AN - New story! Sorry i havn't updated Thoughtful Presents for so long, I'm planning the next chappy, so watch out for it . It's been quite a while since I've been on ff.n, so I decied to at least up a fic for my birthday (today! yay, I'm now 14 ). I'm trying out a new writing style, so it may not be that good. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading it, and reviews are awesome -holds out cookie-
Distant Promises
1. Sunset
As time goes by,
We repeat many meetings and farewells,
Here I am,
Depending on someone's kindness,
Losing sight of something important.
Counting the passing seasons in the middle of night,
All by yourself,
What thoughts did you have?
Every day, when the sun sinks over the horizon at sunset, my mother stands outside, gazing at the stained skies, with a sorrowful smile lingering on her face - a smile mixed with many unreadable emotions.
I've never known the reason for this ritual that she repeats without fail, wherever she is, even when the weather prevents the event being perceived by her eyes, she stands in the exact same spot as always, facing the exact same position. When I asked Uncle Renji, all I got for an answer was "It's a memory she never wants to forget, because it means a lot to her," before he swiftly changed the subject, and we have not touched on the topic since.
My mother is a mystery to me. I know next to nothing of her past, her childhood. She never speaks openly with me, and the few times I have spent with her during my life were spent in awkward silence, almost as if she did not know what to do with me.
Even so, I have collected enough information over the sixteen years I have been alive from the people that surrounded my mother's and my lives to establish that there are few people that remain from her childhood, Uncle Renji being one. Aside from that, I know close to nothing about her life, her family, only that she was adopted into the Kuchiki household after her older sister passed away. How she came to know the others, no one has told me, no matter how much I poke and prod. All of the adults who I have grown up with are wary to my questions, and answer carefully, cautiously with phrases that don't pinpoint anything give anything away.
Especially on the subject of my father.
I have never met my father, let alone know his name, or who he was. Whenever I ask anything related to him, and uncomfortable silence hangs over the room, and the air seems to become thick and difficult to inhale. Within the community I was brought up in, the topic of my father became a closed subject, and I was expected to live oblivious to the missing parental figure. They don't seem to understand I would be content if they could just tell me simple facts, such as his birthday, or what his personality was like. I wouldn't mind if it was the smallest, most irrelevant piece of information about him – it's better than not knowing anything at all.
I am often told that I inherited my mother's soft features, aside from my eyes; toffee coloured, bright and large, it is often remarked that they reflect my strong determination to protect within them.
My mother has never looked me straight in the eyes before. Whenever she talks to me, she avoids my eyes, never meeting them once. It baffles me how she can escape such a simple communication technique, but I've never asked her the reasons of her actions. I doubt if she'd tell me even if I asked.
I've never been close to my mother. Even when I was little, she would always be busy with her work as fukutaichou, leaving me in Uncle Renji's care for a large majority of the time. Since her promotion to taicho nearly five years ago, her workload doubled, meaning that there were times when she wouldn't be home for two days, but by then I was used to never seeing her, and I was old enough to take care of myself.
Sometimes I wish that my mother made more of an effort to be closer to me, not only so that she can understand me better, but also so that I can understand her in return.
Sometimes I wish she could trust me.
One thing I know for definite is that my mother is far from being happy. I don't know what troubles her so much, but I know it must be something that will be with her for a very long time. For the larger part of my life, the few memories I have with my mother are filled with brief sad looks I catch out of the corner of my eye, or her eyes tearing up when she glances at me.
One recollection that is burnt into my mind happened the summer I turned twelve. I was restless one night due to the stifling heat, and decided to creep down the void, hushed corridors in the dead of the night to get a cold drink from the kitchen. As I passed my mother's room, I heard sobbing from inside, sorrowful, desperate, emotion-filled sobbing. I glanced through the gap that the slightly ajar door left, to see my mother crouching on the floor with her back to me, rocking on her knees while clutching something tightly in her left hand, the other hand clamped tightly on her mouth, trying desperately to suppress the weak sounds escaping her mouth.
A photograph of a boy with bright orange hair with a wide smile spread across his face.
Her sobs still haunt me even now.
Extract: Kuchiki Rukia
Thoughts to Myself, #001
Theme: Memories
Many people have told me that I have to relish my memories, accept the past so that I can move on, and though others may find it an easy task, to me it presents such a large scale complication that seems to have no solution.
My life, right from the beginning, has been far from perfect. I was born into poverty and a harsh world where I had to be strong to survive. I eventually worked my way up the ranks by becoming shinigami, with the help of my brother-in-law, but my personal life was in tatters. Whenever it seemed like I grasped happiness, peace and love, it seemed to dance right out of my hands and leave me to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. It comes to a point at times where I can not remember a time I was happy, at peace and relaxed, just falling through deep sadness with no base, no end.
Sometimes, my memories become so distant to me I begin to wander if they were merely just a dream. Times when I laughed freely without a care about my duty as a shinigami, when I had a strong urge to live for now, have become just nostalgic feelings, locked away tightly in the back of my mind. I rarely leave myself enough space of time to ponder over lost emotions, what use are they to me now? I often hear within the confinements of my own mind, and those words have become the one expression I hear everyday without fail.
Sometimes, I disgust myself with my own fear, a fear to confront the past. You can't do anything to change it now, a voice whispers to me, you need to know what made you who you are now. And yet, my hand falters as it reaches out to open the box of memories that I have safely kept over the years. I disgust myself with my own weakness, the thoughts that restrict me from climbing a wall that seems to go on forever into the sky.
That box collects dust in an abandoned corner cloaked in darkness, and yet it always seems to be in the back of my mind, haunting my consciousness.
Just like everything else that reminds me of the past.