Hello! So I'm pushing myself to finish up this story fast. Even if this is the second to last chapter, I want this whole story done before I start school in a few weeks. But yes, more explanations!
So the schooling system, let's say is universal for all three of the countries. They start school in early April and end in early March. They have three major breaks: one in July, one in December/January, and one in March between school years. Each break is about three weeks long and the break determines the start and end of the three trimesters. There is a test in the middle of the year around August and an exam at the end of the year at the end of February.
The different levels in school go Primary/Elementary school (1st-6th grade), Middle school (7th-9th grade), and High school (10th-12th grade). Ages go respectively like in most courty's schools. Now, Karakura – being the small island that it is – only has one build for each such schools. In my world, let's just say that you are only required seven years of schooling, so technically you can join the working force at the age of thirteen.
And the orphanages are given tutors for the children to learn very basic reading and writing, but beyond that they are at a lost. Because Renji was given to the orphanage at an age where he could have started an education, he can read and write much more than Rukia can. Rukia, though not entirely dumb, cannot do either. She was too young to have been put into to school and so, though she is smart, lack the ability to conjugate, write, and read.
Chapter 5
Heaven forbid, you end up alone
And you don't know why
Hold on tight, wait for tomorrow
You'll be alright
The summer that I turned eleven, I had not been prepared for how much one year could change things. When May came around, the twins turned six. We celebrated it like we always did, at home, with my mother cooking, and the windows draped in the bright apricot curtains.
I had received several letters from Rukia since the last summer. One talked about how she and Renji had come to liking the view from on top of a reservoir, they said that they could see practically all of Seireitei from the ledge. Another was about how happy she was that I gave her the necklace. She described as best her vocabulary could how she wore it with her all the time.
Sometimes I'll talk to it like you're here too. Don't laugh!
And I of course I laughed when I read that. Whenever I passed by the postal station every week, I always looked forward to picking up a letter mailed just for me. Her grammar, handwriting, and vocabulary were still very hard to decipher – and the coding never helped either –, but I never complained. The longer it took me to read, the happier I was. And when I was finished, I would immediately lock myself in my room and write her a reply.
But that day at dinner, my sisters were talking animatedly to my parents about school and how their peers all wished them a happy birthday. Usually, at some point my parents would mention something about needing to be thinking about what we wanted to pack. I cared for my sisters about as much as any other brother would love their siblings, but nothing made me happier than when my parents would mention Seireitei at dinner. But no one said anything about that.
Time went on as usual. I went to school and would find myself daydreaming about the different places and the different games that we would play. It never helped that my friends wanted to play the new version of hide and seek tag in the Banyan trees. I would sometimes pretend like the bark was the smooth oiliness of the pear tree, and so as I went up I would purposefully slip off a foot just for affect.
My mother fell sick just a week later. I wasn't sure why I was so surprised by the fact though. Ever since the bombing that past summer my mother hadn't been feeling too well and it wasn't until recently that her condition had gotten to the way it did. Before it was just the occasional coughing fits; but now they were accompanied by high fevers and weakness. But I just never saw it coming. She seemed completely healthy until that night when she just suddenly collapsed in the middle of the hallway, her orange hair spread out around her like a sea, and she was gasping for air…drowning.
Since her illness worsened, I can only count a few times that my mother ever left her room, much less her own bed. The sickly look in her eyes and the hoarseness in her voice was enough to bring any man to his knees, especially my father. The sad look on his face when she would begin to cough as though she were choking always made my sisters on the verge of tears; I just wanted to hide them from it all.
I was so naïve. Back then, I used to think that if I could become stronger, then maybe I'd be able to protect everyone, even my mom. So I talked to my instructor and he allowed me to stay at the dojo for an extra half hour everyday to train a little more, one on one. That sympathetic look on his face when he agreed should have told me that even he knew it would never work.
Then, a few days before our usual departure from the docks, I received a letter from Rukia. It may have just been me, but she sounded so sad, so lonely in her writing.
