Ghost of Indifference - Chapter 2 - YourIgnorance - 鬼滅の刃 (2024)

Chapter Text

Your tails, some of many poured out from the small of your back, thick white ones that shined and sparkled like hot fire. The fur of your jacket receded and detached from various hung pieces around your skirt loops and the fur hood of your top and the collar of your clothes. Something pricked under the skin of your head and pried out from your skull to the top of your head until your hearing reached the peak of your ability. Fuzzy white ears that would have been embarrassing were they not clipped and sharp. You tilted your head again and pricked the rice grain strands in your hand as the last little thirteenth tail rolled over your back and rested along the rest of the dozen. You hoped your gaze was boiling all the blood in her body, like yours was boiling now.

You love yourself to spite the world of its dripping malice as common among people as pearls in the ocean. When those dare to defy it, your wrath would kill. What way could she kill you in a way that matters after flowers take your body again.

“Oh my!” Her hands covered her mouth. “What happened?”

Your throat growled again at her indignation. You wanted to leave so desperately. So you tried. Yawning and standing on the branch to move from one to another. You turned your back to her, looking towards the ground to watch your step from fragile nature to less fragile nature. Your animals followed you and the follicles of the tree in all different colors from all different trees as it took you longer to forget that woman you left standing on the path below you minutes before. Your mind fled from your body to flowing movements through the forest without hearing much else except for crackling leaves. Eventually you let yourself lay down on a different tree branch, this one on the edge of a cliff far away from most possible people that you could’ve run into except for that one woman.

It was still dark. The earliest morning hours that painted the sky a warm kind of silver you can find in the colors of painters. The smallest trail of sun around the edge of the sky was making its marks but that delicious moment of a lovers meeting between the moon, the stars, and the sun was bearing witness to me this generous morning. Now you could be the one daydreaming, a sentient dream that I wish could take me anywhere. Anywhere from here. You would name all of them if they could change colors if I did. The sky looked so engaged from where I was sitting and readjusting, but looking from your small parapet above the world would never dare to compare to itself. Oh you practically beg of it to let you in.

Into what? You imagined a safe haven. But wishful thinking would kill you. What could be human experience? Dead stars looking up at the sky, our past lives, our lovers, our parents, our brothers, our sisters. Fallen stars. Or maybe stars that haven’t been bright enough to join others. It’s an abomination to be immortal and never be with the stars again, demons live a long life so pitiful and full of looking down at the ground and not above. Holding your head low and hung until their necks cracked. But those creatures could die, and the spirits you worked with become passed on souls, so where did they go.. the clusters of stars that formed pictures that astrologists and poets and painters dept and wrote about in love letters you imagined to be family waiting for each other to be sent back down to earth at the same time again. It’s another wishful thought but nighttime stargazing is a time for your wishful thinking.

Family legacy’s rather than stories told of a singular person’s accomplishments or a prison. It should be a prison for some, that’s where those creatures go. Not the souls, whatever the sun rejected. Cowardice. But who got to choose the stars no one could see from this planet, was it a chance? A chance that some people who could have committed atrocities to be banished from the stars who got the most recognition from our dedicated lovers of the era. What makes a good person? A person good enough for the light of the reputation of the heavens? You think of happy people, smiling people, outwardly loving people. But people like yo-

“What are you thinking about?” A woman's voice asked. A voice that jumps started your memory moments before. You hand threw up in defiance and just downright pure embarrassment and fear. The back of your fist made contact with the woman’s face and you jumped back to your side to face her.

“Ouch! Oh my god I’m so sorry that I did that! I thought it would be funny but you have incredible reflexes!” She exclaimed, holding her nose and bowing her head while you shook your hands and your head back and forth profusely and in a wild storm of ugly unfortunate series of events.

“God, ok, um… well. I’ve still never done this before. And.. ha, it’s so frustrating because I know I have to kill you at some point but if you didn’t kill that family ....” She trailed off again.

You nodded, obviously not having killed that family.

“And you struck down that demon without even having touched it, which is bone chilling.” She shuddered and wrapped her hands around her body, and you wouldn’t have been surprised either. You leaned forward into my lap and rubbed my temples with a huge sigh.

