Will not forsaken you now

Thick and irrefutably fierce, the air around me vigorously thrust itself down my throat, filling every inch of my lungs with arid, filthy air; the struggle in vain for my last pathetic cry for breath heeded little success, and while still oblivious to the sharp cutting pains from the previous battle with the hollow, the memory of its claw piercing through my chest, re-opening old wounds and carving new scars was still fresh on my mind.

Tainted in red.

Stumbling over pebbles and rocks, swaying from side to side, my legs hastily snap like twigs beneath me and my body crashes into its own pile of mess. Faced down and utterly lifeless, I find myself engrossed in my own pool of blood, smeared unevenly in every direction. Maybe it isn't mine, I wanted to question, and ultimately, believe, but the smell was cheap and stale, like the first bottle of strawberry wine opened under a dry summer's night, and the last detached words held out to her, as I watch her pull her chains and burdens behind her.

Quietly, she stepped out of my life.

Lying there, I managed to mock and laugh at my lack of vigor, as I slipped in and out of consciousness. And all the while watching the sun set on the damned stages of my life, the world in my head spins out of control, tracing and erasing one memory after another, crossed fragments and disheveled pieces of her now all scattered over the floor, waiting to be picked up and pieced back together again.

How amusing and pitiful.

Waking up to a raw smell filling my nostril, clouding the air surrounding me, I realized that my body was covered in green paste, here and there and everywhere, my body aches from the bruises and cuts and I figured that moving at this point would be senseless, but that's exactly what I am, senseless.

She'd taunt and sneer out of disgust and disappointment.

Finally realizing that I was being cared for, probably by some stranger, I strain my eyes to see an old man standing by a tarnished ancient table, grinding leaves and herbs and other elements of nature in a white bowl with his frail, fragile hands. He's clothed in rags, bald, bearded, tired and restless from old age, but signs of wisdom and life marked his wrinkled face. Glaring at his own concoction, he doesn't attempt to make eye contact with me, perhaps not caring much about who I am, or who I was, but when he does open his mouth to speak, he speaks in a monotone voice, all questioning statements I thought, all directed towards allotting painful memories.

"Boy, what are you doing 200 miles away from the main land, there's nothing but trees and rocks around here, nothing but lost paths and dead ends." Boy he calls me, as if he could see the starkness of my youth, even through all the battle wounds and scars that says else wise.

My answer to his question was simple and fairly straightforward, filled with little emotion and too much heartache.

"I'm on a mission."

Eyeing me casually, shaking his head as he responded with an amused tone in his voice.

"If your mission was to die in the middle of no where, then you almost succeeded, boy, I don't understand what you could possibly be searching for out here, there's really nothing of use or of value around here."

"Only straying souls and shattered dreams linger around here, carrying old burdens of their yesteryears, along with hate and despair for their tomorrows."

Listening to this old man, as he speaks of grief and anguish as if he truly feels the pain in them as I do, sends a throbbing ache straight to my chest. Though, interestingly enough, his cutting words were the exact embodiment of her and the paradox that fills my life without her in it. However so, I refuse to stray from my journey, from the only journey that I know of.

In my mind, there's no real concept of life or death, it's all the same without her.

"You're wrong old man, this place may hold nothing in your eyes, but this is where my destination lies."

"I'll find her here for sure old man, lingering among one of those lost souls that you speak of."

He laughs, a mocking laugh at that, a laugh that eerily resembles that of her own. I could see that his expression hinders a sinister secret, a string of truth that I've been searching for all along, and he smiles at me, as if confirming my thoughts. He then calmly walks over with his pipe and cane, kneels down beside me, holding in his hand a letter.

Smirking, he holds the letter out to me, beckoning me to accept it.

"She told me to give this to you boy."

" Your real journey begins here."

Okay my lovelies, this concludes chapter 1, Ichigo recieved the first clue that will lead him to Rukia! I have assignments and test to think about now, so I'll continue on with this real soon, thanks for taking your time out of your busy schedule, lol, to read this, I hope everybody understands it, my writing isn't strong and I tend to change my writing style half way through the story, so it may be a little disjointed lol, I'm working on that guys, and some parts may be stronger than others but I'm also working on that... hehehe

Xoxoxo Thanks a Bunch