Disclaimer: I don't Bleach or any of the literary works (aka short stories, plays, novels) mentioned. However all the essays and poems and the short story "Bridges of Tears" are mine.
Rating: T (for later chapters)
Pairing(s): IshidaxOrihime, hint: IchigoXRukia, RenjiXTatsuki
Spoiler(s): None
Princess Uryuu
By: Seiano
-Chapter 2: "The Scarlet Ibis"-
The glory of the sunlight streamed between the thick curtains of the room, alighting the dim corners with echoes of her angelic voice. The curtains hung, however, in a feeble attempt to shut out this light, trying to hold the room captive to its warm darkness. The wind was stifled as it reached this room, silenced by the whispers of the shadows. Darkness is not fear or chaos. Darkness is comfort. It chases fears away.
Suddenly, the biting metallic call of the alarm clock shattered the pall of the room, breaking darkness' haven of consoling silence. A groan was elicited from the form under the velvety blue covers on the bed. The sheets shifted as the form tossed, turned and writhed, struggling to sink back into the depths of the blackness of thought and mind. However, the seas of blankets hissed and refused its owner's request. Instead, they were taut, binding their owner on the surface of the bed, prisoner to reality. Realizing this, the form stopped short, facing the ceiling.
Darkened orbs of blue sapphire looked up, only to meet the barricade, that opaque barricade, that kept him from seeing the sky. A smirk formed on his pale features. He was acting like Eros from "Bridges of Tears", helpless and fearful, whose only comfort was to stare up at what contained and imprisoned her. But he could do more than look up at that wall. He would do more than look up at that wall.
At that, he averted his eyes from the confinement above. As he did so, tension left his body and the binds of the sheets gave way, slipping away with great ease. With that, he took his glasses from the nightstand next to him. They were his looking glass of life. Perhaps today will be different. Perhaps today, my masks will fade away. Perhaps today this burden shall be lifted from my shoulders.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he picked up his toothbrush and began the tedious work of brushing his teeth. He brushed his teeth rapidly, leaving them "pearly white" and "shining" and what a cliché façade it was. He frowned in the mirror. It had begun again.
Taking the comb next to the sink, he ran the teeth of the comb through his silky raven hair, sorting each strand into their exact calculated places. His hair was perfect, not a strand out of formation. He frowned again.
Taking the neatly folded uniform from his closet, he donned the memories of yesterday as he buttoned his starched white uniform shirt and threw on his navy blue trousers. Tossing a few papers into his school bag, he strolled out of his room, donning the alibi of the top-ranking student at his school. He was all too used to this. Yes, it was a regular routine that he subconsciously slipped into these multiple modes day in and day out. The thought scared him. It was only seven in the morning and he was already drowning in the sea of yesterday's despair that would become today's horror.
…
Strands of bright auburn hair floated behind the girl as she walked slowly in the late spring morning breeze. Today was a beautiful day, just as it had been for the past couple days. Normally, such weather would induce a joyful state of mind in most; however, her gait did not hold the same tune or happiness that it usually held on days like these. Her face was a bright peachy color that portrayed joy yet her eyes were clouded in dark storms of rain, but no one really seemed to notice at all.
"Ohiyo, Inoue!" Matsumoto called from beside her captain and their adoring fans of little girls and high school boys.
"Ohiyo, Matsumoto-san!" the girl replied, with a small smile on her face.
"What's wrong, Inoue?" her companion asked as she shoved her way through the crowd of fans.
"Eh? Something wrong? There's nothing wrong! Do I look like something is wrong with me?" Orihime questioned frantically. The shinigami vice captain cocked her head at the jumpy girl beside her, sighed and walked away with her hands raised in defeat.
Orihime looked down at her shoes. She wasn't that noticeable was she? She shook the thought from her head and painted a small smile on her face to avoid any other inquiries. She looked up again with her mask, and as she did so, she saw none other than Kurosaki Ichigo walking around the corner.
"Ohiyo, Kurosaki-kun!" she began to say, walking over to her friend when a raven-haired petite form emerged next to him.
"Oi, Inoue," the tall orange haired male greeted.
"Ohiyo, Inoue-san," the small girl next to Ichigo greeted with a saccharine voice. Inoue forced a grin and turned when her two friends began to strike up a conversation of their own. Her mask immediately shattered and she ran into the classroom, hoping her legs would carry her fast enough so that none off the crumbling pieces of her masquerade would be lost.
