Author's Note: My left hand arm hurts. I got really bored yesterday and started playing on my old Gaia online account again. I've been copying and pasting for this thread so I can get more gold for hours. Yes, I have no life.
And thanks to Edge who kindly pointed out that Rangiku also meant riot, therefore leading to "chrysanthemum of riot".
Theme #7
Dreams
There were some nights when Gin could get only one to three hours of sleep. When these nights came, he'd always sneak out of his room, careful to not wake Rangiku, and lay in the grass under the stars. It never actually helped him sleep; on the contrary, he actually spent most of the night staring up at the sky. And as he watched the stars twinkle, he'd think about his past, his present, and his future.
His past wasn't a very memorable one. His father was always out working and his mother was an alcoholic. When he died, he never felt that remorse that most souls felt when they left the human world.
His present... Well, he was content. He was living in a rundown shack surviving off meager feedings, but he was content. To be honest, as lame as it might have sounded, Rangiku was the one that made life bearable.
But Gin wasn't satisfied with content. He didn't want life to be just bearable. He didn't want to live a life that was just a hair away from being average. He didn't even want average. He wanted something more. He wanted to make his life extravagant, amazing. He wanted to do anything that would make life better for Rangiku.
The moment he found out that he had spirit power was the moment that he promised himself to become a shinigami. He wanted to become a shinigami to improve his life. He wanted to fulfill his ambitions, and prove that he could be better than average.
Then he met Rangiku. And everything that he was doing for himself was then done for her.
He promised himself that when he became a shinigami that he would improve her life. He would help her fulfill her ambitions, and he would prove that she deserved better than average.
Little did he know, that as he mused on these thoughts, a young female lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, promising herself the same things -- only they would be for him.
Word Count: 340
Wow, I hate baby-sitting.
