Disclaimer: I do not own xxxHolic.

Warnings: Unbeta'ed, thus, bad grammar. This fic will contain major spoilers from the original manga and if you haven't finished reading xxxHolic, don't get mad at me. You have been warned.

Author's Notes: I just have to try to revive my love for this manga/anime. This is a challenge fic for me. I want to write this for myself mainly because of the abrupt ending of the manga. If, and if, someone is reading this, please leave me a review. Tell me what you think and tell me I am not the only who got heartbroken about the manga's ending. This will be written in ficlets, mainly like drabbles but not really, because this would be much longer than your usual 100-word drabbles.

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Death and What Comes Next

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"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all."
Emily Dickinson

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It was pitched dark.

Though he could properly see his lower body floating in front of him.

Ah. Floating.

Yeah.

He was being elevated, by the way.

He didn't know where he was and how come he end up floating in some kind of universe where gravity wasn't even invented yet.

He was floating, really.

Up and up and up.

He rested his head to the visible wind cradling his body and closed his eyes. What was the last thing he did? What was the last word he uttered?

He sighed.

What the hell was happening to him?

He wasn't feeling dizzy or anything but there was some kind of burning sensation on his stomach. On his navel, specifically.

He opened his eyes and stared at his body before him. He saw his usual hakama that he used when he was playing Kyuudo. He next scrutinized his feet that were covered in tabi (divided-toe socks). He wiggled it and he was glad that they weren't numb at all. Next were his hands. He raised them up and he moved them like they were dancing in the air. They were kind of pale and he didn't like the fact that his nails seemed like they're chipping.

That person would be downright mad at this. If he ever see this.

He twirled his long fingers like they're gliding in the air.

Then he noticed it.

He blinked his eyes some more, expecting it to disappear together with this new found sub consciousness.

He was dead. That, he knew perfectly.

He was dead and the dead don't come back to life.

He noticed that he was being elevated higher and higher and he could almost see small light in front of him and he realized that he was floating under a vast body of water. He was starting to emerged to the surface and it was getting brighter and brighter and brighter and then –

He opened his eyes.

He laid there – in some kind of concrete floor or something close to that – for a few minutes or maybe much longer than that. Since his so called 'death', he could no longer tell the difference of time or maybe – he almost shrugged his shoulders – his time consciousness was no longer working and he now perceived it as something as vague as his existence – If ever he was existing right now.

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"Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn."
Mahatma Gandhi

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He closed his eyes again not really minding where his body, or mind, if the last one kind of creeping you out, was now going.

He didn't care anymore, you see. Everything was over anyway.

Nothing would interest him anymore.

Not even his still wiggling feet.

So yeah, he continued laying there like a fallen leaf, ready to be blown again in god-knows-where place.

Then it started to rain. It started to rain of Sakura petals, and from nowhere, a huge Sakura tree surfaced, right in front of him.

It was kind of funny.

His eyes, who's supposed to be closed by now, was still seeing.

He saw the rain of Sakura petals and the Sakura tree itself, right?

Or was it all inside his head?

To confirm this, he slowly opened his eyes and he almost hooted a laugh when he saw her. Almost, because he doesn't usually laugh. Hell, he doesn't laugh. At all. He hadn't seen himself do those things before.

She was sitting at the top of the Sakura tree – (Wait. I kind of forgot to tell you that, yeah, I was right in seeing while my eyes were close because the Sakura tree and the rain of the petals were there. In front of me. So anyway, I saw her.

You know her. We all know her.

She was sitting at a branch of the magnificent tree, a lit cigarette was dangling on it slender fingers. She was looking at him, and it seemed like she also looked clearly amused.

"Konbanwa," she greeted as she bow her head. "Nice weather we have today, don't you agree?"

He didn't answer back.

There was no need.

She gave him a curt smile, her long, untied black hair was sweeping up the other petals in branch where she was sitting.

"It's quiet here, isn't it?" She asked again, this time, facing the sky. Her face was blank, and yet she looked happy. "Noise never reaches this place."

She looked down on him again. "Are you trying to go somewhere else?"

He closed his eyes again, "I wouldn't be able to go anywhere even if I wanted to," he said as he feel the warm floor with his hands. He was still lying and he wasn't planning on moving from his position.

She gave him a gentle laugh. "True," she said and he saw her puffed into the air, releasing oval shaped smokes. "And yet here you are, unconsciously trying to get out. Humans are so complicated creatures, don't you agree?"

"You talk as if you're not a human yourself."

"Ah. But there is a difference, don't you know? There is a huge difference."

He opened his eyes and he stared at her. She was still puffing the cigarette; her eyes were no longer focused on him.

"What is the difference?"

She was still looking at him. Then she spoke: "What do you think is the difference?" Her gaze was piercing and it was as if she was trying to swallow him whole.

He didn't answer. Or more like, he couldn't.

They didn't speak after that. They just continued to stare at the dim lit sky, their mind was thinking of different things; of different people.

He didn't mind the silence that engulfed him. He was used hearing nothing but his own imaginary beating heart.

He was used of counting the time that seemed like never moving inside this world.

He was used to silence.

He had to get used to it after all.

Then after a while she broke the silence.

"He was still there, you know. He was still waiting," she said as she puffed another set of smokes into the thin air.

"You're talking nonsense."

"You mean, don't care?"

Silence.

He heard her laughed.

"You don't care about him anymore." She stated it as if it was a fact and somehow, he hated how it sadly resonated into his heart.

He stared at the Sakura tree but not to the woman sitting on the middle of it. His eyes avoided her as much as possible. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want her to remind him of the things that happened a long time ago.

It wouldn't change anything.

"He's waiting for you," he said, matter-of-factly. He maintained his blank facial expression, never letting a single hint of what he was feeling inside tip out. "He said it himself. He's waiting for you."

He could feel the woman staring at him again.

"He's not," she said.

He almost wanted to roll his eyes. But he remained silent. Unmoving.

"He's no longer waiting for me. He accepted it. Finally, after so many years. You didn't know?"

Unmoving.

Silent.

"You're feeling it, aren't you?" She suddenly ask, not minding the silent treatment she was receiving from him.

"What?"

"The burning sensation on your belly."

"What about it?" He asked, and let himself to stare at the woman again. "What do you mean?"

She just smiled.

He was getting more pissed as the moment passed by.

She was still smiling.

"You're going back."

Before he could react to that, suddenly, everything went blurred.

The world before him slowly crumbled as if it someone was washing the newly painted scenery. And as if on cue, the burning sensation on his belly was back, and it was hurting him more than before.

"Say hello to him for me." He heard her say but he could no longer see her silhouette. "Tell him his stash of sake is no longer sufficient and that he's still a demon for forcing me to abstain."

His eyes caught the sad smile of her and then there was blinding light.

Then nothing.

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"But you're different. You're more perfect. Time is three things for most people, but for you, for us, just one. A singularity. One moment. This moment. Like you're the center of the clock, the axis on which the hands turn. Time moves about you but never moves you. It has lost its ability to affect you. What is it they say? That time is theft? But not for you. Close your eyes and you can start all over again. Conjure up that necessary emotion, fresh as roses."

Jonathan Nolan