Mad World

By Midoriko-sama

Tuesday 10th December 2004.

For Numisma.

::All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere::

The sun, having no choice, rose and shone on the nothing new. At least, that what it had sounded like when he’d read it off some book or other, Kami knew how many years back. In any case, so did he.

He threw the sheet off- bitched at it because it caught in his claw again. He had to get a new one. Or maybe not.

::And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow::

He saw his hair, black as the friggin’ room, roll around his head, on it’s own- look, it was becoming snakes. It became snakes. Black snakes, and now green and blue, and purple. And they were biting him- neck, head, arms, legs- biting him everywhere, and poisoning him. He could feel it- hot! Hot!- running through his veins, seeping into his skin, and heart, and lungs.

And he smiling and close his eyes and felt the burning, imagining that he would not wake up tomorrow, that he would die. That the sun would rise without him, and fuck itself in the ass because it was unable to follow. He imagined that he would be buried, burned, but that he wouldn’t have to wake up again. He took his mind along the lines of his closed eyes and wished that they wouldn’t open again. He felt them begin to burn- the poison, the poison, the snake poison- and he let them burn until they sprang apart in pain.

It was the sun. It had risen on him again. His hair was white. The snakes were gone.

::And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had::

He watched the blood ooze out of him as he clutched the wound. He breathed, gasped, spat blood; fell on his knees and died.

He snorted and switched off the film projector. He stood up, flicked on the room’s light, and welcomed the pain in his eyes until they adjusted to the light. The standees around him shone quietly. He’d have to take the mould off that wallpaper corner.

Death wasn’t that easy. Death was a whore who kissed his face and not his lips. Who slept with all of them except him. Death wasn’t easy- at all. He wanted it. He wanted the whore who was easy with them all except him.

::I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World::

“Dawn, you swore,” he hissed, as she looked at him with glassy eyes, collapsed veins, blood trickle down her neck.

“This is the last, I swear,” she slurred, an empty smile on her face, a mirror on her pupils.

He wanted to scream at her. He took his jacket- pulled the cloth-hanger down; it crashed and splintered. The door bounced and stayed open. He got in the car and drove off into the blackness.

::Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen::

“Hey, Sesshoumaru!”

His brother looked around, pinched hat in his hand, silver tipped cane under arm. Inuyasha took a hand out of his gilet and passed it along the rim of his Italian hat, tilted almost off one ear.

“See you around, brother!” he called letting his fingers leave the hat rim in mock salute. His brother raised an eyebrow at him, nodded while he raised the cane-head a notch, and then disappeared into the crowd.

He chuckled and turned the other way. He stuffed his hand into the breast pocket. This new technology was interesting. He let his eyes roam over the flat faces, one beside the other, four hands in pocket, brothers standing.

The sun hid for a moment behind a cloud. He looked back but couldn’t see his brother anymore. He turned away, and went on his way.

::Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me::

“How much do you take?” he asked breathlessly, black hair held behind his ears for the only night. She turned brown, painted eyes on him.

“Five ryo.”

“Too much.”

“I’ll make it special for you,” she said seductively, lifting a leg up his hakama and pressing her knee into his groin gently. He groaned. He didn’t care.

“Ok. You’d better make it good.”

“For a beautiful one like you, I will.”

::And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad...

... I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take...::

“Watch where the fuck you're going, bitch!”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf, or must I repeat myself?”

Fuck she was beautiful. Fuck, she smelt like anger, and like the street outside, and the carpet they were on, and like wasabi. She looked like a lake staring him in the eyes, in the middle of a storm and a calm day. She felt soft, and cool, and scalding.

He teased her, he tasted her on the air. He felt her in his groin before he even touched her. Green hunter, black worker, blue lakes. He teased her into disgusted excitement. He left her his personality on a receipt. Fled and looked back just in time to see her put it in her front pocket, close to where he wanted to be. Soon.

::The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever-::

He flicked the button on the mp3 player stuck to his Saturn’s speakers, circling a patch of sun. Ah. The Scorpions . . . He’d have to give it back to Miroku later. He had asked for it a week ago. He’d forgotten.

He wanted to dream tonight. He brought the front of his shirt up to his nose.

Yes, he wanted to dream.

He rolled down the window slightly, letting the smell filter through to the entire car, even as he enjoyed the wind on his face.

He wanted to dream of lakes tonight.

::Here I am . . . In the land . . . of the morning star.::

AN: The last line is taken from another song entirely; Here I Am, by the Scorpions. The changs in song is, of course, intentional.