Whoops. I may have gone on a bit longer than I should have, in this chapter.

In the brief period I have not been writing this chapter, my style has apparently warped itself. Weird.

I was having a brief period of self-doubt with this story, mostly because I was starting to liken it to a thriller novel, the kind you find in serialized magazines or something. Thank for those who've reviewed this story. It's really a confidence booster =)

Chapter 13

Humans truly were different.

At first glance, that was obvious. Even if he had lost all sense of the world and remembered nothing except for how to speak and the numbers one to ten, he'd be able to tell that spirits and humans looked different. Even the humanoid ones wore masks, and sometimes they had markings on their face. Even if one were to rip the mask off, one would see dull eyes, darker in comparison than anything a human could possess.

He knew all of this. He didn't know how he knew, but this must have been something he'd lived with, the knowledge resting close to his heart, before he'd lost his memories.

He also knew that, on a certain level, humans were the same as spirits. They felt happy, and they felt sad. They grew angry, and they became lonely. They had emotions, and as much as some purists felt that humans were the only truly sentient beings on this planet, demons shared human thought processes and their emotional capacity as well.

(He also knew this, in the same manner as he knew everything else he didn't know how to explain.)

But, sitting in the bushes near a house, he realized that, in the end, demons and humans were different. It wasn't circular thinking. It was like saying that a red-and-white bull's eye target was same, yet different, from a red-and-black one. There were some parts that were obviously the same – to him – but others that were irrevocably different.

For example, the understanding of life. In his time with the demons he'd come to live with, he'd realized that they lived everyday with today at the foremost. There was no need to think about a tomorrow because tomorrow could be filled with death and misery. Tragedy struck swiftly and without cause, so it was important to live each moment to the fullest. There was no intention to prevent death however; there was the implicit understanding that it happened to all, even the greatest of spirits that have survived for thousands of years.

Perhaps it was because they were closer to death, being incorporeal. No, those were his thoughts as a human. From a spirit's point of view, perhaps they're just another form of matter, like gas to solids. The only difference was that when they died, there was no body left.

Below him, a man kissed his wife goodbye as he settled into his car. She waved, standing in the driveway, watching him pull out and eventually disappear around the corner. She then headed back into the house to make food for the children, who were just waking up.

Humans lived for the future. He wasn't romanticizing or anything; it was just what he observed. The fact that they worked instead of played, in and of itself, was like a delay, holding back so that they could party all night long later. Splurge the hard-earned money in a vicious binge, perhaps. He felt he'd seen that happen before. It sounded familiar.

It was also why they called exorcists – to prevent future attacks. They hadn't done anything yet, but apparently his previous battle had alerted the people to possible troublemakers, and the townspeople had decided to take pre-emptive action.

But then, it wasn't all that bad, was it? He was human too; he could understand the benefits. The harder the work, the greater the benefits.

It was strange. Humans and spirits were so similar, yet so different.

He missed being with other people. It was a vague wish, sort of an empty hollow in his chest, remembering to ache only when it decided the moment was best, but no matter how much he liked the spirits, they were … well, spirits. They weren't his kind.

The bushes he was lying in were the closest to the field. There had been nowhere else to hide. The door was tightly closed. He could hear footsteps upstairs.

Safe, he decided, and he crawled out. He made it to the road and looked around. There was no one on the streets; he was lucky. He shook the leaves off himself, and pulled down his clothes. There, he paused. After all, his garments looked like they hadn't been washed in a week (which they hadn't). He'd tried not to think about it, while he was in the forest, but now that it was brought to the forefront of his mind, he couldn't shake the thought away. He would find a river to wash at least his shirt in later. It still stank vaguely of blood, from yesterday.

That couldn't be helped yet, though, so he let it be.

While he couldn't pass for a tourist (maybe he could, for a lost one), he could probably pass as a homeless person or perhaps someone who was recently beaten up. The prospect wasn't lifting, but at the very least he … would look human.

He strode down the cement street, concrete hot beneath his soles. He had forgone his shoes, long ago. The sun had already warmed the road surface, and it was just at that point before it grew blisteringly hot. He strayed to the side of the street, near the shadows cast by the walls. It was cooler there.

(He felt safer there too. Another instinct from his past?)

He hadn't really tried to remember. He'd always figured it would come when the time came. However, it had already been more than a week. Perhaps some forcing was needed. The town didn't seem familiar, so he was hard put to say that he'd lived here before. If he did, someone would probably recognize him. This thought gave him some hope, and he walked forward with renewed vigor.

A dog barked beyond the wall. The sound was so sudden, it caused him to jump. It was even snarling, and he heard the noise of straining chain. Alarmed, he hurried away from that house.

Most people were either at work or school, so the town was relatively empty. He sighed. He should return before Igari got mad at him again. The boar was probably going to die of heart disease, from stress, if it weren't impossible for spirits to do so.

As he turned the corner, though, he came face to face with someone.

It was a boy. A toddler, even, of about … two years? Three? Clothed in the sort of ill-colored patchwork of clothes that only children could wear, he hobbled forward on two ungainly legs, hands outstretched. A giant grin was on the child's face as he approached.

When he found the presence of mind to knock on the door to his brain, he found it out for lunch. .

"Hello," he managed to say. Awkward didn't even begin to describe it. He had a feeling he had never been good with kids, or was it just that he'd never had he experience?

Well, at least he knew he wasn't a father now.

The boy didn't respond, just came closer. Perhaps he couldn't talk yet?

Suddenly, there were another set of footsteps, ones that went clack clack. High heels, the boy's mother. He looked up and put on a smile, ready to greet the woman. However, she spoke first.

Rather, she screeched.

"Get away from him, you monster!"

She halted, some distance away from the both of them. The toddler still hadn't noticed anything wrong, but he did look back when he heard his mother's voice. She gestured to him. "Come here, baby. Come closer." She looked nervous, sweating. It didn't suit her.

"I'm sorry, miss," he tried to say, "I didn't mean any harm."

But before he could finish, she had stopped paying attention. She was scanning the ground. With a drop in his stomach, he knew what she was doing. She found what she was looking for, bent down, and picked up a rock.

She threw.

"Get away from my baby!"

He ducked, hands curled over his head. His mind was blank again, but for a different reason.

It was dangerous. He should run.

Another stone came. There were more footsteps.

"What's wrong, Yukiko?"

Before the man – for it was a man's voice – could turn the corner, he turned tail and ran. He didn't hear her reply, nor did he see her sweep her child into her arms, weeping with relief.

Perhaps it was more accurate to say that he didn't want to see.

He ran and ran. He didn't know where he was going, but before he knew could decide on a destination, he had already arrived at it – the edge of the forest.

He heard a voice. "Nushi-samaa!" It was a bright, clear clarion that rang through his gloom. He almost laughed, staggering forward, slightly winded, to ease the tanuki boy's anxiety.

He wasn't bothered.

No, he wasn't, not at all. He was … stronger than that. Yes, he'd always endured such treatment before; it was nothing new. Somehow, he just knew. Humans hated those different from themselves, and he was different.

That was another difference between humans and spirits.