Surrounded by Black by Kesari

Surrounded by Black

This started as with myself and a few others being dragged into a writting club meeting. Given the assignment to write something (they weren't that specific) built from a framworked first sentance: He [blanked] into the [blank] room. This is what I came up with... eventually... the first version is quite short, and jumps around a bit as I was undecided on the outcome. This version came a few months later with some rewriting and rethinking on my part. I am still not 100% happy with the outcome but i suppose it will do. I apologize for any mistakes, grammer, spelling or otherwise, I did cheak it over but its late and I have never been very good at finding mistakes.

All Inuyasha characters are property of Rumiko Takahashi. 

Surrounded by Black

He limped, slowly, into the long forgotten room, blood trickling down his arms. The darkness enclosed his figure, almost welcoming him, as he leaned against the wall. Pain enveloped his body as he snuck to the floor and the events of that night flashed through his mind, never slowing or relenting in their torture. Somehow he sunk lower, forcing his body into a smaller space, expressing his desire to vanish. To erase himself from existence as easily as so many others erased him from their lives.

There was no longer any point to his bleak world, the small existence he had come to know as his life. He had given her everything, after years, of wandering as a lost soul he had found himself, in her. She had been the free spirit that had accepted him as he was, she demanded not a thing of him. So different than the people he had encountered before. At first his family, as they demanded that he be a model young man, exemplar in his studies and any outside activity they chose for him to pursue. Then as a student, with the teachers and peers whom expected him to emerge from his studies superior to all. And yet this woman so pure and simple, loved him for the person he was, not because he was a means to an end. Her bright, powerful personality made her the focus of many men, and yet for awhile, she had been his. His to love, his to hold, his to cherish. Until now, now she desired another. Now all that mattered was that she did not want him, there was not a soul left who did not desire something from him.

Pain shot through his arm and lights danced before his eyes. The dark room pushed him further into the despair that clung to his mind, and now the pain that was once a relief only encouraged the heartache. He knew that his arm was broken, the years he spent in medical school, and the small part of him that remained rational, told him so. And with this knowledge he was reminded of the years that he had spent with her. Years where she encouraged him to apply himself, and preserver through the many voices pushing against him, as he strove to reach his dream of being a surgeon.  The pain of his injuries sunk to the back of his mind as the pain in his heart once again took control.

His heart seemed set on furthering his torment, recalling the events of the night searching for some sign that she had been mistaken. That she wasn’t in her right mind. Instead his heart found only the memories that had it clench with pain, as she danced with this man, showering him with attention as she had once done for him. With each remembered smile his heart constricted more, each distant laugh sent a fresh wave of anger down his spine.

With the memory of her being held in the arms of another as another couples dance was played, he reflexively clenched his fist. The pain that shot through his arm only made him laugh. A hollow laugh that resonated around the dark room as he realized that if he had acted this way only weeks prior he would have been reprimanded by the very person that had driven him to fight like a common street dog.

Having been trained in various forms of self defense from the time he could stand he knew he was far above the thugs who fought in bars and in the dark alleys between the downtown buildings. He would often laugh at their stupidity as he watched them fight, a loose fitting term in this case, they often swung loosely, uncoordinated in their drunken stupor. The idea of fighting that way had never appealed to him; he preferred the perfected art of fighting done with a practiced partner. But when his world came crashing down around him as he watched her dancing with another, after having been pushed from her life, he could turn to nothing else. He didn’t want her to see him in pain; he wouldn’t allow her to see him weakened that way. So he had chosen to take it out on another, any other. 

The men hanging around the pool tables near the back of the club had been more than willing to oblige. After a few too many drinks both he and the other large men were more then willing to exchange blows. He had started this confrontation far away from the area where she danced; he did not want her to know what he was reducing himself to. A spilled drink and a well placed insult began the fray. Five on one, hardly fair odds, but neither party was complaining.

At some point he knocked one man unconscious, and at another he was nearly put out himself. His mind reveled in each hit he took, and again in each that he delivered. The pain from the beating pushed the pain of his loss away. If he focused only on each block, each hit than he had something to strive for. But now sitting crumpled on the floor he had none of that only the remainder of the pain, and so he relived the fight again and again in his mind.

Of course the fight had been moved outside as the group of intoxicated men where invited to leave. The fight had continued outside, until only three remained. He remembered smirking and insulting them for having friends as weak as to be taken out by only one lone individual. He realized now that his insults had pushed the other two over the edge, he still didn’t care. They had attacked him with the pool queue they had taken outside with them. A part of it remained logged in his shoulder  

Another rush of searing pain shot through his shoulder, logic told him to remove the wood, but he wished the pain to continue. His physical pain linked him to his body, kept him from being lost within his mind, however fragile the bond it created, the pain kept him there. Time ticked slowly by, his vision faded in and out as he drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point in the night he removed the wood, a remnant of his fight and bandaged the worst of his injuries.

When the sun rose its light filtering through the cracks in the shutters and he made his decision. Staggering to his feet he grasped the object that had been left forgotten on the shelf for so many years. It weighted heavily in his hand as he carried it back to his car and drove away from the run down store house his family no longer remembered.

He had made up his mind, he would live and he would get her back.

Once his brother was out of the picture, he knew she would come running back to be only his.

Silver glinted in the back seat of his car, responding to the shine of death in his eyes.

*****   

While writing this I continually thought he was going to die, and I sincerely thought that is were it was going to go, but somewhere along the way it just didn’t want to happen, he just doesn’t seem like a person who would just give up, at least not in that way. I figured Sesshoumaru is much more of a i get what i want no matter what kind of person, and i dont think that would change even if he grew up as a human, even in modern times. So this is what happened instead, and while I agree with the shift, mostly because it makes considerably more sense given his personality, I still don’t quite agree with my decision, i don't know if it worked out. [Maybe just because thats not how i saw it at the start]

 Anyway let me know what you think?