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31_days2006-03-26 11:48 pm
ashirabe.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-03-26 11:48 pm
[march 26] [bleach] your diary of ripped pages
Title: Your diary of ripped pages
Date/Theme: March 26 | She being brand new
Series: Bleach
Characters: Momo, Tobiume, Hitsugaya, Matsumoto, Unohana
Rating: PG
Notes: I hope to one day come back to all I’ve ever written and rewrite it so that no one would ever know what a monstrosity it was before. Until then: here, have this. (Credit towards the last three sentences goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darth_snuggles; I realized only after writing this that I had accidentally, somehow, written what she had written thinking it was familiar but not really being able to place where I'd heard it till just this moment. Sorry, and I hope she doesn't mind!) 426 words.
Unohana Retsu’s eyes closed at the young prodigy’s question, perhaps to shut her sight away from the fear she sensed in his voice. But he could not hide his worry from her and she could not ignore it; it, being as apparent as moisture hiding in the air after rainfall, engulfed them.
“I have mended what I can,” she answered, her eyelids folding open to study his face, which to her seemed to have aged dramatically in the course of only a few days.
Hitsugaya lowered his eyes to the edges of the fourth division captain’s kimono, straining his ears to hear the patient’s soft breath on the other side of the paper door.
“Everything,” he whispered at last, but it seemed almost a question. Unohana glanced towards his eyes, met them briefly. She then exhaled, politely tired, and nodded, but he had already turned and left from the doorway before he could hear her say: “Sadly, I am not the type of doctor who can heal a broken heart.”
Many in Soul Society came to visit Hinamori in her bed. She was unconscious for a long while, and offerings of flowers and sweets lined the walls of her room and near her headboard.
One afternoon, in a bustling commotion, Vice Captain Matsumoto entered the room and left a beautiful tree of plum blossoms in a pot right upon the nightstand, so that it hovered gently above Hinamori’s face and left small shadows across her lashes when the sun beat down through the window.
That same night, Captain Hitsugaya came and saw the tree. He since then took it upon himself to tend to it each night he visited. But once, when he was distracted by the way the moonlight glided across his friend’s pale skin, he snipped a blossom off and it fell against her fingertips, and her eyelids quivered, and for a moment his breath caught and he was still.
But she never woke up. So every night, he came back in and unleashed a blossom, hoping that it might somehow be of help.
Two weeks later, it works. But Hinamori will not speak to anyone, and finds a perverse joy in ripping apart every petal that floats onto her bedspread.
Every day now, Tobiume sits alone with Momo in her recovery room. The zanpakutou never brings up Aizen, or really any other matter of consequence. She just chatters idly about nothing in particular, waiting for a flicker of life, a glimmer of hope, a spark of anything to shine in those empty eyes.
Date/Theme: March 26 | She being brand new
Series: Bleach
Characters: Momo, Tobiume, Hitsugaya, Matsumoto, Unohana
Rating: PG
Notes: I hope to one day come back to all I’ve ever written and rewrite it so that no one would ever know what a monstrosity it was before. Until then: here, have this. (Credit towards the last three sentences goes to
darth_snuggles; I realized only after writing this that I had accidentally, somehow, written what she had written thinking it was familiar but not really being able to place where I'd heard it till just this moment. Sorry, and I hope she doesn't mind!) 426 words.Unohana Retsu’s eyes closed at the young prodigy’s question, perhaps to shut her sight away from the fear she sensed in his voice. But he could not hide his worry from her and she could not ignore it; it, being as apparent as moisture hiding in the air after rainfall, engulfed them.
“I have mended what I can,” she answered, her eyelids folding open to study his face, which to her seemed to have aged dramatically in the course of only a few days.
Hitsugaya lowered his eyes to the edges of the fourth division captain’s kimono, straining his ears to hear the patient’s soft breath on the other side of the paper door.
“Everything,” he whispered at last, but it seemed almost a question. Unohana glanced towards his eyes, met them briefly. She then exhaled, politely tired, and nodded, but he had already turned and left from the doorway before he could hear her say: “Sadly, I am not the type of doctor who can heal a broken heart.”
Many in Soul Society came to visit Hinamori in her bed. She was unconscious for a long while, and offerings of flowers and sweets lined the walls of her room and near her headboard.
One afternoon, in a bustling commotion, Vice Captain Matsumoto entered the room and left a beautiful tree of plum blossoms in a pot right upon the nightstand, so that it hovered gently above Hinamori’s face and left small shadows across her lashes when the sun beat down through the window.
That same night, Captain Hitsugaya came and saw the tree. He since then took it upon himself to tend to it each night he visited. But once, when he was distracted by the way the moonlight glided across his friend’s pale skin, he snipped a blossom off and it fell against her fingertips, and her eyelids quivered, and for a moment his breath caught and he was still.
But she never woke up. So every night, he came back in and unleashed a blossom, hoping that it might somehow be of help.
Two weeks later, it works. But Hinamori will not speak to anyone, and finds a perverse joy in ripping apart every petal that floats onto her bedspread.
Every day now, Tobiume sits alone with Momo in her recovery room. The zanpakutou never brings up Aizen, or really any other matter of consequence. She just chatters idly about nothing in particular, waiting for a flicker of life, a glimmer of hope, a spark of anything to shine in those empty eyes.