"Ichigo", she wrote. She had gotten better at writing my full name. "Summer has just started and the hot sun has come out. The center of your sun blinks really bright when I go up to the reservoir. Renji likes to look out over the ocean and sometimes says that he can see your island from up here. On a really sunny day like today was, I can too, and I can see that really bright orange hair of yours. We sometimes wave and imagine that you're out there, waving back at us.
"They're almost done building the new time tower. Renji and I already explored it and know all the cool places to hide and this really big space where we can play King of Tricks. I can't wait for you to come now because I have a lot of new games to teach you and awesome places to show you. Just you wait!"
Seeing the terribly signed picture in the bottom corner didn't help my already falling tears. My hands shook as the floated above the paper. Out of routine, I had run up stairs and locked myself in my room, ready to write a response. But with my pen in hand and the paper lying on my desk, I was at a blank. How would I write to her that I would not be coming this year? How could I write this and not crush her spirits? Should I even write the letter? She would most likely realize that when the ship from Hakutan docks at the harbor and I was not coming off, she would then realize that I was not coming long before this message would reach her.
I stared blankly at the paper. The word 'Hi-chan' was written neatly at the top and my pen tapped rhythmically against my desk. What to write? What to write?
But my hand began to grow a mind of its own as it began to glide across the page and created words. I didn't think, I just wrote. And when I was finished, I read what my sub-conscience had conjured up. Tears started to swell in my eyes as I read all the anger, sadness, confusion and fear that filled my writing. I cracked a smile, thinking that half of the words, Rukia wouldn't be able to understand, and even Renji wouldn't be able to help her. So I crumpled the paper and started a new letter, this time with easier to understand words and simpler explanations. But I'll never forget how much my hands were shaking as I signed the bottom of the page.
And like our broken promise, my name would forever be stained on that piece of paper.
Ichigo,
I'm sorry. I really am. Maybe if I was there I could help you somehow. I didn't know and all I did was tell you about how Renji and I were doing. It must be really hard for you right? Of course, don't answer the question, I already know the answer.
I saw that you didn't come off the dock. Then I got your letter and I knew why. Renji misses you too. I hope your family gets better.
There was the usual drawn signature in the corner of the letter but it wasn't written in code like would have been. I had received it a month and half later. It was a short letter, much shorter than the usual. But that didn't mean much to me; it was how sorry she seemed that really got to me. I immediately wrote back that she didn't need to apologize and that it shouldn't have been something for her to worry about. Maybe it was my growing guilt that I started to hide my sadness.
I didn't get her response till after school midyear exams. I had passed by the mail office on my home and the man working there said that there was a letter in for me. I was so happy that I didn't wait to go home to open and read it.
"Ichigo," it had read, "You didn't have to make me feel better. Renji said that it must be a sad time for you now. Ichigo, you must keep your head up and believe! Your mom must be a strong person and you need to let her know that so that she can get better faster.
"The new Time Tower is done and it works great! When it rings sometimes, the mockingbirds will fly away like a wave and the city sometimes have just a big shadow of birds over it."
The signature at the bottom was abrupt. It was as though the writing had just cut off there, there was no sort of conclusion to her message to me. It was like her thoughts had come to a halt there.
It had bothered me then, but I soon could hardly notice the slow change in her tone when she wrote, how she started to sound so distant, almost as if it weren't her writing. My mom's illness took a turn for the worst. She would sleep for days on end and would only be awake enough to drink a glass of water before she fell back to sleep. My time was mainly spent either in the dojo or at home by my mother's bedside. School had become a sort of second priority in my mind, so a stop by the post office was one of the last things I'd do in the week. If not, then I wouldn't drop by till the end of the month.
I remember one afternoon after the winter break, the last trimester of my sixth year had just started. End of year exams would be in just a few months and I was studying hard for them. In my own mind, if I worked hard and didn't give too much trouble then my family would have less to worry about. Despite my father constantly telling me that I should not get myself caught up in self responsibily, I couldn't help but get angry at him for his carefree take on the whole situation.
Despite my mother's increasingly worrying illness, my father continued to act like everything was just as is. When I would yell at him about it, he wouldn't sit or justify himself, he'd just take my anger. Then when I no longer had the energy to berate him, he'd just give me one leveled stare and walk off.
