Blood-Stained
A/N: 1. NO MORE UPDATES UNTIL I GET 30 REVIEWS FOR CHOCOLAT NOIR!!! Just joking. But you know you want to read Chocolat Noir and Ascension. 2. Pt. III of Ascension won't come out until a file transfer is done. 3. My writing changed a lot, so be prepared. 4. No more long A/N's, and the chapters are going to be ridiculously short from now on. I can't concentrate on long chapters because I'm always getting stuck. So there.
Chapter 8: Gone
Nghi
It was strange as the hand pulled her face into the bitter, rotting pile of limbs and corpses mashed together. Kagome felt her mouth open, and she heard herself scream. But it was an automatic reflex, one she couldn't control. The wave of tears- no, the wave of weakness that had threatened to surface died when the bloodied limb jerked her face into the massive entanglement of hands and decapitated heads. It was strange how even though she felt herself reacting to the situation, she couldn't feel scared. She couldn't feel angry. She couldn't feel anything, except for the vitriolic nausea at the irony of the situation. It was coming back to haunt her, and it was bringing everything.
Like a museum, Kagome thought sickly, and her stomach lurched dangerously. Her voice was keening louder and louder and still growing and then some AYHC members appeared around her. Were they waiting- three men were prying on the hand's fingers- for her to free herself? "Get it off me, get it off me, get it off me," she gasped, writhing spasmodically. It's just a hand, it's just a hand, she told herself over and over again— she was still hyperventilating and she was still chanting the mantra and she was still scared of the blood that surrounded her. It was marvelous how blood could be so wonderful and hateful at the same time.
"It's OK," a man whispered into her ear. Where did he come from? He stroked her shoulders in a comforting manner, and she shut her eyes as a finger grazed her temple. It left something wet and stinging on her neck, and she didn't want to open her eyes to see what it was. "You're going to be fine," he tried again, and she shook her head. Her weakness was coming out, but she could not help it, could never help it. "Just get it off," she shrieked; her voice had gone rough and raw and desperate. Kagome tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he remained firm and held her there. What was he doing?! She was on the edge, and the craving to cry was making her heart thump wildly. "Don't move- it'll be harder for them."
She made no point in listening and continued to struggle even more; the elbow pressed against her left cheek was beginning to hurt, and someone else's hair was matted against her forehead. It was disgusting and vile and filthy and-and— something hot pricked at the corner of her eyes, and Kagome tried to swallow it down. Suddenly there were too many people around her, and she wanted them to go away. Too many AYHC members, too many bodies, too many dead heads, too many of everything…. Somewhere behind her, Sango's voice came clear in the air, laced with hiccoughs and croaks. "You three, try to help Kagome." The demand came out clear and precise, even though her voice died. "And everyone else- try to move the body away."
It was barely there, but Kagome heard. The woman's tone was slightly uplifting, slightly in demand, and not one bit moping and sallow and hollow. Not one bit mourning. Not one bit runny. Not one bit faithless. Not one bit like her. And there she went again, her voice still keening automatically while she reverted into a shell to think over this long and hard. She didn't have to think extensively, though, because the answer was there, hovering unconsciously in the back of her head.
And why not? Kagome thought, a bit too forcefully. Sango had something to cling onto; this was a chance to turn the hollow crying into smiles and blooming flowers and tears of relief. This was a chance for Sango to reclaim what was lost. This was a chance for Sango to be happy again… something that she never had. It infuriated her, and it was wrong to feel that way. But it infuriated her. Where was her chance when her neighbor appeared headless in her home? Where was her chance when her family hung lifelessly in her apartment? Where was her chance when she saw the woman killed? Where was her chance when Shippo almost slashed her? Where was her goddamn fuckin' chance when he was coming after her?!
All of the burning questions broke the barrier which Kagome had safely built; she hid behind the wall everyday, hoping not to cry and break down, but it finally caught up with her. The three people finally pried open the vice-like grip on her black tresses, and she immediately pushed herself backwards further and further away from the pile until her back pressed against the bloodstained walls. The hot tears danced dangerously around the rim of her lashes, and she shuddered once before curling into a small, secure ball. I hope Miroku stays dead, her mind sneered hatefully… and then Kagome hated herself for thinking that way.
The man from before kneeled down beside her and rubbed her back in a soothing, circular motion. And all the while, he mistook her frazzled form as a sign of shock and continued to whisper sweet comforts that meant nothing to her. "Don't worry, you're safe now." She shut him out, and soon enough the crystal wetness slid down her cheeks slowly. "Go away," Kagome whispered softly, vehemently, but he did not hear.
Ahead of her, Sango was directing, and there was an aura she emanated- it was her mood, so easily readable and noticeable. And right now, she was hopeful and happy and waiting. There was grunting and panting, and several AYHC members tottered away. It was too hard, they complained, but the headstrong woman roped the slackers back in. The 600 pound woman wasn't budging, and Kagome quickly prayed for her to stay that way, so no one would ever find out what was buried underneath and Sango wouldn't have her ending; it was terribly selfish of her to ask of that. Anything. I would do anything to have him dead.
Her heart thumped dreadfully against her ribcage, and Kagome swallowed heavily. She begged and whimpered and pleaded inside as the body began to inch forward. Why did God hate her? Why did she have to suffer so much? Why did Sango get to have him? Why did Sango get to avoid the hurt and pain? Why did Sango get everything that she wanted? Why?!
The last of her anger dissipated as the body banged against the old, wooden floor, and silence stretched across the room. She thought of how the woman could be so lucky and rich in ways that she could not. She thought of how the woman could be so happy and sad in ways that she could not. She thought of how the woman could live and have… and how she could not. Trembling, Kagome bit her lips— the teeth went through the pink flesh, and a metallic taste teased her tongue. Just say it, say that he is alive, she thought.
It was more than a few minutes- it was ages before one man spoke up in a meek voice. "It was just an arm reacting… and Miroku." Sango sucked in a sharp breath, but that did not stop her from letting out an anguished cry. Several people began to sniff as others patted her shoulders; she continued to cough and sob wretchedly. Kagome imagined his body to be displaced and his good face ruined and his arm gone and his feet broken like brittle twigs. Her shoulders began to shake violently, and her breaths came in gasps. She was just like Sango.
The man thought her to cry over her dead friend, and he patted her quietly, awkwardly. She tasted the salt on her lips and in her mouth as it mixed with the bitter blood, and she began to weep harder, more forcefully. No more… no more.
Kagome believed Sango was thinking the same thing for once.
-