…
He was the first to enter the classroom and the last one to leave it. That was the job of the class representative. It suited him well. After all, this was the only time he could take of part of his mask in school. He sighed as he flipped the page in his small book.
Suddenly, footsteps broke in the hallway, and a soft clatter of shoes began to crescendo as the running student neared the empty classroom he was in. Probably a broken lover in tears. She will probably pass by this classroom. He thought as he turned back to his book placed delicately between his fingers. As the door was swung open in a dramatic motion, an unexpected burst of wind hit his back. A thunder of a slamming oak door closely followed. He turned around to face his new visitor. His eyes widened at the sight.
"Inoue?" he asked, in disbelief. Who did this to her? What happened? The figure did not reply. She did not cry, she did not weep. She just sat there, looking at her hands in despair, like a child looking at a broken vase.
"Dijoubu?" he inquired again. A silence of vanity covered the two figures in the classroom. The girl looked up at him.
"Ishida-kun?" she whispered, slightly horrified that there was someone in the room and frustrated that she could not repair her façade in time for this situation. Why did he have to be here? Why?
Ishida cringed at the tone of her voice. He stood up and looked at her. His pride was hurt.
"Let me leave you alone to your thoughts," Ishida stated quietly as he opened the classroom door and exited. Why can't you see past him? He's like veil on your beauty.
…
The sky was lit a fire by the ruby of the setting sun. The clouds looked like small puffs of smoke against the blazing sky. His glasses reflected the sky, perfect mirrors of it all. He put his hand on the window. He wished he could capture that bleeding sun in his hand as he could through the window. Then, perhaps, the depths of these oceans could be given light. Perhaps, but alas, he knew that was out of his grasp.
He turned around to face his desk again to look down at the neatly scribbled math problems on his notebook. The variables and symbols were a whirl in his head. They were just like life, so many variables. Each part of life had its own path that curved across the calculated imaginary-reality graph called destiny. However, there was only one point, one answer, one complex number that would work for all these various lines, if they ever met. He sighed. He was still searching for his point, as odd as it sounded.
All of a sudden, the bright, trill notes of Aesthetics and Identity sliced through the stale air. He turned around in the plush rotating desk chair to face the dancing sleek black Panasonic cordless phone on its stand. It vibrated, causing a small hum of machinery to accompany each shrill note of the ring tone. The screen flashed bright colors. Incoming Call from Inoue, the neat digital letters read. He stood up, and walked over to the nightstand and brought his hand up so that it was even with the device. His pale hand slowly approached the phone, as if in hesitation. Without further thought, a pale finger pressed the small button under the words "accept."
"Moshi, moshi?? Ishida desu," the male breathed into the phone.
"Ano, Ishida-kun?" a high-pitched feminine voice asked. "This is Inoue."
"Oh, hi, Inoue," Ishida replied, trying to add a scent of surprise in his voice.
"Gomene," the voice on the phone continued. "I was really tired today and yea. Hope you'll forgive me."
"Oh, it was nothing. Everyone has their days," the Quincy said, in a light voice. "If that was your reason in calling, everything's fine."
"Well, I also called for the project," Orihime continued. "I have, eto, classes every Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday for, ano, baking and stuff. Yea, so I was wondering if we could split up the project so that we can work on parts individually."
"Sure, no problem," Ishida assured. "Whatever is best for you." The fibers of fabricated excuses unravel before my eyes, Inoue. I am the master of tapestry.
"In that case, can you start working on the short story "The Scarlet Ibis"?" Orihime asked in a small voice.
"No problem," came the cool reply.
"Then, I'll see you tomorrow then," Inoue stated.
"Ja ne," he quickly followed and then the line was dead.
Ishida rotated his lithe body so that his eyes rested on the desk before him. He closed his calculus B/C notebook and placed it on the side of his desk. Here he opened his massive English textbook and flipped to the short story section. He fingered the pages until he reached the page with the heading "The Scarlet Ibis". The page was covered in scarlet flamed rubies of the bleeding ibis. Under the introduction picture was a single quote from Hurst's short story:
"I did not know then that pride is a wonderful, terrible thing, a seed that bears two vines, life and death."
He began to read.
…
The light drumming of the rain echoed in the hollow room, resonating off the meticulously filed objects. No sound was heard above the soft song of the crying sky. The glowing gray of the sky was engulfed in the long dark shadows cast across the room. Each of the winding darkness pooled at the feet of a lithe male, sitting on a navy blue chair. His cobalt eyes were trained on the page of his massive textbook, marked with English letters. His pale hands fingered the corners of the pages, in deep concentration.
