a/n:Hahaha! I'm posting another one-shot! It's basically drabble. I thought about it while cleaning my room this morning. Hehehe. This one-shot is inspired by the song of Sugarfree called Kwarto and is dedicated to the one who's been there when I was studying and doing assignments; when I'm mad and sad; when I'm watching TV; and everything else that she can only see; I dedicate this to my room.
This is a celebration gift! Yahoo! 100+ reviews! I'm truly humbled! I am in deep gratitude to the readers and reviewers of this fic.
Summary: One of the hardest things to do is clean up our. And Ichigo Kurosaki knows why...(Quarto translates to room in english)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I do own, however, the sort of bleach that's used for cleaning bathrooms. (Corny!)
Bleach: Quarto
I have to clean my room.
I know whether I like it or not, the time would come that I had to get the broom and some garbage bags and start cleaning my room. Of course, I only realized when I found my last year's formal theme writing essay when my pencil rolled under my bed. I even found my math problem set that was due last week. Or maybe it was the time when I sneezed while I was opening the curtains in my room. Dust came flying out like little insects then. Yep, it was terrible. I was forced to do laundry that day. The point is my room is so messy that if there were a contest for the filthiest and most disorganized room in the world, I would definitely win first place.
You will not probably believe if I tell you that my room was once spick and span. Everything was in place; every book, every piece of clothing, everything morsel of food, and every tiny bit of detail was neat and orderly. No, I wasn't obsessive compulsive. I had different reasons. Perhaps maybe I have caught up with the norms. I mean teenage boys like me would have there rooms compared to a junkyard; then again, maybe not. After all, I'm not some dude in the department of health or a vacuum cleaner whose sole purpose is to clean rooms. I'm just a normal human being hating cleaning up. I can blame no one.
Of course, I can go on babbling about a million other reasons why I don't like cleaning my room, and then I would be lying. After all, who would be believe me if I tell the real reason why I can't clean? Would you believe me?
That's enough dilly-dallying. I start cleaning the stuff that is under my bed. I begin pick-up dirty old clothes that probably came from last year's practical exam in gym class. It should come from that time, otherwise why would it smell so bad? I put them in the laundry basket. I probably should put them in the washing machine later. I even grab decaying pizza, probably from last month; some chips and soda cans. I put them all in the big black garbage bag. Then, I touch something soft. I know it isn't some pillow. I pull it out to my view.
It was a yellow stuffed-lion with some brown mane. Without thinking, I search for some sort of pellet under the bed however to no avail. Then it hit me. What I had been looking had already been taken away from me more than three years ago. It was called an artificial soul, but it was a special kind of one. It was called a Kaizo Konparu—or something like that. But, I called it Kon. It was bit perverted. Whether it was preserved or destroyed, I wouldn't know. Hell should I care?
I take more old clothes, some skirts, dresses and blouses. And HELL NO! I'm not a drag queen! They belong some little brat that use to live in my room. HECK NO! She's not who you think she is! She's not my girlfriend or anything. There was no spark between us if that's what you mean. Let's just say she had a special place in my room. On regular nights, she's sleep in my closet. But sometimes during winter, we slept together. NOT SLEPT TOGETHER! We just sleep in the same bed together.
It was really crazy back then.
Too bad though; I wished it lasted longer. But what can I do? There is no use living in the past because it's all over. The past will just be a drag if carry it. If I've got somewhere to look, I'd look forward not back. Why? Because that's what she told me before she left. To be honest, I haven't quite forgotten the past. You probably have a hunch now why I can't clean up my room. Maybe it was because I want to keep her memory alive.
AGAIN, I'm not her boyfriend…or anything romantic for that matter.
I take out a box and placed all of her belongings there; her clothes, stuff rabbits and anything that involved bunnies, crappy drawings—she always did suck at drawings—, and mangas. Sheesh, she sure was one messy girl. And finally, I stumble on something I never expect that I will find. It was a 4A(1) picture. It was me and her taken on something ride at the carnival. I KNOW! I look like an overgrown carrot! It was all her fault I looked like that. I flipped over at the back of the picture. I read the words. A sad smile touched my face. What a baka; did she really mean those words? I crumple it in my palm and think that I will keep. No, it will only bring me pain. I place it in her memory box instead. (Kami, I gave the box a name. I'm so cheesy.)
I pull out my drawer. Hopefully, it will contain nothing that reminded me of her. I pull out pieces of scratch paper from last quarter's exams. Stupid quadratic equation and conic sections, how do I memorize them? I almost flunked by periodicals because of those things. I take out the last piece of paper in the drawer. It was old and crumpled. I open it and read it. Damn. It's a letter. No, it's not a love letter from that she-devil. Well, it's a letter from her but not in that romantic context. It was one of her many farewell letters. I think this was the last one. Yeah, honestly we had issues. IF SHE JUST SHUTTED UP FOR A SECOND, we wouldn't have one. Then again, that's what longed for.
No, we did not break up and she is not my wife!
I open my closet and began folding my clothes…and some of her clothes as well. Then finally, I see glimpse of it. It was the handkerchief. It was the one I gave her the night she left. It still had the salt from her tears. I pick it up carefully and spread it open. It had those girly cherry blossom designs. She cried on it. It just pains me to remember. Where did this handkerchief come from again? It isn't the point. A piece of paper fell from the cloth. I opened it. Now, I remember why I gave her that handkerchief.
For once, I'll tell the truth. She really did mean something to me.
What can I do now? She's there somewhere, probably laughing at me or probably she's forgotten about me. I know. I can't live in the past. That's the very reason why I'm cleaning my room. I box it all up. All my memories of her; all or happiness and sadness, I carry them all here. I have to move on. The box is as heavy as my heart. I have to throw it away to lighten my burden. I have to. I have no other choice. And yes, you're right. I did love her…once upon a time.
a/n: This was actually free writing. It just popped up suddenly in my head! It's a sucky crappy, cheesy, corny, drabble. Why did I post this again? Hope you enjoyed it! I hope it brought out a sad emotion yet funny feeling. I hope! (Moon-chan evaded all forms of projectile thrown at her.)
(1) Wait; is 4A the standard size of a picture?
Love lots,
Moon-chan
P.S. Please check out my other fics too!