“Well you're clearly not human.” She continued.

You nodded again. Wishing you could just be content with listening to things.

“But if you're not a demon.”

You rumbled discontentedly like a goddamn begging dog. You broke her gaze and frowned angrily at this f*cking curse.

“Ok, ok, definitely not that… I mean, are you sure?”

Anger had bubbled down, cooling over like how a boiling volcano creates new land after it cools. New land inhabitants were so tired and overwhelmed and just wanted to be rid of this. With your nails you etched gently into the first barrier of the bark.

If I tell you that I’m a demon to appease your weird fantasy or whatever, will you leave me alone?

“Weird fantasy? No no no no no no! That is not my intention. I am so sorry!”

You love to apologize.

“Well, I don’t love it but you deserve it. Hey! Don’t distract me! Look, if you're something otherworldly, how long have you had that skill?”

Should I tell you?

“Well I hope you will, and I do have a sword.” She smiled at me. “You're so strange.”

I am a illusion. And you are a human?

“Yes, yes I am a human.” She giggled.

Are you sure?

“I wasn’t trying to be rude!” She winced and whined but dissolved into giggles again. Like a teenage girl, such a strange contrast that you had least expected from her. Our conversation was etched into the trunk of the tree gently while you reached around her to make my point.

“I think we can be friends. I think we’ll be really good friends.” She laughed and smiled with all her teeth. She had one of those personalities you tried to avoid because they always say the best in you far too soon to be let down later on to your particularly macabre nights alone. Because they always found out.

You sighed. But met her gaze head on, albeit very tired and half assed as I rolled my shoulders against your back.

“Y’know I’m really glad you're not a demon. I’m glad that you're just super weird.” She said, sticking a hand out towards my torso. “I’m Kanroji Misturi!” She yipped. You didn’t take her hand, you took a lighter from inside your corset and a small bundle of lavender and a weed plant wrapped up in wax paper to burn. You kept it on the tip of a cigarette wand meant for its namesake but you hated the smell.

The small pet flame of your light clicked and sparked to life, the fire lit up your skin to a warmer complexion when you brought it close to your mouth and imagined the shadows contrasting across the warm parts of your skin drawing intricate pictures that weren’t possible. Nevertheless, you inhaled and exhaled with your whole chest watching smoke crawl from your mouth to the sky stretching out and losing its form as it followed the way the gentle wind blew. The lighter fell into your palm and rattled like a loose bone for a moment before it found purchase against your stomach. You tucked hair behind the ears sticking out from your head and reached down to etch below Mitsuri’s hand;

“That sounds gorgeous.” She admitted, and you raised an eyebrow in mild confusion. You kept turning your head to keep the smoke from your mouth from clouding the young woman's headspace anymore then she was already clearly delusional. “And your ears are super cute too!” She reached out to touch them and you smacked her hand away without batting an eye or even facing her direction, keeping her hands off of your pure white features and her outstretched arm retracting to her body again while she held it and tears formed in her eyes.

You glanced at her somewhat indifferent to her problems as they weren’t your own. Touchy and emotional made you feel strange. You furrowed your brows.

You're lucky I can’t take off your hand. You huffed.

“So what, you don’t like being touched? Ok I won’t do that then!” She exclaimed, tears rolling down her face as she sniffled almost pitifully. Then you heard the crowing of a bird you had heard before, when it landed from its purchase in the sky to the dwindling space between you and the woman. It preened and sounded off again, its little green and pink charm matched the complimenting colors of her hair, so this was her bird. So she was the third sign, had she been watching since before the sun had gone down?

Why are you here? Do you kill creatures like that?

“Yep! That’s what a Demon Slayer does!”

Demon Slayer?

“Oh but you don’t have to worry! Especially if you don’t eat people and protect them! That almost makes you a Demon Slayer!”

Is that what I’m doing? Protecting people.

“That’s sure what it looked like, you even sent that family toward the city.” Her smile faded, possibly thrown off by the question you had asked as if stating a fact.

Yes. I did that.

“So you were protecting them!”

