AC: This is a little something I came up with while doing a History test. I know, I know. Ukitake is from a noble family. Therefore he wouldn't have been in the world of the living. And this doesn't really fit in with the time frame. But whatever. I hate OC's by the way. Yeah it's true. That's slightly odd isn't it? I hate my own creation. Now I know how God feels. You may laugh at that. Well I hope you like it more than I do. It seems school does pay off. Well the only problem was I couldn't stop thinking about this once it popped into my head. All the way through the exam. At least I managed 4 and a half pages. Now enjoy! Oh yes. Everything belongs to Tite Kubo apart from Rose (Me) And England (The Royal Family and the prime minister. I'd like to say the people, but I can't.
The boy was in the small cramped court. Him and a few other kids from the other houses were kicking a ball about. They got a few dirty looks from woman getting water from the pump. It had been raining a lot recently. This had caused the cesspools to overflow, not only onto the streets, but into the water as well. When boiled, the pump water turned white, and when drank cold, tasted odd. They had sewers. But the they had been built under the town and then only connected to the houses of the rich. There was four privies in the court, two of the doors had been kicked off. These lead directly into the cesspools, that were supposed to be emptied weekly, but in reality, had never been emptied. These were the only places for the hundred of people in street to 'go'. Save the chamber pots, that were emptied directly onto the street. The street had tuned to a messy wallow of mud. The sky, always dark with the smoke from the factories was darker than usual. A sign of more rain. His black hair was quite long, and no doubt crawling with lice. Despite this, it was silky but wild, in desperate need of a brush.
The ball was kicked out into the alley way, the boy followed slightly wary of the dark figure standing in the shadows, one of the boys he was playing with walked towards the pile of rubbish growing in the middle of the small street, selected something and took a bite out of it.
It was growing late. Well for the boy it wasn't that bad, a normal working day. Still his arms ached and his lids felt heavy. Once again he slid under the machine, cleaning it out and quickly slithering back out before the machine took of one of his limbs, or worse decapitated him. He coughed, a piece of fluff in his throat. He glanced quickly at the girl next to him. She was new and obviously suffering. She looked ready to fall asleep on the spot. The boy pitied her. He knew how it felt. It was gruelling. And you made mistakes when you were tired. In this case, fatal mistakes.
His hair was short now. Pieces of fluff resting on top, making his hair look darker than ever. He cast his gaze back to the machine, not wanting to get shouted or fined by the supervisor. His family relied on the income he brought. Only him and his father worked. And if he didn't bring home the money, they'd all go hungry. Especially with the new baby sister
He slid back under. He followed the pattern he did everyday. In, sweep, out, wait, in, sweep, out, wait, in, sweep, out, wait.
It was tedious work, and the noise of the machines was deafening. But he had to do it. Soon, he'd be able to get a better job. Helping his father. Better pay too.
In, sweep, out, wait, in, sweep, out, wait, in, sweep, out- CRACK!
His head swivelled around to the source of the noise, his brown eyes widened as he saw what had happened. The machines stopped. His ears rang as he became used to the slightly quieter room. He gasped, running over. The screaming drowning out the sound of the machines in the other rooms. He was the first there, the pool of blood growing and growing. He grabbed the feet of the sleepy girl, dragging her out from under the machine. He was shocked, and felt sick.
Her arm, up to the shoulder had been snapped off.
It hung, in the machine. He felt sick, but he hugged the small girl, comforting. As woman screamed and the supervisor started yelling. He whispered words of encouragement and comfort. She was still screaming, tears running down her petite face. She quietened slightly in her arms. Only slightly though. And then people came. Prising out of his blood soaked arms. A bandage was rapped around her stump of an arm. Stemming the flow, as she was placed on a stretcher and carried off. He stood. They asked if he was a relative. He shook his head. He watched as she was carried off. He doubted he'd ever see her again. She'd probably live. But she wouldn't work again.
The boy was older now. A teen. He was handsome, that was obvious. His skin was pale and perfectly smooth. Without a single imperfection. His hair was longer than it had been, but not as long as it used to be. However, now it was brushed regularly. Jet black, and looking like the finest silk. He was thin, but had muscles. He was walking. Home from work. His father had gone to the local tavern. No doubt to return late. Drunk. He had one hand in his pocket, and stood perfectly straight. A girl walked towards him. She was poor like himself. But had only her left arm. In which she held a small basket, in which she had a few items of food. He nodded too her as he passed. Giving her a small smile.
For some reason, she looked familiar. It was then she stopped, suddenly right next to him, blushing slightly as she spoke.
"It's you."
