AN: I'm back~ New story, new ideas and hopefully a more managable schedule. I know I'm going to need to update some of my other stuff. Please bear with me!
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, Tite Kubo does. This story is also set (!with permission!) in an alternate universe created by the one and only vicioux. The idea for the story is mine, as is the poem below. (You steal, you DIE!) Further and expanded disclaimer in the next chapter.
Prologue: A Broken Coda
The heart catches the ash, blown by the breeze
and unseen by naked eyes: cannot sleep
till grim eyes and dead dreams lift this loss of ease –
merciful thing: the moon must slowly creep
upon a throne that never once was hers –
and the soul is split in this forgetful time
where loneliness rides with insensible spurs:
over sands and under moon – hears the chime
of the last hour, whose despair now fades away –
intoxicated – with a rage that decays,
with a laughing madness – screams to the sky,
claws at the ground, raises head, breathes a sigh –
then gently clasps the hand, in this time of need,
that is offered by Death on his quiet steed.
Lifeless, the barren wastes breathed in soundless eternity. They stretched endlessly, dune leading to vale and valley and into vast field again – nothing but white sand in all directions. White sand: thoughts, as joy and hope, lay buried deep and forgotten beneath them. The still, same, sightless moon bled its light into the white-darkness of the desert, casting the bleached and broken land into slow, but achingly stark relief. The black pitch of the eternal night remained, though worn and exhausted as a life at the end of its tether, but refuses to break – perseveres and can be seen in the lines on the face of that sand-sea.
Within the most desolate of that bleak place existed only a nothingness. No creatures wandered there, no life stirred.
That suited its inhabitants just fine.
"Have they finished?" A voice rang out across the empty expanse. Its speaker could not be seen.
"Yes. Just now, as you well know." The answer seemed to hang in the air; soft indifference tempered by a deathly apathy.
A third voice forced itself rudely out of the deep nothingness. "What next?"
"We watch…and wait."
The voice echoed for a moment, before it faded away. Nothing remained. The empty wastes were brought to silence again.
AN: Worked hard on this poem. I write the stuff as a hobby, so expect more of it in the future. Read and review!