Don’t insult me.

“Oh! But I didn’t mean to! Why should protecting people be bad huh?”

I wouldn’t want to disappoint you later.

“You haven’t yet? Why would you?”

You're trying to trick me into thinking I’m a good soul.

“I would never!” She clutched her chest in mild over dramatic fear. At this point you could imagine yourself to balter away from your problems, dancing artlessly without any grace or skill you could possess but enjoying yourself. You could almost feel another headache coming on, and the small ember of happiness and enjoyment being smothered out in deep cold water at the realization of how fleeting this moment could be. Will you remember her next week? You wish you could say yes. Should she remember you ever again? No. Sitting away from you by mere feet still made you an illusion, you traveled quickly for your safety and for your enjoyment and wanderlust among other things. You’d never see this woman again. Of course this came with some advantages. These day, these nights, they change vividly and swiftly, people wander and there are so many way that a person lives and loves.

“Oh man oh man oh man…” She brought her hands to her mouth again. It wouldn’t have taken a page in a novel to understand that she couldn’t be here. Couldn’t be seen with you, couldn’t be talking with you, couldn’t let you live. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t. But here this rude woman was, leaving your physical body intact and your mind palace in a raiding state of disbelief, distress and disarray.

“What can I tell the others? Oh…. The master won’t like this.”

Who could you answer to?

“I don’t know if I can tell you that yet.” She pouted.

I’m not offended. You shrugged, there was plenty you both weren’t going to say to each other tonight it seemed.

“That’s kind of you.” She sounded too genuine. “If you don’t know what a Demon Slayer is, and you hardly know what a demon is-”

Not true.

“Oh hush, if you don’t know that…. Maybe there’s a chance they’ll be more lenient. Not having killed that family and all.” She tapped her lips and stared ahead into the giant white plate in the sky.

That sounds ridiculous.

“You don’t know what an Upper Moon is either right?”

No.

“They might be apprehensive, but if it’s happened before, maybe you're like Nezuko!”

Nezuko the demon?

“Sorta like Nezuko, that’s the important part.” She looked hopefully determined, that made you nervous.

And what would happen if all went well with your plan? Oh good fate, what was her plan anyway?

“Well if it'll work you’ll be a Demon Slayer like me! And we could try and find a cure to your condition! Can’t you just imagine how great the sun would feel again?” She leaned in smiling brighter with the craziest eyes devoid of negative emotions like she clearly believed her cause of five seconds could work.

Your back compressed, and you stood quickly, balancing on the branch and standing above her, newly hellbend on getting the f*ck away from this woman. You were sure she was a wonderful person, but the delicious nonsense she has sprouted from her lips was the work of someone morally above yourself. You would leave, she would leave, you would go to a party and dance and let music take away the rough edges of emotion that emerged from you like crystals forming in a hollow cave to be soothed by running water. You would forget all about this in the morning. The woman stood up as well, even in her shoes just a bit shorter than yourself. Her balance was as commendable as her pure intentions on getting you to reach out and accept her proposal.

“You already seem great at it! I don’t even think you need a sword!” She searched along your hip dips for a belt or a sheath of some kind. You didn’t need one. You shook your head shaking parts of your hair out.

“I know what this sounds like, but seriously! You're extraordinary! If you could just show them that you're not dangerous I promise we can all work together! It happ-“ She tried to close the gap between you and her, you back up mimicking her exact number of steps to keep equal distance. You pushed your arm out in front of you and doubted everything that mentioned that she might understand the language of your hands but gestured a flat surface. A glass wall. You pointed at her, and her side of the branch, then you pointed to you and your side of the branch and shook your head even more violently with a face of disappointment and disgust. Then you pointed back into the forest.

Leave.