"Your father has always been very good at keeping a cool head." my mother told me once when she had woken up from one of her naps. "But it does not mean that he isn't worrying on the inside. He just has a very passive approach on his grief."
"Save your energy," I told her. She looked as though every word she spoke took her an extra amount of effort that would be wasted.
"You know that you are meant to be a protector," My mom said with a huff.
"Yes."
"So protect what is important to you okay Ichigo. Promise me that."
I nodded. "I promise."
She chuckled a bit before coughing. I stood immediately and reached for her water. Tilting her head back gently I allowed her to take a few generous sips. When the coughing recieded, her eyes were fluttering closed again.
"Ichigo," she weased.
"Yes?" I leaned in closer to her so that she wouldn't have to raise her voice too much.
And in a very clumsy mumble, she told me very softly, "I love you."
"I love you too..."
Saying those four words seemed to make her smile wider than what anyone had ever told her. And if there was anything in my life that I would never change, those four words I had told my mother would be number one. Because even if I hadn't known it yet, those were the last words she'd ever hear.
The next day, I was getting ready to go to school when I walked in to my father holding my mother's hand as it layed limp beside her. She never looked so deathly pale, nor had she ever looked so...dead. Her chest was still and her eyes unmoving. There was no flutter in her lids at the sound of my footsteps entering the room. She wasn't breathing and she wasn't moving. There was absolutely no life in her. Her pail complexion looked almost gray.
There were nights that I would sometimes dream that I'd wake up and I wouldn't find my mother in her bed. Instead I'd find her maybe in the backyard, six feet under. On those nights, that was possibly the worst possibility of that happening. But after a while, I started becoming accustomed to the situation that I wouldn't find her in her bed. The dreams weren't any less scary, but at least after a while, I didn't wake up every night screaming.
So seeing that I could actually see her there, in bed, and not in the yard, I felt almost numb. There were no words processing in my mind, not action. As my sisters came rushing in, tears streaming down their face, I stood perfectly still. While my father – who usually treated situations like these with a brush of the shoulder – was hunched over my mother's lifeless body, holding her hand and mumbling incoherent words, I remained silent and stoic. For an eleven year old, my face must have been too old for my body.
The only action that I could think of was that I couldn't cry, I wouldn't cry. If my sisters were crying and dad was breaking down, I had to be the one to be strong. I couldn't be the one to break down crying. Because I had to be the one to protect them, just like my name said. If they couldn't be strong at that moment, I would be.
So I didn't cry. Not at her bedside and not at her funeral. I kept my face stone cold so that there was only one less person that would be shedding tears. Even if all the adults gave me those wary glances before turning away, I wouldn't as so much allow my impassive mask to slip. My sixth year had just ended, and already, I felt like my life had extended to being a fifty year old man. But I found that I couldn't face my old sensei, the father of a girl in my class. He had been so supportive of my extra training that I felt like he was one of the few people I had failed. So I told him that I was quitting his dojo when I saw him and his daughter giving us their condolences.
"Are you sure you want to do that? You are a natural fighter with more determination than I had ever seen in any of my past students." He had told me.
"But I was only determined because I had something to fight for," I responded, unable to meet his eyes. "Now, I don't have anything to fight for."
My father had done his best to try and keep life going as it usually did. We had gotten used to doing the things my mother had done around the house. I would always get the groceries after school, Yuzu took up cooking at her small age of six, and Karin put our clothes in the soap water to clean. My dad did everything else. And through all his jokes and taunts, after my mother's death, there had never been a time that I had respected my father more, even if I'm too prideful to admit it.
People would make comments on how brave I was, to not have shed a tear, to not have bawled like everyone thought I would have. They told me that it was alright to cry, to mourn. But I wouldn't.
When my seventh year started, and I moved to the middle school building on the North side of Karakura, I wasn't excited to ride the canal that ran from the East to the West edges of our island to go to school. Instead, I dreaded going back. I had practically gotten used to shutting myself in my house, busying myself with chores to keep my mind off of my mother's death. But if I were to come face to face with all of my classmates again, I was afraid that they'd give me those pity looks.
