Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Chapter 4: Down

Prompt: Question

A/N: Rin contemplates the memories of the dead. (Please note that, with the less-familiar characters such as Hiyosu, Akon, and Rin, the chapters will be shorter. It's still unclear if Kubo will be developing them further in the future. And I'm really not interested in the complete butchery of innocents.)


Seven more officers had been felled the previous night, while others had been gravely injured.

Among the dead were Chojiro Sasakibe, Lieutenant of the First Division, Yasochika Iemura, Third Seat of the Fourth Division, and Marechiyo Omaeda, Lieutenant of the Second Division. All good soldiers, loyal to the bitter end.

It was truly saddening to see so many people lost. Hours of delving into scraps of Arrancar information and volunteer medical work did little to change that fact. How many had been saved that day? A half dozen, maybe more, by his personal estimates. Yet, with all the corpses, mangled and preserved, Rin found himself trying to discern the thoughts of each victim. What had they experienced, there, upon the field of battle?

Surely, each minute passed as naught but a blur, leaving little trace of the events within their minds. Had it been horror that struck them as they fell, or merely relief and thoughts of long-sought peace? He stood there in silence, watching as another of Captain Unohana's many healing squads carried in the victims, dead and alive. The boy cringed, watching as the living were brought into the room while the dead were taken down the hall for examination.

Was it really necessary for them to be viewed and observed after death? As far as he was concerned, such a thing was a blatant violation to the memories of their fallen comrades. He turned, his supervisor having given him a fifteen-minute break, trudging out into the hallway. Screams of pain bombarded his ears, chilling him. How long would it last? How long would they have to wait for this carnage to end?

And would the aching souls of the living ever be granted their desired peace?


Shorter than planned.

Written while listening to The Funeral by Band of Horses.