Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Bleach Oneshots

Chapter 1: A Narrow Line
Character(s): Orihime Inoue
Rating: K
Summary: She missed him tremendously, and it all felt like her fault.

How long had he been gone? Two, maybe three days? Flowers littered the makeshift shrine in their, now her, living room, his portrait displayed at an angle so that she could look at him even from outside the window. Fingers traced what was left of her once long hair, the regret settling in. Sora had always liked her hair long, but she'd disregarded his words, having decided to listen to the bullies at school. He'd been so disappointed when it had been cut, she'd seen it in his eyes, but he hadn't said a word. He'd just sat her down on the couch while he went to fetch her a cold glass of chocolate milk.

That had always made her feel better. Especially when he told her that she was his reason to live.

But she wouldn't have that luxury again, as the world had so cruelly taken him away. The fight, she remembered, had been over nothing of importance. And, because of that misunderstanding, he'd been in a sour mood when he left to go to work, only to end up meeting his doom.

She felt so guilty, gingerly touching the blue hair clips he'd given her. He had never said where he found them, only that he'd spent quite some time at that shop, looking for the perfect gift for her.

It was hard to decide now, standing out in the rain. She wanted to look back at him, to apologize for her childishness, but it just didn't feel like the right way to do things. It had been a long time since the last rain, the sky now painted that indigo color as the white lines shot down in the distance. They lingered, a lasting impression, just long enough for her to raise a hand and trace where they had been. It seemed that, as her finger moved, the fading line vanished, almost as if she were erasing it from existence.

Sora used to watch the rain with her. Even during the worst of storms, he would take her outside, wrapped in a blanket, and tell her made-up stories about the wonderful life they'd had with their loving parents. That had been years ago, when she'd only just started public school. Back when she was far too young to understand the nightmares that had gone on in that house of unspoken horror.

She could see the world from up here on the roof. The little children in the park down the block as they splashed about in the wet grass, the cars that hurried by, spraying the sidewalks with waves. She wondered if anyone could see her. She wasn't very high up, maybe twenty-five feet or so, but the drop would surely be enough to take her out, to put an end to the hurt.

It was a frightening, yet tempting, notion, her foot being lifted away from the firm rooftop. It was all but a balancing act now, her arms stretched out like wings so as to aid her. If she could fly through the skies, up to the heavens to meet him, then perhaps she would have jumped. But there was a voice in her ear, one that insisted she go inside. It wasn't a command, but a quiet suggestion, the likes of which she thought she'd never hear again.

"Don't jump, Orihime," it said. "Please, don't jump."