Pity was something I had come to hate. It made me mad, and I would feel my cheeks burn. I didn't need pity, I needed empathy. And empathy seemed to be something that most of the people on Karakura couldn't give me. To Karakura, I was just the poor boy who lost his mother to a terrible sickness caused by bomb fumes. To Karakura, I was just the doctor's boy.
"Ichigo," one of my friends would say to me. "Are you alright?"
And there was that pity. That pity that made my face boil.
Though I couldn't really blame them for it, I really couldn't.
As the year went on, I found that keeping up my indifferent façade was becoming harder and harder to keep up. It was a struggle within its self to stay so strong. But I suppose that was my mistake, for thinking that indifference was strength.
I was coming close to my twelfth birthday, and yet I was growing numb to all of the things kinds my age took pleasure in. It wasn't healthy, and I was too busy "being strong" to notice that I had pushed away all of my friends. My family was wary to speak to me, seeing as how they too were trying to get over their own grief.
"Ah, well isn't it the boy with the stone hard face."
The voice was unexpected, and much too playful for my foul mood.
"Over here boy."
I had been walking home after school, alone as usual. And here was a man in clog sandals and a striped bucket hat.
"What do you want sir?" I asked him, trying not to be rude, but I didn't want to talk to him.
"Boy with a stone hard face, what makes you think that I want something?"
I remember thinking that he was annoying.
"You wouldn't just stop me for no reason."
"Mmh," he hummed. His eyes were hidden under his bucket hat. "Pragmatic boy. But boy with a stone hard face needs to learn to be more respectful."
I could see him smirk, eyes still hidden.
"I don't need your pity." I said, walking away.
"Whoever said I was giving you any?"
I paused and turned back to him, but he was no longer there. Where he once stood, hat tipped covering his eyes, was now just air. And that had been my first encounter with the dock master and inn keeper Urahara Kisuke.
The next day, I had seen him again on my way back from school.
"Boy with a stone hard face has returned."
"This is my path home." I had told him.
He tipped his bucket hat lower and smirked at me.
"I see," He mused. "But boy with a stone hard face's father is the island doctor, am I right?"
"Everyone knows that," I said looking away from him, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts.
"Maybe I should call you the doctor's boy instead," He chuckled to himself. "But 'boy with a stone hard face' is long, but with such a nice ring, don't you think? Boy with a stone hard face… hmm?"
I frowned.
"I have a name you know."
He smirked. "Is that right? Then tell me boy with a stone hard face, what is your name?"
I thought about not telling him. I thought about just turning on my heels and leaving. But I thought about how long it had been since I had said my own name. Everyone on the island –more or less – knew me on sight. The boy who lost his mother, the doctor's son. How long had it been since I had actually said my name?
"Well? Boy with a stone hard face, what is your name?" He repeated again. "If you don't have one, I can continue calling you boy with a stone hard face. Or perhaps I should call you doctor's boy. Or maybe Orange head? I think I like that one-,"
"Kurosaki Ichigo."
And he stopped, his hat still shading his eyes. But his smirk grew wider. "Ku-ro-sa-ki Ichi…go…"
He enunciated every single syllable with a carefulness that was just a little unnerving. It was as though he was dissecting my name, tasting it, measuring it. And it scared me.
"Kurosaki Ichigo," He smirked wider. "Nice name for a doctor's boy. Who are you protecting?"
The question took me off guard. I think back and wonder why it didn't sting, why I didn't snap at him. Perhaps he had said it in such a way that didn't show any malice or expectancy. He was just truly curious, wondering. It brought on such a nostalgic feeling that I couldn't help but just look up at him, eyes wide, and ask him to repeat his question.
"Who," He began to repeat for me, "are you protecting?"
I looked down at my hands. Who was I protecting?
"I…" I searched in my head, his question reeling. "I can't remember."
"Hmm," he hummed. "Well, if I had a name such as yours, I'd protect the one that held my heart, ne? Doesn't that sound good?"
