1 | bleach © kubo tite
2 | 'anthems for a seventeen-year-old girl' – broken social scene (summary)
3 | set right after captain jesus tells them about ichi.
you can always see him on the other side
we need him to save us
he'd be dangerous
he can't come back
Chest full of harmhurthate as the record plays over and over again, she finally breathes out her musings and meditations, and they float up to the ceiling high above her. Streams of thoughts turn into black rain clouds overhead, and there's nowhere to hide. Thunder roars, lightning revelation rips through her soul—and the rain finally comes, words breaking into tiny little drops of echoes that sink into her skin.
he
c
a
n
'
t
come
home
.
The walls and the windows of her cloudy room feel unnaturally cold tonight.
She rolls on her side and tucks her arm behind her head, cold wooden floor against her aching skin. With her free hand, she absentmindedly traces circles on the icy floor, tips of her fingers turning into shaky, fragile glass, and she wonders—
when will we stop drifting?
Her hand finds its way into the pocket of her school skirt, and she reaches for her ticket—pleasepleasepleasedon'tletitbethere—all dark and ominous. She finds it and pulls it out, and it's heavier than she remembers. Black lines—all geometric, systematic, algebraic—burn through her vision. How long has he been behind all these bars?
if things had been different,
he wouldn't be in other worlds;
if things had been different,
he wouldn't be a shinigami;
if things had been different,
he would be here.
If things had been different, he might have been normal. If things had been different, he might have liked Orihime. If things had been different, he might have been walking home with Mizuiro and Keigo. If things had been different, he might have been having dinner with his family.
if things had been different,
he would be here.
If things had been different, they would still be friends. If things had been different, they would still talk about the smallest things and the greatest ideas. If things had been different, they would still take the longest route home so they could talk more. If things had been different, they would talk on the phone about god knows what.
if things had been different,
he would be here.
The spaces and the corners of her hazy room feel so goddamn empty tonight.
She lies on her back, one arm on her stomach and the other spread open over her unusually spacious floor—in her hand, she crumples the ticket and lets it fall to the floor. Overhead, the dark clouds stay, and her storm of musings continue to rain over her.
no sunshine
no sunshine
no sunshine
Her fingers ghost over the floor and over to the small piece of paper. She brings it over her head and tries hard to smoothen it again. When it gains some semblance of wholeness, the black lines—all parallel, straight, endless—burn through her heart, and she realizes she's the one behind the bars.
if things had been different,
we would be here.
She grits her teeth and cries for all the good it'll do, and she can't breathe; she doesn't remember what crying feels like anymore. She clutches the strip of paper to her chest and prays to some god—pleasepleasepleaseanyonewoulddo—that she'll never, ever have to use it.
please.