AN: Maybe I should do another one for someone else. Oh well :p
Silver
-2-
"Bastard," he would say, spitting onto the dirt floor of the hut in Rukongai. He would sit, peeling fruit with his favorite knife. "I don't know whose child you are. Nobody in my goddamned family's got that fucking hair." He would grab a few silver strands in disgust.
Too young to understand the words, Gin understood the meaning.
Gin would keep drawing in the dirt, illustrating labeled pictures of people. 'Grumpy' down the street, who wouldn't spare a single fruit for the starving child, was being torn to pieces by hollows. The 'Mean Lady' from the Sereitei being lit on fire. A collage of sloppy stick figures dying painful deaths soon covered the floor.
"Damned silver hair." He would mutter to himself. "That fucking whore. Deserved to die. Correct?" He grabbed Gin's hair again, pulling his head back, expecting a response.
"Yes."
This was the routine. He would sit there and peel oranges, potatoes, carrots, whatever he'd managed to steal for himself, using his son's young age as a distraction. People pitied starving youth. One day it was persimmons. He choked and died right there on the floor.
Gin reached over and tried one silently. They became Gin's favorite food.