You hopped from your shared branch to another nearby one and watched to make sure she wouldn’t follow you. Her face was pure gold as the sunrise came over it, it contorted in an unsuiting mix of sadness and defeat. You hoped you would never see her again, you hoped that if you fell off the face of the earth she wouldn’t remember to come looking, that you had made no impact on the living whatsoever. But she just kept looking at you, like she thought you could change your mind when you looked at her. When you did all you could sense with your head was peace, but with your heart discourse and disconnect. Two souls, two beings that were never meant to meet, the top of the world and the bottom of the ocean. She still didn’t move, her bird leaped like clockwork from her shoulder and above the pine forest you had come from the path in. Only then did she turn and jump away with the same grace as her companion. You could feel your joints protesting against sitting until the sun was level with your head, good minutes after the woman had vanished from sight. You took another breath of the dwindling smoke in your hand.

When you like to think back to when you arrived on this idle land you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine that you hadn’t a clue what you could get into. You were desired to be here. Daydreaming, daydreaming could take this away.

The murdered victims of your life are a museum, painted like statues, or gorgeous muses that an artist observes but never registered. Sparkling blandly in comparison to everything else displayed in my window shop of your biography. Looking at genuine works of art of true masters you are now reminded and humbled at the idea of how fragile the glass of it all is. The glass is a creatively blown vase if you do offer yourself a compliment, but then again, hardly practical or worthy of remembrance. But do you want that to change? What would you offer to people if they did ever know you? You feel uncomfortable at the thought of the spotlight, the thought of eyes that your skin bristles and shakes like chainmail under your flesh. You decide that yes, you would rather stand in the light of a soon to be closing art museum, then a spotlight to be entertaining entertainment to those who can never be entertained. It is a quick conflict that tears at your heartstrings, one solved just like it is every night when you eventually ask yourself as you worry you might've changed. It's late, dark, and raining hard outside. You’ve been rotting for hours, taking your time and doing laps around the building while you wait. And you wait and wait some more. It is barely possible to rain this high in the sky, bordering on ice, museums saved for the class of those with time enough to afford it. Wind whips and raps at the wide bay windows far inbetween of the portraits that echoes boneish fingers tapping. Candles in their lamps glow ever shorter as the shadows cast alluring spells and dances on the glooming paintings. Rain projected from the windows adds new depth and color.

And your still waiting, it’s the blue hour now, the golden hour's sister, and the enviable part of the city asleep. That thunder would lull you to bed, it would lull anybody with time to sleep. You sit down on a bench in the middle of an art hung hallway. You're staring out the window at the rain and the clouded moon. To which you sigh slowly and reach down to the floor of your feet. Something brushed back at your hand, then emerged at your side once again. You don’t feel fear, but companionship.

It was a fox, one traveling at your side as if equal. One belonging to the city, never, you would make sure this would never be his home, but one that demanded to stay in my shadow as if your own. His fur mimicked the orange autumn glow of the candles, the ends of his back legs muddled and muddied in a patch of brown fur, while his front legs were reddish and plain. He bared his teeth and smiled for me.

How much longer must I spend waiting? You thought to yourself.

You looked around one last time at the wonderstruck statues and mundane paintings in hopes one of them might foretell of more human presence. Alas, it looked as though you were stood up, a whole half day spent stuck in your own head. Then, though echoing hallways you heard the pretentious clicking of dress shoes. Male or female it didn’t matter. They sounded meandering, lacking a need of urgency or direction. You crossed your legs and tilted your head, still staring out the window and weighing the odds of whether or not this mysterious visitor was here for business with you. Whether or not the shadows of the candles looked far more ominous now. The methodical clicking of the shoes turned into my hallway and stopped a few feet away from me. He pretended to observe an old oil painting depicting golden biblical events; the gold paint and frame were the centerpiece of the gallery. The window was placed so midday sun would hit it in an angelic way. Finnigan tittered under the bench. You rolled your eyes.

“It’s late.” The figure said.

You didn’t say anything.

He hesitated before he went on. Perhaps thinking of something to say, perhaps he hadn’t prepared anything to begin with. Perhaps he relied on the silence and thick air of trust that settled around you like fog in a green swamp. Thick, heavy, true, so space occupying that it’s hard to focus on anything other than the mere thought of it. His face turned to meet you, reaching out a hand. You took it, reaching for a black umbrella and began walking from the building with him. Finnigan stayed against the hem of my dress, never straying or faltering in my rhythm.

