Author's Note: This is my debut piece to this lovely place. I consider this as a test to my writing skills rather than the beginnings of a story. I have a vague feeling that a fanfic centering around my original characters would not attract many glances, anyway.
Please do leave reviews if you enjoyed my work. Who knows? If you inspire me enough, I might turn this into a full-fledged story. :)
In any case, I present you with Souru, and the story of her unfortunate and untimely death.
All was dark. All was still. All was silent except--
Click-clack. Click-clack.
She always liked the sound that a Zippo lighter makes when it opens.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
The metallic click was her only consoler as shfe watched the dark, writhing black smoke claw its way through the cracks in the closet door. Even with her Zippo clicking away, she could almost hear the ravenous roaring of the fire that raged just beyond the wooden door. When she looked beyond the seeping smoke, her dark eyes reflected the hungry light of the scarlet tongues that licked towards her small, empty closet. Shuddering, she drew further away from the door and pressed herself against the increasingly warming wall, her legs folded and tightly embraced by her arms.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
She lowered her head to her knees allowing her luscious, inky hair to veil her face.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
Dammitall.
+
+
+
"No, it's okay. Really, I'm fine!"
She smiled as she saw the brown-haired, doe-eyed beauty brush off the advances of another would-be suitor. Chuckling lightly, she thumbed the lid of her Zippo open with a soft click, lighting the oil-soaked twine with a shower of golden sparks from the flint. She watched the dancing flame settle into a flickering cornflower blue and then clicked the shiny lid shut again. Time to rescue the poor damsel in distress.
"Mizuki-chan! Over here!"
"Oh thank god, see? I'm not lost. There she is! Souru-chan!"
With relief and gratitude brightening her face, Mizuki hastily skipped across the street towards her friend, her buttercup-yellow dress dancing prettily in the wind. With a happy sigh, the girl sat next to her friend on the dusty park bench and leaned towards her with delicate brows knitted together in concern.
"Really Souru-chan, I don't know why you keep that lighter with you. You never use it or anything, do you?"
In a flash, the shiny Zippo disappeared into the side pocket of the owner's faded jeans. Turning towards Mizuki, she wrinkled her nose.
"I wish you wouldn't call me that. You know I don't like my Korean name. Besides, it's not Souru, it's Sol." She patted the pocket where her Zippo now resided. "And I like my lighter."
"But Souru is such a better name than Rin!"
"Sol, Mizuki-chan. Sol."
"Oh, by the way, Souru-chan, I found the perfect place for ice-cream. They have bubble-gum flavoured cones! Come on! Let's go before it closes for the day."
Mizuki was already half-way across the street before her friend stood with an exasperated smile, the silvery lighter back in her hand and clicking away.
+
+
+
Click-clack. Click-clack.
The dark, poisonous fumes swarmed the upper half of the closet like angry wasps. She could smell their malicious intent. She could feel their hunger for her flesh. The air around her had long lost any trace of live-giving moisture--only suffocating heat remained. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her lungs to gasp in the next breath. And the next. The next. A disquieting ring began to sound in her ears, overpowering the clicking of the lighter's lid and even the howling of the voracious flames licking at the fragile door. She shook her head feebly, but to little effect. Her mind raced.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
+
+
+
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
On the dinner table lay three dishes of rice and soup, as well as various sumptuous side dishes, all untouched and all gone cold. However, they were nothing compared to the frosty voice that floated over the table.
"Your father's late again."
The dining room was lavish. The large mahogany table ran parallel to a window just as large, the glass pane framed with white and embellished by cream curtains of gauzy silk. On the walls of the room were various still-life paintings in the style of the Dutch Masters and a stylish mahogany clock with polished brass arms. The table itself was also art; a white table cloth embroidered with glittering silver firebirds swathed its surface, and on the table was a centrepiece formed with golden lemons and scented candles, which filled the room with pleasant perfume. The rest of the house was not any less grand. A dream house. But the young girl sitting in the table wished that it was smaller, so it would feel less empty.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock's arms ticked past 11 PM. The nightscape of the busy Tokyo city looked almost surreal. The woman's cherry lips pressed together, and the corners of her mouth turned down. When her lips parted, an odd gasp escaped--a strangled sob. The young girl said nothing. Her innocent dark eyes reflected the small, flickering flames of the aromatic candles, wondering how much longer they would have to dance before she could eat. She was hungry.
Tick. Tock. Tick. T--
+
+
+
--ack. Click-clack.
They were hungry. So very hungry. Even in the midst of the thick black smoke that stung her eyes, she could clearly see the fire's victorious progression towards her. The arid air was scorching hot. It scalded the delicate passages of the nose and roasted the air sacs in her lungs. It hurt. She could not breathe. Her brain was screaming in the lack of oxygen. She felt herself lose control over her muscles. Her body, limp, slid sideways and sprawled on the floor. Yet, tenuously, she held onto the Zippo, the metal heated to the extent that it was painful to touch. Grey edged her vision and thoughts.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
+
+
+
Fire. But not violent. It was friendly. Controlled. Beautiful. Stunning. Warm. She loved it. She did. It was a carnival. Laughter, music, dancing. Dancing around the bonfire. Flames dancing. A young man, walking towards her. A smile on his face. I saw you here everyday since the carnival started. Always in front of the fire, alone. Would you like to dance with me? No, I'm sorry. I already have a partner. Oh, who? The fire. The fire dances. See? Nobody can dance with fire, you know. I know. I'm just wishing I could. He's confused. He bids goodbye and walks away. He looks back. Be careful, fire can burn you. He's right. Click-clack. Click-clack. He was right. Fire burned me. Click-clack. I loved it and Click- it burned me. -clack. Click I. Clack. Hate. Click. Fire.
Clack.
Epilogue
"Hey, it's okay now. It won't hurt anymore. You're going to Soul Society."
"Soul Society?"
"Yeah."
"So, I'm dead."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. I guess I'm glad."
"... What's your name?"
"R-- no. I'm Souru. Souru."
"Just, Souru?"
"Yeah."
"Oh. Well, good luck, Souru. I'm Zuki."
"Ah."
+Questions+
A) How was the flow of the story? Interesting or just simply confusing?
B) How is the balance between dialogue and description? Good? Or too much of either?
C) This is intended as a character sketch of sorts. Did you get a good feel for what Souru is like?
D) Would you like to hear the rest of her adventures? Note that although canon Bleach characters may appear (rarely), they will only be cameo appearances, and nothing more.
E) Did you like it:P
Reviews keep the angry author-monster placated and happy.