Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns Bleach.

The Piano

She shrugged the weight of her backpack from her shoulders, though no mercy was given to her exhausted body. Her hand slid up her opposite arm, rubbing the appendage in slow circles toward her shoulder until she felt the joint give in with a satisfying pop. It felt as though she'd only added more weight to her bag instead of discarding the burden on the floor. She was so tired. So cold. Weathered eyes cast themselves to absorb the calming colors of the music room, the hollow sensation of it and high ceilings gave her a distinct and unexpected wave of serenity. Instrument cases were stacked in their respective closets, giving the room a heavier air of desolation to it than usual. Sunlight soaked in through the windows toward the back of the room, the beams of brilliant light causing the dust in the air to be easily detected by the human eye.

Her stormy irises locked tranquilly onto the elegant black piano, residing in the back corner with a window curiously placed just behind it, causing the sunlight to catch it's contradicting color, encasing it in illumination. Her shoulders heaved up slowly as she inhaled, succumbing to the beckoning of the angelically displayed piano. No further signs of pleasure were personified on her weary body, her expression was painfully blank as her light footsteps carried her worn physique to the back of the room. The only indication of her --if the word could even be used to describe such a girl-- delight, was the sudden yet insignificant uprising of her heart, coaxed from the deep confinements of her ribcage by the display before her. Delicate fingertips feathered along the glossy edge of the piano and she sighed, brushing slender fingers across the contrasting black and white keys. She positioned herself before sliding onto the black bench, closing her eyes with contentment.

She was in her element.

She could be calm here, she could empty her wary mind, she could relax her broken body, her heavy heart. Even if for only a short while, she could forget. She could fall apart, allow herself to embrace the shattered person she'd become. It was oddly comforting to be fully aware of how torn she truly was.

Her pale, lithe fingertips danced among the keys, harmoniously moving in sync with one another as her head hung low, dark hair brushing over her ashen eyes. The melody replaced the silence, quietly at first, but gradually gained volume as her eyelids fluttered shut and she rolled her shoulders consistently with the music, allowing a greater range of movement. She consumed herself in the sound of it as the music grew increasingly urgent, quickening its pace, reaching a bittersweet climax that consisted of indecipherable emotion. A shrill echoing of the higher pitched keys pierced the air, and so came the premature end to the profound melody, clearly left off in an unfinished state.

But that was the way it was meant to sound.

It was meant to portray a sudden, unforeseen conclusion that left a certain mystery hanging precariously in the air. It was meant to be abruptly broken off from the remaining bits that should have come. The notes and measures that should have fit with the rest of the piece, completing the melodic puzzle.

Because those golden eyes had abandoned her in such a similar way, in a way such that she could no longer bring herself to finish the pieces she wrote.

Perhaps it was due to the faltering, yet ever burning flame inside of her that still believed there would be an end to fit in with her beginning. She couldn't, nor would she deny that a hope and yearning ached inside of her, almost as a necessity to keep her lungs from collapsing beneath the pressure. She wouldn't dismiss the distinguished part of her that continued to believe her love would return.

And so, with a parting glance toward the elegant piano, she slung her weighted backpack over her shoulder and prepared herself for the thoughts of what could have been that would surely assault her the moment she stepped out of this room. Stepped into the world that had so ruthlessly left her with lacking innocence and robbed her of the childhood she no longer wanted to remember.

The key to her memories and distant, yet looming past had been discarded long ago, rusting to nothing more than a chemical reaction beneath the floodgates of what had broken her. Though they lived ever so vigorously in her veins, coursing through her bloodstream as a part of her until she would turn to nothing at all.

She'd told herself time and time again that she was able and that she had.

But could she ever truly let go?