No words were exchanged between here and the exit, each other's company ricocheted and bounced off of one another’s bodies in an ambiguous way of keeping secrets from one another. In the same dancing way ballerinas twirl around each other, never touching but close enough to smile, convey. You didn’t know whether or not these secrets would be shared in the rain tonight or if we would fain normality and simplicity in serendipity like any other pair in the city would. Once again, forced to show my hand in my resilience against knawing patience.

And he held the door for you as you left the warm glow of the art decor and splendor, pulling open my umbrella and waiting for him to follow in return. Social manners were such a strange ritual, one of the only kinds you would have to fulfill to completion regardless of prying eyes. It is instilled in young women before all else to make yourselves perfect in presentation for whatever show to be put on for the world. The world imagines that we may be above the Earth as you wish to free ourselves from roots. The rain poured still, trees swayed and rocked as leaves broke from branches and circled and swirled to the ground. They floated like boats in the ocean of their puddles. The sidewalk was littered with the reflections of the night time lights, raindrops clung to and glowed against various lamplights. It was a comforting hum to fill the void of still silence. Finnigan’s claws and paws scratched the pavement as he trotted along with you. No railing barred the sidewalk pavements from where we walked to a hundred stories down, water features from the scarcer levels above flashed down harder and more powerful with the purified remains of the clouds.

“How have you fared.” He spoke again. No question in his tone, no judgment, no room for arguing or attitude of someone he took in.

“A bird flew in today.” He recalled, when it had been sunnier, had it been sunnier still, birds would have been the flying guardian messengers what carried letters from one person to another. Flying in through windows, weaving through the water features, soaring from roof to window box to high garden gazebos and the bridges that arched and stretched over the ground and the angling churches and the buses that carried handfuls of people on wires through the high rise food stalls of the poor during the dinner hours.

You looked up at the night sky through the hood of your umbrella. Over the fire light a cooler and colder starlight stared back at you with the eyes of an old friend. The clouds seem to make way finally for a peaceful star filled sky. Now you recognized what the rain was trying to be with their glowing and sparkling lightings, trying to mimic fallen stars. He stopped at a crosswalk, carriages rolled and roared by. Hordes of men powered by man’s designs to control nature and pass by these centuries in man made creation. It never seemed to be enough for us, you turned to the man you had been talking with.

“(Name), you are doing well?” He spoke slowly and with long pauses in between as if the information still didn’t make sense to him. You narrowed your eyes.

You had been a little girl once, a scared miserable and pathetic little girl. Prepared to die under that tree stump, the spark of rage and revenge and vengeance having been dampened and drowned before ever being ignited to warm myself. Vidarr had told you that it was a good thing that the spark had died out, that your heart beated a little slower now. But he never said that, he always said, ‘You are a wildfire, a spark can be the difference between new soil, and the irreplaceable death of thousands.’ Filling you with confidence wasn’t his job, nor should it have been because he was not good at it. It wasn’t even his job to take care of you, but there are moments when as a harbinger for death the fear he dictates is more than enough to keep you compliant. Maybe even, too much. After those words it was days before you stayed around another open flame, days before you allowed yourself to feel anything other than total calm in the presence of another, days before you were in the presence of another. But there were more words to come. Words you couldn’t respect because they were lies.

Ghost of Indifference - Chapter 2 - YourIgnorance - 鬼滅の刃 (2024)

References

Top Articles
Latest Posts
Article information

Author: Lakeisha Bayer VM

Last Updated:

Views: 6098

Rating: 4.9 / 5 (49 voted)

Reviews: 88% of readers found this page helpful

Author information

Name: Lakeisha Bayer VM

Birthday: 1997-10-17

Address: Suite 835 34136 Adrian Mountains, Floydton, UT 81036

Phone: +3571527672278

Job: Manufacturing Agent

Hobby: Skimboarding, Photography, Roller skating, Knife making, Paintball, Embroidery, Gunsmithing

Introduction: My name is Lakeisha Bayer VM, I am a brainy, kind, enchanting, healthy, lovely, clean, witty person who loves writing and wants to share my knowledge and understanding with you.