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Blue Moons and Lavender Suns
His head throbbed; every inch of his body felt as though it pounded in time with his heart.
‘What happened?’
He could see the sky through cracks in the rubble above him – what may have been a window at one point, or a doorway or maybe a decorative arch… his mind was wandering, unable to focus on anything besides the pain of his body and the fact that no matter how much it hurt it suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t feel his legs…
The sky was brown, he noted, aware on some level that that was a strange phenomenon but not quite able to pin down why.
Miroku drifted.
-oOoOo-
Miroku awoke again; blessed numbness had set in and he knew he should be frightened but instead found himself accepting his fate.
He couldn’t swallow, could hardly breathe for the dust that coated his throat. Coughing seemed to only bring up blood; there was no water to wash away the copper taste, as though he’d been buried alive with pennies in his mouth.
Something nearby was burning; the smoke clawed at his lungs and stole precious oxygen. The coughing finally subsided; feeling like a monster had clawed its way out his throat, he directed his gaze upward again.
The sky was pink. It couldn’t be dusk or dawn; the sun was nearly above him and blinding in its dark intensity.
Like the moon hours ago, the sun echoed the oddly-colored sky, the usual gold-orange color scattering through the smoke to appear purple.
It was surreal.
Just days ago – was it days? Hours? How long had he been trapped? – he was laughing with Sango over dinner, joking bout their upcoming wedding and making bets over whether their friends would admit to their “secret” love affair. He’d hugged her close while dancing that night, telling her he’d never let her go, that he’d cross mountains and rivers and oceans if he had to in order to be with her…
And how thankful he was that he never had to.
He’d never said anything about clawing out of his own grave.
A voice! Rescuers? He shouted again, aware that his voice was reedy and choked by smoke and circumstance. They had to hear him…
An ill-timed shout found him choking on falling plaster.
Miroku coughed himself into oblivion.
-oOoOo-
Miroku awoke to the steady beep following his heartbeat; dry air irritated his nostrils and he realized belatedly that a tube was taped to his face.
Black strands of hair peeked out of blankets by his hip. He noticed the neck-brace just moments before sharp pain jolted down his spine.
Moving his head wasn’t an option. He still couldn’t feel his legs.
Somehow finding the strength, he reached out to the head cradled on his hip, instinctively knowing…
“You found me,” Miroku whispered hoarsely. "How? It must have been nearly impossible.”
Roused from her dozing, Sango blinked tears away from her eyes. “The rescuers said there was a 98-percent chance you wouldn’t’ve survived,” she whispered, just barely audible over the sound of hospital machinery. “But I promised,” she told him.
“Promised what?” Speaking hurt. Then again, so did breathing deeply. Thinking. Blinking. He hurt and ached and wished for more blessed nothingness but couldn’t let go until he knew…
“I promised I’d never let you go. I’d do anything and everything in my power to keep you with me…” Her breath hitched as he began to lose his battle with consciousness. “You can sleep,” she assured. “But if you try to let go… just know, I’ll follow you.”
‘What happened?’
He could see the sky through cracks in the rubble above him – what may have been a window at one point, or a doorway or maybe a decorative arch… his mind was wandering, unable to focus on anything besides the pain of his body and the fact that no matter how much it hurt it suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t feel his legs…
The sky was brown, he noted, aware on some level that that was a strange phenomenon but not quite able to pin down why.
Miroku drifted.
-oOoOo-
Miroku awoke again; blessed numbness had set in and he knew he should be frightened but instead found himself accepting his fate.
He couldn’t swallow, could hardly breathe for the dust that coated his throat. Coughing seemed to only bring up blood; there was no water to wash away the copper taste, as though he’d been buried alive with pennies in his mouth.
Something nearby was burning; the smoke clawed at his lungs and stole precious oxygen. The coughing finally subsided; feeling like a monster had clawed its way out his throat, he directed his gaze upward again.
The sky was pink. It couldn’t be dusk or dawn; the sun was nearly above him and blinding in its dark intensity.
Like the moon hours ago, the sun echoed the oddly-colored sky, the usual gold-orange color scattering through the smoke to appear purple.
It was surreal.
Just days ago – was it days? Hours? How long had he been trapped? – he was laughing with Sango over dinner, joking bout their upcoming wedding and making bets over whether their friends would admit to their “secret” love affair. He’d hugged her close while dancing that night, telling her he’d never let her go, that he’d cross mountains and rivers and oceans if he had to in order to be with her…
And how thankful he was that he never had to.
He’d never said anything about clawing out of his own grave.
A voice! Rescuers? He shouted again, aware that his voice was reedy and choked by smoke and circumstance. They had to hear him…
An ill-timed shout found him choking on falling plaster.
Miroku coughed himself into oblivion.
-oOoOo-
Miroku awoke to the steady beep following his heartbeat; dry air irritated his nostrils and he realized belatedly that a tube was taped to his face.
Black strands of hair peeked out of blankets by his hip. He noticed the neck-brace just moments before sharp pain jolted down his spine.
Moving his head wasn’t an option. He still couldn’t feel his legs.
Somehow finding the strength, he reached out to the head cradled on his hip, instinctively knowing…
“You found me,” Miroku whispered hoarsely. "How? It must have been nearly impossible.”
Roused from her dozing, Sango blinked tears away from her eyes. “The rescuers said there was a 98-percent chance you wouldn’t’ve survived,” she whispered, just barely audible over the sound of hospital machinery. “But I promised,” she told him.
“Promised what?” Speaking hurt. Then again, so did breathing deeply. Thinking. Blinking. He hurt and ached and wished for more blessed nothingness but couldn’t let go until he knew…
“I promised I’d never let you go. I’d do anything and everything in my power to keep you with me…” Her breath hitched as he began to lose his battle with consciousness. “You can sleep,” she assured. “But if you try to let go… just know, I’ll follow you.”