Moonlight shadow by dark_soul

Chapter.1

Moonlight Shadow

Wherever he went, Sesshoumaru always had a little bell with him, attached to the case he kept his buss pass in. Even though it was just a trinket, something I gave him before we were in love, it was destined to remain at his side until the last.

Although we were in separated homerooms, we met serving on the same committee for the sophomore-class field trip. Because we had completely different itineraries, the only time we had together was on the bullet train itself.

On the platform after we arrived, we shook hands in a playful show of regret at having to part.

I suddenly remembered that I had, in the pocket of my school uniform, a little bell that had fallen off the cat. "Here," I said, "a farewell gift," and handed it to him. "What's this?" he said, laughing and--although it wasn't the most creative gift-- took it from my palm and wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief as if it were something precious. He surprised me: it was not typical behavior for Sesshoumaru.

As it turns out, it was love.

Whether he did it because the gift was from me or because that was how he was raised, not to treat a gift carelessly, it amazed me and made me warm to him.

There was an electric charge between our hearts, and its conduit was the sound of the bell. The whole time we spent apart on that class trip, we each had the bell on our minds. Whenever he heard it ring, he would remember me and the time we had spent together; I passed the trip imagining I could hear the bell across the vast sky, imagining the person who had it in his possession. After we got back, we fell deeply in love.

For nearly four years the bell was always with us. Each and every afternoon and evening, in each and every thing we did--our first kiss, our big fights, rain and shine and snow, the first night we spent together, every smile and every tear, listening to music and watching TV--whenever Sesshoumaru took out that case, which he used as a wallet, we heard its faint, clear tinkling sound. It seemed as though I could hear it even when he wasn't there. You might say it was just a young girl's sentimentality. But I did think I heard it--that's how it felt to me back then.

There was one thing that always disturbed me profoundly. Sometimes, no matter how intently I would be staring at him, I would have the feeling that Sesshoumaru wasn't there. So many times, when he was asleep, I felt the need to put my ear to his heart. No matter how bright his smile, I would have to strain my eyes to see him. His facial expressions, the atmosphere around him, always had a kind of transparency. The whole time I was with him, there was that feeling of ephemerally, uncertainty. If that was a premonition of what was to come, what a sorrowful one it was.

A lover should die after a long lifetime.

I lost Sesshoumaru at the age of twenty, and I suffered from it so much that I felt as if my own life had stopped. The night he died, my soul went away to some other place and I couldn't bring it back. It was impossible to see the world as I had before. My brain ebbed and flowed, unstable and I passed the days in a relentless state and dull oppression. I felt that I fated to undergo one of those things it's better not to have to experience even once in a lifetime (abortion, prostitution, major illness).

After all, we were still young, and who knows whether it would have been our last love? We had overcome many first hurdles together. We came to know what it is to be deeply tied to someone and we learned to judge for ourselves the weight of many kinds of events--from these things, one by one, we constructed our four years together.

Now that it's over, I can shout it out: The gods are assholes! I loved Sesshoumaru--I loved Sesshoumaru more then life itself.

Two months after the death of Sesshoumaru, I would find myself leaning over the railing of the bridge and drinking hot tea. I had begun to go jogging every day, since I slept really badly at night, and that point on the bridge was where I always rested before the run back home.

Sleeping at night was what I feared most. No--worse then that was the shock of awakening. I dreaded the deep gloom that would fall when I would remember that he was gone. My dreams were always over Sesshoumaru. After my painful fitful sleep, whether or not I had been able to seen him, on awakening I would know that it had been just a dream--in reality I would never be able to see him again... and I knew it, whether or not I would admit it to myself.

And so I tried not to wake up. Going back to sleep was no answer: depressed to the point of nausea, I would toss and turn in a cold sweat. Through my curtains I would see the sky getting lighter, blue-white, and I would feel abandoned in the chill and silence of dawn. It was so forlorn and cold, I wished I could be back in the dream. There I would be, wide-eyed, tortured by its lingering memory. It was always then that I truly woke up. Finally, exhausted from lack of sleep, beginning to panic at the prospect of that lonely time--like a bout of insanity-- in which I would wait for the first morning light, I decided to take up running.

I bought myself an expensive two-piece sweat suit, running shoes, and even a small aluminum container in which to carry a hot drink. I thought, ironically, that beginners always over-equip--but still, it was best to look ahead.

I began running just before spring vacation. I would run to the bridge, turn around, and head home, where I would carefully wash out my neck towel and sweaty clothes. While they were in the dryer I would help my mother make breakfast. Then I'd go back for a while. That was my life. In the evenings I'd get together with my friends, watch videos, whatever, anything to leave myself as little free time as possible. But the struggle was fruitless. There was only one thing I had any desire to do: I wanted to see Sesshoumaru. Yet at all cost I had to keep my hands and body and mind moving. Doing that I hoped, albeit listlessly, would somehow, someday, lead to a breakthrough. There was no guarantee, but I would try to endure, no matter what, until it came. When my cat died, I had gotten through it more or less the same way. But this time it was different. Without a prospect in sight, day after day went by, like losing one's mind bit by bit. I would repeat to myself, like a prayer: it's all right, it's all right, the day will come when you'll pull out of this.

~~~~

please review and rate... oh and can you please tell me if I should continue?