Life is a curious thing you know, just like a sigh, begins with the need of air in your lungs and ends with one final breath. All this may happen in the blink of an eye and yet many people can´t notice it. All these collections of memories that pass through our eyes as fleeting images right before our very end, it is what we love the most and also what hurt us. But as many of those who live in this world, does not notice this until death has come for us.

But what if death was always beside you?

What if the end of all life was your very own shadow?

And if death itself causes pain to those who you care and made everyone hate you, even if you did not do anything at all

Is that something you might call life? Living with more fear of people and what they do to you, just because they were trying to save their own life, at the cost of my own pain.

Nobody could call it life… and yet.

Although sometimes I have described that I cannot control death, I still do not know when will I look into its eyes and say that my time is over.

Still, I remain hopeful that everything happens for a reason, that those terrible things have happened always and that they are not wrong. I believe that the gods got their own reasons to let me keep breathing up this day.

My life has been very lonely all these years, locked in this temple, guarded by people that I have rarely seen through the windows, monks that pay a visit sometimes just to check if I am still alive. There are priestesses that look at me with hatred and repulsion during ceremonies and rituals that try to purify me, even if not a single one have done anything at all.

Very few dare to come closer than ten feet away from me. Everyone is so distant, always praying, always clinging to life. Life that I can steal so easily.

I was born fifteen years ago as the first and last child of the Saigyouji family, under the name of Yuyuko. Since childhood I was rejected by my father, who at first seemed to be very happy with my birth, but then he change after my mother death several years later. That one day when she hugged me during the night and stayed right beside me while I slept. My father reminded me of that every day he comes to visit me.

He reminded me that I was to blame for the death of my mother.

The priests and Buddhist monks who visited the family mansion after the burial of my mother, were horrified to feel the presence of death hovering around me, although I cannot quite remember the words that were expressed, I remember very well that I called a monster.

After that day my life would not be the same again.

My father, sad and angry, took me out of the house and locked me up at a nearby temple, where they built a small mansion for me only, the prison where I remain up to this day.

I was only six years old and I was denied of the happiness of childhood, I could not explore, I did not learn to run or jump, I did not play with other children nor enjoy the passing summer.

They stole my freedom.

The first days of my imprisonment, my father visited me just to check that I was given the right services. A couple of women came in at that time, they taught me how to dress, pray, cook, wash, clean and other things I should know for my time in solitude. Then my father and those priests strictly denied everyone to have any kind physical contact with me, saying that to approach within six feet away from me could be dangerous. So, those women taught me from afar, and as I tried to mimic what they were doing, they told me if I was right or not.

The loneliness of the first week was very difficult for me. With six years and with no one to talk to or to play with, none to sit beside me during dinner or anyone that give me their love and understanding, I started slowly falling into despair.

The first days lamenting myself, mourning the death of my mother and my own confinement. Spending all day sitting against the corner of my room, like a punished child who was waiting for her father voice to say that everything is okay. Sad and discouraged to do something, not even hunger could make me forget my pain of being alone.

The days passed and I began to think a little more about what happened, I thought my father was a fool and that he hated me for something I did not commit. I would have never wanted my mother to die; I would never hurt her or anyone else.

So was I hated?

Why did locked me in this place?

What am I doing here?

I was not to blame for the death of my mother and just for because those priests, who filled with my father ears with those lies. They are the real culprits of my confinement, my loneliness.

I began to feel hatred for those who looked at me through the window, at those who passed at certain times to bring bags of rice, vegetables, meat and water. Those damn monks who looked at me with horror and then turn their faces away right before praying loudly. They were the ones that kept me locked. I thought of the hundreds of things they said to my father, and that kept me still here.

-It's a monster!-

-Death haunts around her!-

-This devil child!-

-It's a demon!-

-That girl is dangerous!-

-Stay away from her!-

-Don't be fooled by her looks or she will steal your soul!-

To hear so many bad things in those days only fueled pain in this lonely mansion.

Finally I could not handle any more of it and started screaming desperately, I felt impotence in front those double doors when I pushed them with all my strength. I strike them again and again with no results. Then I started yelling all my resentment and feelings out loudly.

But the reaction I got from them was very different.

I heard footsteps at the other side of the door before a brief silence, but instead of help after I began to cry all I heard was the laughs of those monks ...

Hate.

It was all I felt. Despite being only a child I could feel that pain inside me growing into hatred. I began to think of all those priests, guards and women I had seen those weeks. Then I imagined everyone laughing at me and saying bad things about me again.

I fell down on my knees crying, I could not control it, so I shout desperately as I wanted only one thing in this world.

I wish to no longer see them alive again.

Afterwards I started to hear noises and footsteps on the other side of the door. As I stood motionless wondering what happened. My doubts were answered, when I saw one of the monks opened the door.

His eyes stared at me, full of hate.

So that was how hatred is reflected?

I walk backwards slowly as fear fill my mind. There was something that tried to pull me away as I watched how he pulled a metal object from his clothes. Then I stood motionless, as he approaches me slowly. In that moment I felt something cold that passed right next to me, it was a strange thing back then, but now I know that it was death haunting around me again.

The monk took that sharp object and then run it at me. I was really afraid as I could not even scream when he was in front of me. I heard a loud noise and opened my eyes just to find that the monk fall at my feet. He did not stumble or slipped, he just stopped moving that instant.

His face got no expression and his eyes devoid of all life.

It was just like my mother that day; I realized that he was dead.

Cautiously approaching my hand to his face I remembered he was the one who had brought bags of food the day before.

But why had he hated me so much?

I noticed that the door was open, so I forgot that he died in front of me and a strange joy came over me. I wipe the tears and walk to the door. Without noticing I had a smile drawn on my face and my mood just recovered.

I approached the door and pushed hard, I wanted freedom and all I could think of was to run away from there. But then I felt that the door got stuck on something and could not be opened more than half. I looked through that gap to see outside, just to find out there was a dead monk leaning against the door.