A/N:

I did not write the following poem, but it has given me much inspiration for Syaoran's attitude. The title is 'Children Learn What They Live', Author Unknown, and you will be seeing important snippets from the piece as the story continues.

Greetings, readers new and old! For the latter, enjoy lack of spelling mistakes and better sentences, not to mention new plot twists. For the former, congrats! You get to read 'Don't Run' version 2.0, which is no longer 'Don't Run', it is now 'Togiretogire', which translates roughly from Japanese into Broken! It's new, improved, with less bugs!! Heehee … I'm really happy that I rewrote this - the first version rubbed me the wrong way, and was not how I wanted it to be. On that note, enjoy (if you wanna :P)

p.s. dangit i hope this reaches all the people that had "DR' on their alert list .

Togiretogire

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If a child lives with shame, He learns to feel guilty.

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Once upon a time there was a poor boy that was brought into the world from a hateful act.

He lived in ancient magical times, just before the invention of automobiles but still during the time when the world seemed new. In terms of class, he had been lucky; his mother and father, Lord and Lady Jiku, were the rulers of the Eastern Lands, a larger territory than the others due to recent conquests of the War. He grew in a home lacking responsibility, no questions, no demands, no need to make any real contribute to society. The entire community of their village was like this; no one cared. They figured that at the moment, they were fine so they should live it up while they could.

Many of the children he played with were the same - and since children know no better they soon learn to take advantage of their place in life.

They started acting underhanded - making deals, appointing leaders, choosing sides … too much drama for such small children. The poor boy and his older brother had yet to get caught up in it all, until the name calling and the real threats began. Any secret one of the children would have got told and spread throughout the group, as well as the parents. No one went with a wet bed unnoticed - failing grades were announced to all - and then, once every child had been humiliated, the children asked, 'what was wrong with the poor boy?'

One had asked their parents and learned the truth, secretly spreading it around the circle of children.

Everywhere the poor boy turned he heard harsh words and ruthless glances. Sometimes the stares looked at him in disgust; other times it was shame or pity. He felt guilty without knowing what he had done wrong.

The truth of the boy got to his brother and he even became angry with him. One day, he shouted at him, called him a bastard. The boy was instantly confused, and consulted his mother on the word.

He soon learned why his brother was whipped that very night.

His father sat him down and explained to him how he was born.

It wasn't the simple 'when a man loves a woman' story. The boy had the same mother as his sibling … but he had a different father.

Back during the early days of the war there was chaos and no one felt safe. It was far different from the present time; nowadays hundreds of thousands of miles of barren land separated the East and West, the North and South. The citizens felt like there was an impenetrable wall between them and their enemies. But it was never that way before. People lived in fear - thieving, killing, homicide and terrorism were expected on a regular basis. Kidnappings and raping occurred during broad daylight between enemies. And the boy's mother was no exception.

The boy's biological father was the enemy - the Lord of the Western lands. He snuck into the territory, defiled her and left her pregnant and hysterical.

The boy watched his mother cry. She cried over him. She cried over that man.

So he blamed himself and the man. Day by day he mentally beat on himself; his mind was a deathtrap. Also he blamed the man viciously. He hated him for hurtirg his mother so, and wanted revenge one day. He didn't know how, or when, but he wanted it.

He showed no tears, but he didn't smile either. The minute he learned the gravity of the situation he adopted a feeling in the pit of his stomach. It burned, and he imagined that it was a black mass of some kind of evil substance. He wanted it to go away and despite his attempts to act like never was wrong … it never seemed to leave.

He decided he needed something to focus on, thinking that the mass would disappear if he fought against the reason for its existence. The next morning he went to the household's martial arts master, who was once a knight of the state before the war broke out, asking for lessons. This shocked the master and he inquired the head of the household about it … but his father waved it off, allowing his five year old son to wield weapons and learn the art of defense and death. Reluctantly the man began to train him.

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If a child lives with criticism, He learns to condemn.

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As the boy grew older he learned how mistakes never went unnoticed. If he spoke out of turn during a town council meeting he would get looks of disgust on his way through the market. If he made a fool of himself in his schooling the parents of his peers would ask how the son of their leader could be so moronic, compared to his older brother who was excelling in everything. And soon they started saying, 'he's this way because of his real father.'

Every corner he turned he saw them … their joking, cruel faces … sometimes in shame, or fear, or plain old loathing … they reminded him of the children back when he was young, who made fun of him for something he couldn't help … who made him ask about the word bastard and learn how he was one … they judged him before they even knew him.

… and the mass in his stomach grew, like a virus, spreading through his torso and chest.

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If a child lives with hostility, He learns to fight.

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During his training his master noticed he had,began to get more aggressive in his attacks, and more concentrated on his meditations. When the master consulted the boy's 'father', the man told him to teach the boy throughout the day. The boy was removed from school. Martial Art was now his life.

It was no longer a mass. It truly was a virus that seemed to empty everything he once held dear. He was no longer the child he used to be … he was becoming another spirit. He lost the emotions of happiness, the reason to smile, the desire to laugh … any of the goodness that makes any other person's life livable. As his body grew it became numb of sensation, other than the cold dark hatred.

He began to lash out at his family because of this. Arguments at the dinner table were no surprise. After a while the boy began to storm out of the house after the bickering was done, slamming the door behind him. Soon, as he wandering around the streets of his village, he began to head into the red-light district. As he got even older he began to bring girls home, girls who reeked of booze and exposed skin to anyone.

It wasn't that he stopped caring what other people thought. He stopped caring … about anything.

The virus had engulfed the boy entirely when his master died of illness. After that he stopped talking to anyone. He only went to three places; the study, the dojo and the rougher parts of the village. In the study he read books on geography for hours on end. In the dojo he ignored the pain in his joints or the blood he spilt. In the village he would disappear into clouds of smoke

He was basically an empty shell. A cold, unfeeling empty shell.

Well, he wasn't so unfeeling. He still felt a need for revenge, and put blame on one thing for all of his misery and hardships that he had endured.

His real father was the reason he was brought to this world.

And he figured the only real way to feel peace once more - that childlike peace he endured because of the innocence involved with ignorance - was to murder his father.

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If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to find love in the world.

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In the end, he achieves that peace … but not in the way he expected it.

This is his story …

To Be Continued …

Inspiration:
Lying from You - Linkin Park