I looked back up at him. He had lifted his head so that his bucket hat was no longer covering his eyes. They looked gray, like calm clouded days, and much softer than I had thought they would have been. He bent down so that he was face to face with me, leaning in.
"So tell me Kurosaki-kun," He smirked at me, "who holds this boy's heart?"
I stared at him. Who held my heart… that was what my mother had always told me. I'd protect the one who held my heart. And the one person who held my heart since the very beginning was…
"I've got to go sir!" I said turning on my heels and running. I turned earlier than I usual would on my ways home. It was an old road that I no longer traveled, a longer road, but one that I knew. Coming up ahead was the postal station, just how I remembered it. And sitting at the counter was that same post man that used to annoyingly call me Kurosaki-san then Kurosaki-kun.
"How may I…" The post man paused, narrowed his eyes, examining me. Then recognition passed over and he gave me a smile. "Well, I haven't seen you in some time Kurosaki-kun."
"A-a…" I huffed, out of breath from running. "A letter? Do I have a letter?"
He tilted his head, thinking. "I'd have to check… I can't really recall if I was expecting one for you."
Getting off of his seat, he went into the back of the station and disappeared. There was a lot of shuffling and scraping. I heard the post man grunt a couple of times, too. When he came back out, he had a letter in his hand with Ichi-kun written on the front. It was a little dusty when he handed it to me.
"I forgot about that one. It came in earlier this year." He said. "Probably before your mother-…" He stopped himself.
I didn't make a comment. I just gave him a small bow and thanked him, walking out with a stoic expression.
I didn't read it there at the post office. I took it home, fingering it in my pocket till I got up my bedroom where I locked myself. Pulling it out, I ran my fingers over the text and sighed. The wax that held it together was hard to peel off, cold and sticky. The letter that was inside was no longer white, almost a creamy brown, and the paper felt thin and worn. The scratches on the paper were faded, as though they had been erased and rewritten thousands of times. There was no signature picture on the bottom corner and there was no coding. The script its self was short, of very few words.
"Ichigo," it had started.
"It sounds silly to say that I wish you were here right now. But I really do, and so I keep your necklace with me every night. It is selfish and I know it, but I can't help but wish it. I'm sure that things for you are hard enough, and so you don't need me burdening you more with my wants. No Ichi-kun… I wouldn't do that to you.
"I know that I may have been feeling distant in my letters. And I know I seem a like I'm hardly there for you in your times of need. I wish I could be there for you, and I know it may sound like a lie. I honestly haven't been there for you these past few months, not even in spirit. But Ichigo, please, believe that if I were to tell you anything right now, I'd say them to you with all the feeling I could ever give anyone. But I only have this letter to give, and you just have to believe me that I mean every word.
"I want to tell you that you that you are my greatest friend, I want to tell you that you have helped me in so many ways, that you are amazing. I want to tell you that you've made me smile, that with you the thunder wasn't so scary, or that I'm sorry… But out of all the things I want to tell you, if I had to choose only one, I'd know easily what it would have to be.
"Thank you, Kurosaki Ichigo"
And the letter ended there. There was no signature or drawing, no "PS" note scribbled messily at the bottom. I didn't like it. It felt so resolute, so final. It felt like she had been saying goodbye, and I didn't like it. Rummaging through my closet for some paper and a pen, I found Kon: that impossibly kid-ish lion doll that I had gotten from Rukia and Renji almost two years ago. I pulled it out when I got the paper.
Putting it neatly on my desk beside my lamp, I stared at it, pen tapping against the wood. What would I write back? I'd protect the one who holds my heart. And my heart was with her, my mind didn't know. But for a moment, I let my heart take over, and it knew exactly what to write. There weren't many words. I only wrote the thing that I needed to tell her.
Don't worry, I'll protect you.
And I put it in an envelope, writing Hi-chan on the front. But I didn't go back to the postal station just yet. I waited because I had more. I waited till after by birthday that was only a week away. I'd wait till then to send them a few sen, and then Rukia'd know to buy two tickets for Hokutan then connect to a fishing boat to Karakura. They'd know it.
