The Kaguya were a small group that devised of nothing more than killing others. There were no women; they had all been driven away or beaten to death.
Even if they hadn't been so bloodthirsty, the Kaguya would have perished quickly anyway, having no women to have children. As a result, almost every Kaguya was either asexual or homosexual. I myself am not homosexual: though I have been teased to be gay, I never considered myself as such. I treated women the way I did men; with compassion, and high regards and respect. I felt no hunger for them. I felt no physical hunger at all. I have come to the conclusion I am asexual, though, at some point, I suppose I could be proven wrong. As the last Kaguya, I feel like a slightly ironic game- how long does the clan go on? How long will he last? I feel a severely cruel joke on my shoulders: being the only one to continue the Kaguya and asexual. God was cruel. Along with my sexual handicap, I have a mental disorder- co-AL, or 'Adoring Loyalty'. As a rare mental disease -using the word 'disease' QUITE loosely, as I always do- CAL concerns of having no and absolutely no trust in yourself, or anyone else in the world, except for one or two people. Those people become the inner and core of you- they mean everything and anything to you.
But wait, indulgent reader.
I have contradicted myself.
If a person, entertaining CAL, has no belief in themselves -as I do not- would they refer to themselves as 'I'? As a CAL patient, I myself know how it feels to go through that stage- a feeling you aren't even being, a feeling you are air, no, LESS than air, floating above your beloved Adored and shielding them from any hint of harm or slight discomfort- and feel a need to address the subject. As in the most intense phase of CAL, I felt not even having a name, to be a nameless nothing, but then again a something, to be protecting my Adored. Physically, we feel microscopic if not inexistant, but emotionally and morally and purpose-wise all- we feel larger than life (literally). And, even if thou are the most amazing force from Earth or Heaven- you are not physical. Nothing but a magical force, like God- God is God, he has no name or reason. God created God to be God. We invented us to be us to be protectors. The only difference between us is He gets everything to do with Him capitalized.
As a boy, a young boy, I never understood the meaning of 'gender', par-say. I knew there were male and female, but what I never understood was our stereotypes.
Boys liked action.
Girls liked to giggle.
Boys like blue.
Girls like pink.
Boys like dinosaurs.
Girls like bunnies.
Boys wear pants.
Girls wear skirts.
I never got the point. I find myself giggling several times a day, hold nothing against the color pink, enjoy bunnies very much, and see no point to stereotypical bottoms like pants and skirts and panties and boxers. It's not illegal for a girl to wear pants. But if a man wore a skirt- the entire world falls apart. I do not support men wearing womens' clothing- especially if it's stolen, that's just rude- but also see nothing wrong with it. I see no problems with women falling in love with women, men with men (as I was raised in such a community), women with men, men with women. I see no difference. Everyone's a person. I tried to tell this to my classmates while I went to the academy- but no one understood. I hadn't realized -nor did the instructors- that I was at a higher level than my seven-year-old classmates, as I felt it normal to inquire such deep things. Frustrated with their stupidity, I left and never came back. At seven, nobody cared. I was in school, or in my cage. I grew fond of my cage; an actual cage, carved into the corner of a darkened cave. It was my haven. It was sanctuary. But, as the years dragged on and I turned nine, I became irritated, as I always grew with everything I did continuously. I carved a face into the wall with my beloved knife -which I always carry and have never thrown out to this day- then a spine crawling up the side of my cavern, which I used as a stepladder to see out of a small hole in the ceiling. After I grew tired of that, I stabbed at the walls and ceiling repetitively, as the sudden THUMP of the knife felt vital now. Stab, stab, stab. Day after day. "Is there really a God?" I asked my carved face once. He didn't answer. I lifted my knife, aggravated. "If so, why would he confine me in a place like this?!" I almost struck the carving, but an erratic, deep voice I recognized at once stopped me halfway.
"Stop." Father ordered.
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