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Memoir of Miroku…
Survival is not without sacrifice. Without conflict, there can be no happy ending. In order to forgive someone else, you have to forgive yourself.
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Session Twenty-Five- Epitaph
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Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Is there anything else you can do for him?"
"I'm sorry, we've done all we could. At this rate, it'll be years for before he'd wake up- if ever," the doctor responded solemnly.
"It'll cost us… won't it?" Sango asked, unconsciously folding her arms across her chest.
"Yes. The city will only pay half."
"…but, we won't know if he'll ever wake up. It might be a lot of money wasted- money we need if I'm going to take care of my brother." She sat down in the chair across the table. "I can't do this. He's my father."
"I know," the doctor replied. "He was a good man, despite what the newspapers say."
Turning around, she looked at her father lying in the bed, the heart monitor and his shallow breathing the only sign that he was alive. The laugh lines were fading, his smile gone cold.
Holding back the sting in her eyes, she turned back towards the doctors. "…Take him off life-support."
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One month later…-
She stood at the foot of the bed, clipboard in shaking hands. "What is the diagnosis?"
"The patient is unresponsive, ma'am. No responses to pain or light, pupils are dialated. He has been already been examined by the mandatory two physicians." the nurse replied, "He's brain-dead."
"Electroencephalogram?"
"Flat."
Sango nodded solemnly as the nurse left the room. Slowly making her way to the side of the bed, she watched the motionless figure.
Irony.
"Naraku."
The most powerful man in Tokyo. Leader of the Underground economy. He was all of those things- well- was. This Naraku was currently- and indefinitely- a vegetable. Cerebral death was a cruel thing. This man, who was once feared and respected, was now helpless, trapped inside his own body. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think. The only sign that he was alive was the minute beep of the heart monitor.
He would be on life support until he heart was beyond beating. He had no family or friends to put him out of his misery and the hospital was required by law to keep on life support until complete death.
Brain death- a living death.
It was cruel, but she felt no regrets. She was free.
"Sango."
Miroku stood firm in the doorway, wearing his trademark trench coat. She returned his grave expression, nodding solemnly.
"It's time to finish this."
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The walk there was in silence. After all the tests were done, the police reports were filed, all physical wounds were healed, there was only one thing left to do. They had waited for this day specifically. It would be four years today since the incident, since the day her parents were killed.
She studied her surroundings. Despite the slight chill, the once bare trees hinted signs of growth. Tiny flowers and buds dotted the branches, appearing literally overnight. The streets and sidewalks were wet from the rained that had occurred over the past several days, creating the sound of traffic splashing through puddles in the murky streets.
"What are we doing?" she asked.
"An epitaph," he replied, looking forward.
"What? For who?"
"You'll see."
They had been planning this for a month, and that was all he would tell her. She tightened her coat around her as the wind suddenly picked up. They better be finishing this soon, she thought to herself. The sky was covered with dark clouds waiting heavy with rain.
Her steps stopped abruptly. Miroku halted a few feet in front of her, looking back, but his face was indefinable.
"Miroku… please," Sango whispered. The park. The path.
He said nothing, only walking down the pathway slowly, mumbling softly to himself. At the end of the path, he turned towards her.
"Twenty-three steps, Sango," Miroku replied, "that's all I ask of you."
Her eyes wandered across the cement path. "You… want me to walk down this."
"That's all I ask," he repeated.
Her eyes met his with uncertainty, then it was suddenly masked over by her usual façade. "Miroku, it's alright. I'm fine."
"I didn't say you weren't."
"Then what do I need to be here for?"
"Well," he gestured towards the path, "it's the shortest way to your house. And it's going to rain."
He had her there. Sighing, she whispered. "What is this really about? Closure?"
"Closure is a theoretical word," Miroku replied.
"I'm fine."
"Fine enough to kill someone?"
She paused. "I… did what had to be done."
"You didn't have to kill him-"
"You know I did. The police wouldn't help me. They didn't help me before, they made it worse last time," she crossed her arms across her chest, "I wouldn't let the same thing happen to my brother that happened to my parents. My first slip-up could've killed him. It almost did."
"So this is about Kohaku, then?"
"I-" her thoughts were interrupted as a raindrop landed on the bridge of her nose. One, two, then several hundred more followed after against the cement. 'Thank the gods…'
She turned to walk away. "Come on Miroku, let's go home. It's raining. We can-"
"We are not finished with this conversation." His voice was strong and firm, it almost took a moment to realize it was her he was speaking to. She froze, the soft rains bleeding through her clothing. "Fine," she whispered, but it lost to his by the rain.
"It rained like this, the day my parents died," Sango began softly, "We were at a baseball game, my mother stayed at home because she didn't feel well. She found out she was allergic to the shellfish from the night before. Anyway, the game was cut short on account of rain, and… well, you know the rest. He got away with it, over and over again. He haunted me, I feared him at one point. I wanted it to stop… everyone has a breaking point. I had to stop him and make sure it was indefinitely, for my brother's sake more than my own."
"And Kohaku?"
"You've seen the scars, haven't you?" Sango replied, "I had broken my promise to myself, my parents, my God…"
"… What was your promise?"
She cast her eyes downward, suddenly feeling vulnerable to his stare. "… I was supposed to protect my baby brother from bad things."
"Sango," he said softly, "this isn't who you are."
"You have no idea who I am," she growled defensively, "you have no idea what I've gone through, no idea about the things I have done, the sins I have committed. I've had to raise a child while hardly being an adult! I've had to get a job to pay the bills and go to school that my parents will never be at the graduation to. I've had to endure so many emotional relapses I can hardly tell the difference between pleasure and pain. I've had to take my father off of life support because our insurance wouldn't pay it and we had no money to spare! This may not be who I've wanted to be, but this is the only way I can survive!"
A long silence dragged between them. The rain fell heavy now, the two soaked to the bone. Yet, there was something about that rain that seemed to wash everything away…
"So… what is your epitaph?" Miroku asked finally.
Sango looked up… blinking. Turning around, she looked at the path, the path which was twenty-three steps… behind her.
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Well, that's it. The end of the Naraku Arc. No more angst (well, a little in the next chapter because of the subject). The chap's a bit late because I've been feeling slightly lethargic lately, and Creative Writing class isn't making it any better. You know when the schools make you write about topics you could give a rat's ass about? Yeah, that's it.
And yes, the person in the picture is Miroku's mother. Since pretty much everyone who looked at the picture correct. You all get the prize. It's a M/S one shot in the original Inuyasha universe, a few years after the adventure.
Summary: You should really watch what you say around your children…
It'll probably be up within the week.
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Posted 4/8/05