And so I waited for my birthday to come around. And when it did, I kept my face masked as I received the usual candle for me to blow out and ten or so sen folded in red. I noticed that night, how my sisters and my father were looking much livelier than they had in a while. I had noticed how they were getting on, moving on.
But for me, I was just about to learn how fragile time was. I was about to find that many things can happen in the span of only a few moments of our lives
The next morning, I walked out to the postal station after giving Kon a salute. Walking in, the postman greeted me with a "hello Kurosaki-kun". Then he leaned over the counter, giving me a smile, "What can I do for you?"
I reached up, placing the envelope on his counter. I slid it closer to him. He picked it up carefully and looked it over. Then he frowned and handed the letter back.
"I want to send it," I told him, not taking it back.
"I can't send it." He told me.
"What do you mean you can't send it?" I asked him. "I want you to send it to Seireitei."
"I know you do. You used to always want to send a letter to this Hi-chan in Seireitei." He said. "But I'm telling you that I can't do that."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "And why can't you do that."
"Because…" He bit his lip. "Because… boy, haven't you been looking at the papers?"
There was a pause.
"The papers?" I repeated.
The post man nodded. Reaching down under his counter, he pulled out a stack of newspapers. Prints upon prints of writing, he handed them to me.
"Just last week," He said slowly, "The government gave an order that there would be an embargo between Ningen and the rest of the world."
My eyes widened. "W-why would we do that?"
He looked down at me, eyes dark. "Where have you been boy? Seishin and Kokkaku are at war."
I hadn't bothered to look down at the papers till then. The very first headline introducing the embargo in direct response to the war. Then I turned the page, and the next one was a little older, talking about high tensions. Walking out of the postal station, I ignored the post man's calls to me. I walked slowly, reading, and absorbing all the things that I had missed in my moments of "stone hardness".
I hadn't realized that I was walking home till I came across my front door step. Yuzu had opened the door, and she screamed.
"Tou-san!" she yelled. "Tou-san! Onii-chan is crying!"
I reached a hand to my face. My cheeks were wet. I hadn't noticed it. My senses felt numb. I could barely hear, I could barely stay conscious. Dragging my feet across the floor, I didn't bother to remove my shoes and just let myself fall onto the couch. The papers spread themselves on the floor and the coffee table. I stared blank eyed at nothing as my father and my sisters came rushing down. Tears dripped down my chin and fell onto my knees as my vision blurred to almost nothing.
"Ichigo!" my father was unsure of what to do. He awkwardly patted my back, tried to assure me and ask me what was wrong.
"Tou-san!" Yuzu screeched, "What's wrong with Onii-chan?"
"Ichi-nii," Karin pleaded, "W-why are you crying."
Slowly, I thought I'd pass out. My vision was darkening, and I tried to look around and regain my head. But there was no helping it. I didn't know what to think. Then, just as I was getting a hold on myself, I looked back down to the papers. Big, bold, and capitalized letters popped out at me. Dated back in April… "MAJOR BOMBING IN SEIREITEI'S SEVENTY-EIGHTH DISRECT – NO SURVIORS"
I retched before passing out.
Don't know how to get you out of this one
Don't know how to get you out of this one
Don't know how to get you out of this one
Don't know how to get you out of this one
End Chapter 5
Yay! Next chapter is the last one :D At least for this part of my Coming of Age story ;) So yes, what did you think of the ending of this chapter? Just wondering. Do you get it? Or was I too vague?
But anyways… This chapter and next (the last one) will be relatively much shorter than the other four (Mainly because they only deal with sort moments of time).
I was originally going to put much different lyrics down, but then my cousin started blasting a bunch of The Fray songs while we were in the car. And this one came up and I thought that the lyrics fit much better. Actually, the lyrics changed the course of this story a bit too. Originally, I was going to have Ichigo give the letter, it sends, then the embargo, then the whole war thing. But I think I like this way better :P
So the song is Heaven Forbid by The Fray.
Please review and I'll update the last chapter as soon as I can!