Characters: Ishida
Summary: An introvert who hates the sound of silence.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Timeline: No timeline needed.
Author's Note: Just a little drabble.
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.


There's nothing. No buffer between him and silence that is quiet, the utter absence of sound, yet somehow so very loud.

Somewhere along the line, Ishida's come to hate the quiet. He used to take refuge in places where he couldn't hear outside voices, whether familiar or foreign, because the sound of a voice intruding upon his quiet heralded grief and fear, daily. Always, no exceptions. Now, it's just the opposite.

Silence is now a reminder of how he's alone. Silence is where Ishida can't escape his thoughts, can't escape memories of past and present, can't escape mistakes or wrongs done to him or by him. Silence is just another type of drowning, another way to remind him that tomorrow hasn't come.

The radio on can't erase it. No amount of loud music blaring out at decibels to cause pain is enough. There's nothing that can entirely expunge this tiny little white-washed apartment of silence.

It's worst at night. Even with the lights out, everything still looks white, and Ishida lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Silence bears down on him, and he wonders back on the days when he took silence as such a good thing, such a refuge in dark places and dark days.

Memories often threaten to erase Ishida's existence away when the sun's gone down and painted the world black. Memories and the people who occupy them, who, though they are gone and only past experiences, still exert a powerful emotional stranglehold. Memories that have twisted silence from comforting and the only safe harbor in stormy seas to a trial to be overcome, as if it wasn't enough already to be alone.

So Ishida spends as much time away from home as he can, stubbornly searching for places where the sounds of silence can't follow him.