Her voice was soft and gentle, as sweet as sugar in his opinion. At a distance she looked quite ordinary. But up close she was beautiful. Thin and dirty of course. But like a beautiful rose in field of mud.
The boy frowned, slightly confused, giving her a questioning look.
"You're the one. After my arm…"
She shrugged her right shoulder slightly, to show what she meant.
"You dragged me out. And comforted me. Although I screamed and struggled, you held me close and told me to be brave."
The boy smiled as she finished these words. At which she blushed even deeper.
As red as a rose
He thought to himself. He knew he looked pretty dashing. Girls giggled as he passed them. But he had never tried to be. It was natural.
"I remember. I was looking at you before it happened. You looked tired. It was that no doubt that caused it..?"
She nodded, the blush staying.
"Yes it was. I've never forgotten you. You were so kind. And you were so young. I apologise. I haven't introduced myself. I am Rosaline. Pleased to meet you."
The boy's heart skipped a beat. He looked at the even now small girl. And realised what this feeling was.
After that event. They used to pass each other in the street. Exchange a few words and a smile, everyday becoming more and more enchanted by each other. They learnt about each other. Rosaline lived in the cellars of one of the houses in the boy's court. It was horrible. Rats, waste and damp. One way as she got home, she looked into her basket and saw a single red rose, attached a small piece of paper, five words written on in a untidy scrawl.
The boy lay. In the packed bare room. Taking up the only bed in the whole house. His breathing was ragged. He was hot and sweaty. To weary to even lift a hand. He was pale usually. With fair skin as white as a field of snow. But now. He was chalk white, so white it looked unhealthily. He coughed. From his lips came not only mucus, but blood too. Bright red against his pale, dry lips. His mother leant over him, placing a wet cloth over his forehead. Raising a spoon too his lips. It tasted of herbs. Rosemary and something else. It was warm and oily, he swallowed it gracefully but immediately started coughing. His hair hung around his head. Limp, greasy and dull. He closed his eyes. His mouth tasted of blood. Constantly and he was thirsty. But he knew he was going to die. And it pained him to see his family watch him slip away from them. All the pain he was causing.
The pain he would cause Rosaline when she found out.
It was then said girl walked into the room. Looking about before spotting him, fear and pain filling her eyes. She crossed quickly. Coming to his side, his mother respectfully moved away. Blue eyes downcast, blonde hair almost as dull as the boy's.
Rosaline took his pale hand, squeezing it gently.
"Why didn't you tell me You were sick?"
Her bright green eyes looked pain and watery. As if she was on the brink of tears. The boy hadn't spoken in two days and struggled to summon them. When he did, it hurt.
"I didn't… Want to… Cause you… To worry…"
"Shhhhh…"
She laid a finger on his pale lips, looking into his eyes. They were brown. As brown as a dogs, but much more handsome.
"Rosaline."
His voice was strained but stubborn. As if he was desperate to get them out. She looked at him, squeezing his hand harder then before.
"I… I…."
A single tear fell from his eye as he spoke, looking up at her, a adoring look in his eyes. He griped her hand back with his remaining strength.
"Love you…"
That was the first time he had uttered the words. Alas. It was also the last, for as the last syllable left his mouth, his grip slackened, and his eyes dulled. All life leaving them. Rosaline looked at him, tears leaking from her eyes. However. She didn't wail. Instead, letting go of his hand. Gently placing it back on the sheets. Closing his eyes, so as to make it look as if he were sleeping. It was then she turned to face his two sisters, father and distraught mother. It was too her she ran up to, hugging her in a tight embrace and letting go. Tears streaming down her face. As she grieved for the boy she loved. She had loved.
The man looked into his tea and took a sip. As he set it down a single tear fell into the dark liquid. He sat, staring into the depths wondering how he could have forgotten all of this. He glanced at his white hair, remembering the time it had been as black as the coal that powered the machines, when he had dragged the girl from under the machine, when he had played football in the court, when he had had once again met the girl. Rosaline. His one and only true love.
He rose to his feet. Wondering if he could get permission to go to the world of the living. An area were shinigami did not usually visited.
It wouldn't be too hard. He had influence after all.
The man stood at the gate, the hell butterfly fluttering in front of him. He followed it, in a flash of white haori. The gates closed behind him. Last to go was the number 13 written on the haori.
The man was about to return to the place he had lived. While he was the boy, and not the Captain of the 13th division; Jūshirō Ukitake he had forgotten the words on the paper. But Rosaline still remembered them. As she searched daily in Rukongai.
For she whom is more delicate than the most beautiful rose.