pinching myself, I even tried staring at something until I became sadistically bored, but still there was nothing.
One big, gaping nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I tried to think back to what my guardian had said. I tried to think of what to do, where to go, how to do it-- but my mind was still horribly blank. Tired feet stumbling on the pavement, I ran a hand gingerly through my sweaty black strands, cursing the hot sun as it beat relentlessly on my body. Looking with dead eyes at the bright, freshly painted houses on either side of me, I choked down the saliva in my throat, trying, without much success, to block out the growing pit of dread in my stomach. His stupid, disgusting face kept popping up in my head, the final smirk branded into my brain like a holocaust tattoo. Try as I might, that face refused to go away, leaving me with no choice but to trod on, hoping that maybe the more tired I got, the less it would ache.
A sudden onslaught of clouds covered the sun, providing my burned-out body with the brief bliss of cool air. Watching the trees sway softly in an invisible wind, my face unwillingly crumpled up, and before I could do anything about it, a whimper escaped my lips.
"Why me?" I whispered softly. "Why did I, of all people, have to go through this? Why do I always have to suffer?"
Over the past hour or so of my wandering, the "memories", so they seemed, of my past life had been restored to me in perfect, gross detail, revealing almost too much of the past. At first, terribly fascinated by what seemed to be a completely different reality, I had concentrated long and hard, hoping that the dreamy realities would be restored faster that way. Contrary to what I thought, my deliberate attention only slowed down the process, and soon after all of the "dreams" had come back, I wish I never knew them at all.
The thing that shocked me the most was the fact that I even remembered, and recalled them as my own memories. I was not completely ignorant of the reincarnation theory, but all the cases I'd read of people "remembering" had only done so in sleep, and the events came in vague snippets only. But me? No, here I was, remembering in broad daylight, feeling those ancient emotions tearing my heart as if they were formed merely minutes ago. Somehow, I didn't think it was normal.
Seeing a lonely 7-11 nearby, I headed over, briefly clenching my hand when the sun came out again. Wrenching the door open, I jerked backwards in surprise as a tall, black-haired boy pushed his way out, clutching a skateboard, chips, and coke while swearing under his breath. Shooting him a strange look, I made to walk into the store when I suddenly heard him mutter, "Kagura."
I whirled around, looking crazed. Grabbing his shoulders violently, I thrust my face into his, black eyes meeting his amber ones demandingly. Resisting the urge to scream, I growled,
"Did you just say Kagura?"
When he didn't answer, I tightened my hand impatiently, feeling no regret as my nails dug into his skin. "Answer me!" I tried again, knowing I was acting crazy, but powerless to stop it. His confused expression immediately transformed into anger, and he snapped his head backwards, dark brows gathered into a menacing frown.
"What the fuck?" he shouted, pushing himself away. Staring at me with eyes bright with fury, he took a step forward, free hand gathered into a fist. "Fuck off, bitch! What the hell is wrong with you!" Quite abruptly my anxiety disappeared to be replaced by terror, and as he neared, I winced, watching that dangerous hand like it was the end of the world. Seeing my expression, he quite suddenly backed away, turning around.
"Shit." The boy ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. He half-swivelled, as if to look at me, then froze, and, with only the briefest of hesitations, dropped his skateboard, its heavy bang ringing in the hot, summer air. Stepping onto it, he tensed, as if noticing my eyes upon him, then skimmed quickly across the street, the rattling of those wheels echoing long after he disappeared into a park trail.
I stared after him for quite a long time, feeling stupid and angry and irritated and stupid. I knew that a flush had risen to my cheeks, and I placed a hand on my burning face, slamming my eyes shut with unconcealed anger. I continued to stand there, busy forcing the liquid that had risen to my eyelids back where it came from, when I heard the squeaking of a hinge, and another person walked out of the 7-11 behind me.
Blinking in surprise, I caught at the open door, entering inside. I had almost forgotten why I was there. Relishing the feel of the chilled air conditioning, I dug a hand into my jeans, hoping, by god, that I had some money. I stuck a hand into my right pocket.
"Damn."
I tried my left pocket.
"Damn."
I tried my back pocket, both the left and the right, as well as the inside of my belt. My fingers ran smoothly across the leather. There was nothing. Nothing, damn it!
"Shit."
