Title: Perceive with your Mind
Title: Perceive with your Mind
Rating: Depends on Chapter
Pairing: Ichigo/Hichigo.
Summary: Ichigo cracked under the guilt of killing his own mother when he was just a small child. Now in a mental institution he must under go a series of "check-ups" with his psychologist, Shiro.
Prolog
Author's Notes: I was inspired by the "Gorillaz," one of their "early" works really. But inspiration is inspiration and I intend to use it.
Warnings: Thinly veiled foreshadowing of what he did. Not much is said, not too gory.
You've got to press it on you, you just think it. That's what you do, baby. Hold it down.
- Gorillaz, "Dare." Used in a reference towards guilt.
Ninety-seven times. Ninety-seven stab wounds, which killed Kurosaki Masaki. For over a decade the family believed it to be done by a burglar. Someone who broke in at the attempt to steal, but found her home. She's what not the only one home, her son was there also, it was a half day at there school and he was home early while his father was at work. No one knew who had done it, there's was no physical; no DNA evidence at the scene to make an arrest. There was only young, eight year old Ichigo, who the police tried to question, but they believed him to be in too much shock. The case went cold.
- Eleven Years later -
Ichigo stared at the small cut that oozed that crimson substance that so many people claim to be thicker then water, he could see his reflection staring back at him, judging him. He glared at it, seeing it reflect back to him. His paranoia was increasing "You think you're better than me?!" he screamed at the drop of blood "You are me!" His inner mind breaking apart as his rationality was dissolving.
His mind did tell him if his idea was right or wrong, he stumbled into a bathroom, breaking the tile where the doorknob hit. He cursed angrily, searching for it, his brows furrowed finding it neatly placed in the medicine cabinet. He grabbed it's black handle, examining it, the stainless steel showing his ochre eyes, causing his want for what he was about to do to grow stronger. His gripped tightened on the razor blade as his tanned arm became visible from under his long sleeves. He didn't press the matter in his mind as he pressed the razor on the capillaries of his wrists. Cutting jagged lines down his arm for more loss of the liquid that drove him to do everything that night. "Are you happy?!" he screamed seeing the pool of liquid on the linoleum floor reflect him, "I gave you more of this damnable color!" he hissed wobbling slightly.
The loss of blood, the smell, the shaking of his vision over-whelmed the orange haired male; he stumbled back trying to get out of the small bathroom that was all of a sudden too white for his eyes, he tripped falling back to the wooden paneling of the floor, his back hitting hard, knocking his head too much for his blood-drained brain to take, he tried to fight for his eyes to remain open, but there was a weight. In his last seconds before the black blur over took him he heard a door opening. After that, nothing.
He vaguely heard roar of an engine, feminine cries, and sirens. The voices were a soft buzz in the back of his neck; he remembered the feeling of being lifted, moved a slam of a door and he slipped back under when the jerk of tires moved on the pavement.
A/N: So... What do you think? I'm sorry for the shortness of this, but I do plan on making it much longer in the first chapter.
Reviews?