Author: Laerkstrein PM
Life in such a place was misery at its finest. But, on the other hand, death wasn't quite so welcoming, either.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - K. Zaraki - Words: 709 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 05-01-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6954485
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
A/N: For St. Harridan.
Blood had always been a common sight. But now, with the moon hanging on a string in the sky, the dark pools that lined the tattered streets seemed to shine. Even with all the people shuffling about, almost rushing through the streets, it was strange that no one had bothered to help her. She was stained, drenched and nearly drowning, dirt in her face and blood upon her hands. What with the darkness having fallen over the town, she was cold, chilled by what was once warm blood.
Disapproving gazes fell upon her as people walked by, slipping indoors and leaving her to rot. If anything, they must have thought her to be dead. Brown hair was now stained black, sticky to her trembling hands. Eyes gazed up as she shifted, catching a glimpse of the grim cloud that hung just over her head. An omen of her death, perhaps. What a sight to behold on such a nightmarish day.
A shadow loomed over her, slate gray eyes staring piercing the back of her head like a knife. Rolling her eyes up, she stared at him, vaguely recognizing the rugged features that were shrouded in the darkness. By now, the cloud had slid across the sky, blanketing the moon from view. It was as if the cold hands of death had overcome her, fingers slipping gently around her throat to drain away what little life she had left. If she could have chosen her death, it wouldn't have been like this. She wouldn't have died a beggar in the streets, pleading for some kind soul to lay her gently to rest. It would have been far more subtle, such as going out in flames or in her sleep. She wouldn't have even minded being cut down in the midst of a battle she couldn't win.
Anything would have been preferable to this.
She grimaced, eyes slowly rolling up into her head, breaths becoming shallow and pained as she felt her body being lifted. Perhaps this was what it felt like to die, for one's soul to finally take the first steps upon the frightening path of the unknown. There would be peace, she hoped, in the next life. Peace enough to erase all the torment she'd endured within this rotting district of Hell.
All at once, the pain returned, dashing away all the thoughts of peace and prosperity that awaited her. Now, having mulled it over, she wanted to die. She wanted, more than anything, to be free of pain, starvation, and the countless nights spent in fear.
A warm sensation brought life back into her eyes as they opened, a bright flame placed mere feet away. Her hands, having returned to life as well, graced the tender, bleeding flesh, drawing a slight gasp from her lips. She had been saved and treated, although her savior's medical knowledge was far from being professional. A sound, like that of a rabbit darting through the underbrush, caught her attention, her head swiveling to spot the harsh-looking man she'd seen before.
He stared down at her, the flame reflecting in his eyes. This man was the demon the citizens spoke of with bitter tongues; the man who had killed hundreds with little to no effort; the man who lived, and would inevitably die, by the sword. But, to her, he looked to be anything but wicked. Even in the harsh gleam of the fire, there was a spark of concern hidden in those eyes, quiet and curious.
Were she to survive the night, she would surely ask his name by morning. But now, all that was present was sleep.
The title has a bit of a dual meaning, I guess. 1: Save me from death, and 2: Save me from this hell. So, I guess you could say she's conflicted.