I had not been in there for long when I saw the sleepy looking East Indian man starting to become more awake, and hurriedly, dipping my head, I wandered into the candy section. Seeing the sour gummies sprinkled with sugar and glinting at me innocently from their clear plastic boxes, I silently popped open a lid, pulling out a sticky handful and stuffing it, with some difficulty, into my pocket. A feeling of disgust filled me as I watched myself stuff the sweets into my jeans, feeling rather like a obese girl who couldn't control her cravings. I had half a mind to put it all back and clean my sugary pants as well as I could when my stomach gave a sudden and abrupt growl of hunger, inadvertently forcing my thoughts back to my non-existent breakfast this morning. Gritting my teeth at how pathetic and desperate I'd become, I straightened, dusting all the sugar off my thighs. Appearing nonchalant, I wandered out near the front, took a long look at a Brisk inside the mini fridge, then, sighing, pushed open the door of the store, feeling the horrible heat wash over me in waves. Still treading lightly like a burglar, which I suppose I'd become, I waited until I was out of sight, then, heart pumping with adrenaline, burst into a run.
---
I felt awful. Thinking back, I realized that it would have been much wiser had I simply grabbed a drink and some chips or something and fled as fast as I could, instead of wasting my time with the candy. It didn't taste very good, and my fingers were now horribly icky-- not to mention my pants. Sighing softly, I leaned against the cool wood of the tree behind me, feeling its scaly bark tangle in my hair. The shade was nice-- but it wasn't enough. It was still too hot. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a mother soothe her 7 year-old daughter's scrape, cooing softly and patting the girl's head lovingly. A semblance of hatred swarmed up within me at the woman and the little girl, and I narrowed my eyes, fingers digging into the grass.
"Stupid little suck-up," I muttered under my breath. No one ever comforted me when I was that age, and I survived, perfectly fine. Why did she even cry? When I was seven, I didn't cry at such trivial things as scrapes. I didn't cry at all. Or, at least, I told myself I didn't. Whatever the case, I couldn't stand weaklings like her; children like that were so spoiled.
Turning away from the playground before me, I skimmed my eyes over the rest of the park, a glare, though I hadn't realized, still hovering unpleasantly over my face. An elderly man walking his large, black, and also very old dog moved slowly across the path before me, and I watched them with bored eyes, trying to ignore the growing weariness of my eyelids. Despite my efforts, my eyes closed of their own accord, and the last thing I saw was a strangely familiar black-haired boy, his head bobbing up and down as he jumped on a scuffed-up skateboard.
---
On top of the most terrible meal I'd ever had, I just endured the worst nap I had ever taken.
I sat up with a groan, massaging my aching neck. Red marks were indented into my skin, and I rubbed at them grumpily, cursing under my breath. "Stupid girl," I muttered to myself, proceeding to run my fingers through my greasy, tangled hair. "What'd you have to go and fall asleep for?" Feeling incredibly irritable, I got up slowly, my stiff muscles almost buckling under my weight.
I was such an idiot. Such a total idiot. But then again, I knew that already. Positively fuming now, (for a reason unknown even to myself) I slumped back down to the ground, landing painfully against the hard dirt.
My hair was knotted as hell. Pulling my nails fiercely into the tangles, I wrenched as hard as I could, feeling several strands come out from impact. A small, insane smile of pleasure appeared on my face, and, suddenly feeling very sick, I started to cough violently, turning my head to the squashed grass beside me. My throat felt raw from the long, racking coughs, and I wiped the saliva that slipped out with a grimy hand, wanting, for the first time since I'd left, to go back home.
It was then that someone approached. Looking up quickly, blinking so as to keep back the tears, I saw the black-haired boy come near, a frown resting on his face. He seemed startlingly familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where it was I'd seen him. I was staring, though I hadn't realized it, and it was only when he crossed the path right in front of me, shifting nervously under my intent look, that I realized what I was doing and quickly diverted my gaze. Watching his form out of the corner of my eye, I expected him to keep on going, but I was shocked when he suddenly stopped, reluctant though the action seemed. Against my better judgement, my head snapped up of its own accord.