"At that moment the bird began to flutter, but the wings were uncoordinated, and amid much flapping and a spray of flying feathers, it tumbled down, bumping through the limbs of the bleeding tree and landing at our feet with a thud. Its long, graceful neck jerked twice into an S, then straightened out, and the bird was still. A white veil came over the eyes, and the long white beak unhinged. Its legs were crossed and its clawlike feet were delicately curved at rest. Even death did not mar its grace, for it lay on the earth like a broken case of red flowers, and we stood around it, awed by its exotic beauty.
'It's dead,' Mama said.
'What is it?' Doodle repeated.
'Go bring me the bird book,' said Daddy.
I ran into the house and brought back the bird book. As we watched, Daddy thumbed through its pages. 'It's a scarlet ibis,' he said, pointing to a picture…"
The page turned as the mesmerized individual sat, intently reading. …
"Doodle was both tired and frightened, and when he stepped from the skiff he collapsed onto the mud, sending an armada of fiddler crabs rustling off into the marsh grass. I helped him up, and as he wiped the mud off his trousers, he smiled at me ashamedly. He had failed and we both knew it, so we started back home, racing the storm. We never spoke (what are the words that can solder cracked pride?), but I knew he was watching me, watching for a sign of mercy. The lightning was near now, and from fear he walked so lose behind me he kept stepping on my heels. The faster I walked, the faster he walked, so I began to run. The rain was coming, roaring through the pines, and then, like a bursting Roman candle, a gum tree ahead of us was shattered by a bolt of lightning. When the deafening peal of thunder had died, and in the moment before the rain arrived, I heard Doodle, who had fallen behind, cry out, 'Brother, Brother, don't leave me! Don't leave me!'
The knowledge that Doodle's and my plans had come to naught was bitter, and that streak of cruelty within me awakened. I ran as fast as I could, leaving him far behind with a wall of rain dividing us. The drops stung my face like nettles, and the wind flared the wet, glistening leaves of the bordering tress. Soon I could hear his voice no more."
The rain slowed a bit, as if in anticipation.
"I hadn't run too far before I became tired, and the flood of childish spite evanesced as well. I stopped and waited for Doodle. The sound of the rain was everywhere, but the wind had died and it fell straight down in parallel paths like ropes hanging from the sky. As I waited, I peered through the downpour, but no one came. Finally, I went back and found him huddled beneath a red nightshade bush beside the road. He was sitting on the ground, his face buried in his arms, which were resting on his drawn-up knees. 'Let's go, Doodle,' I said.
He didn't' answer, so I placed my hand on his forehead and lifted his head. Limply, he fell backward on to the earth. He had been bleeding from the mouth, and his neck and the front of his shirt were stained a brilliant red.
'Doodle! Doodle!" I cried, shaking him, but there was no answer but the ropy rain. He lay very awkwardly, with his head thrown far back, making his vermilion neck appear unusually long a slim. His little legs, bent sharply at the knees, had never before seemed so fragile, so thin.
I began to weep, and the tear-blurred vision in red before me looked very familiar. 'Doodle!' I screamed above the pounding storm, and threw my body to the earth above him. For a long, long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis from the heresy of the rain."
The book closed and the rain began to pound harder on the windows, leaving the ringing sound of drums. And mingled with the wails of the weeping sky was the ragged breathing of a heaving chest. The desk was sprinkled with small droplets of water from the overflowing cobalt.
"I lay there crying, sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis from the heresy of the rain"… my scarlet ibis killed by my pride, my Quincy pride.
…
tsuzuku
AN: I hope you liked this chapter. It took some time to write because I had a loss of ideas in the middle (I know, it's kinda hard to believe, especially since I've only written two chapters so far).
Thank you to:
The Cheshire Katt NobleAngel015Winterflower
deepened heart
for commenting! Your comments encouraged me. They're probably what drove me to update (it's annoying when no one comments and you have no idea if you should write or not… don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining ").
Please RxR!
Literature cited:
I hope this is okay. I have no idea how to write these so I combined a couple types. Feel free to correct me.
Hurst, James. "The Scarlet Ibis." Elements of Literature: Third Course. Ed. John Legget, et al. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston: A Harcourt Education Company, 2003. 314-323.