Shocking golden-brown eyes met mine. A jolt of recognition filled me, and my eyes narrowed as I suddenly realized it was the boy from 7-11. Already curving into a defensive stance on the ground, I was mildly puzzled at seeing his lips part, like he had been planning to say something. Relaxing a bit, I leaned slightly forward, my curiosity getting the better of me. His frown deepened at my strange actions, and he hesitated, but with a wild, reckless determination, began to speak in a haughty tone.
"Do you want money or something?" he said gruffly, not looking at me. He had stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a wrinkled five-dollar bill, holding it out carelessly. I stared at it for a moment, utterly baffled as to what he wanted me to do when it suddenly hit me. He thought I was homeless. I started yelling before I realized I was doing it.
"I DON'T FUCKING WANT PITY!" I screeched, jumping up and wrenching the bill out of his hand and onto the ground. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN CHARITY!" Possessed with fury, I staggered forwards almost drunkenly, glaring at him so fiercely he stepped backward with a frightened choke of surprise, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so. My arm was raised, ready to strike, when I suddenly became aware of all the eyes upon me. Eyes everywhere; from the left, from the right, even-- I imagined-- from above.
I shuddered, and abruptly I was exhausted. My limbs felt loose and soggy, like a rag lying limp and forgotten in a sink. Stepping away from the boy, I tried to run, shaking, but found I couldn't. My stomach growled loudly. Stumbling as well as I could into the shadow of the trees, I continued on until I was out of sight, finally crumpling down behind a library and bursting into tears.
Funny thing is, I didn't know what had gotten into me. I was one of those girls that everyone admired, the girl that everyone said was strong, was smart, was the one that everyone could always depend on. No one ever knew of my problems at home; I never told anyone, and I didn't plan to. I was one of those people that was always in control, always had perfect rein over her emotions. There was never any need to comfort me, because I didn't need to be comforted. No one ever needed to give me guidance, because I made my own decisions. Least of all, no one told me what to do.
Yet here I was, hoping that someone, anyone, would tell me where to go next. I had only spent a few hours out here-- but it already felt like it had been days. I wasn't sure why tears were still flowing insistently down my face, or why the tight anger in my chest suddenly hurt a hundred times worse. There was no damn rhyme or reason to it, and it pissed me off like hell.
Wiping the backs of my hands furiously over my eyes, I got up, and dusted myself off. It would not do to stay here, and wait for who knows what. I had to do something. But what?
Looking around myself like a lost little child, I started to walk, humming something softly in an effort to raise my spirits. My stomach, thankfully, stopped making gurgling noises, but just because I couldn't feel the hunger didn't mean it wasn't there. Rubbing my skinny elbows tiredly, I sighed, looking up at the sky.
"It's way past noon," I muttered, noting the direction of the sun. I suddenly remembered that it was my guardian who had taught me that.
It was strange that I never truly had any fond memories of him. Surely, there had been some happier times? But there wasn't. He taught me many things when I was younger (some of which were more threat than lesson) but I couldn't feel anything even bordering on love for the man. I had obeyed him, yes, but that was due to innocence, not a need to repay him for anything he'd given me. I was much like what Fawn is now, actually.
I couldn't remember when I had actually met my younger foster-sister for the first time. All that I knew was that she was there. And that she was always there. A slim, petite-featured girl, she was so silent that it was almost impossible to notice her, if she wasn't an albino.
Yeah, she was an albino. On top of that, she had this habit of staring. It was creepy, sometimes, to see those freakishly blank eyes following your every move, not even seeming to notice when you got uncomfortable. She was always watching, but watching what, I couldn't even fathom. The only thing that seemed to engage her in anything other than staring was her mirror, a curious, broken thing that she carried in her hand wherever she went. She would hold it up at various directions, then direct her gaze into it, completely determined to see whatever object she was observing from every possible angle. I guess to her, if she didn't do that, she wasn't looking at the whole picture. Which is true, I suppose, in a way.
But in spite of Fawn's peculiarity, I knew she was just like me, at least, what I used to be. She tolerated what Father (or so my guardian insisted I call him) asked her to do, without comment. Although I admit I was never quite as meek and submissive as she was, I could understand her thoughts. Or more correctly, lack of thoughts. She didn't care, and in the beginning, I didn't care either.
But I did now. And the me now, Kagura, if you will, knew that this Naraku had to be dealt with. After all, I was-- am-- the wind; and nothing can - should not be able to - stop the wind, dammit.
"Fuck yourself, Naraku."