I will be updating, but not as quickly as I had originally planned. (I also wouldn't expect too much activity from me in January or much of February either because I have a lot of school work to do).
My excuse – family problems.
Please allow me to explain.
Basically, long story short, my 9 year old brother got a skateboard for Christmas and has been playing with it in the house even after I screamed at him not to. He was rolling around on his belly (because he is too scared to stand on it) and head-butted the radiator... which then pretty much exploded and fell off the wall. He had two stitches in his head and is fine now, but the radiator has flooded our kitchen and messed up the heating and something to do with the hot water.
I am now spending my days making a tally chart of who has had a shower (at our neighbours house) because that is what you have to do with FOUR FUCKING YOUNGER BROTHERS who like to lie about their hygiene.
I am a bit of a nervous wreck right now soooooo... don't complain, ok? Or I may head-butt one of the remaining radiators to end my suffering right now.
Thank you for your time. I am now going to go and lie down in a dimly lit room.
Merry Christmas and have a happy new year!
You'll be the Death of Me
"So, um, you are dead, then?"
"As a doornail."
"Right. Thought so."
Queue an awkward pause as I squirm under the blue-haired-guys' all-knowing gaze. Hmm... I'm sure his name isn't really 'blue-haired-guy'.
"So, who are you?" I ask, trying to keep it polite. "What's your name?"
I raise an eyebrow and he laughs at me.
"Don't make a face like that when your name means strawberry." He cackles the same laugh from earlier, which causes my skin to crawl and my hairs to stand to attention.
I try not to roll my eyes.
"My parents weren't thinking about strawberries when they named me." I say stiffly
He looks like he is about to laugh again but he pauses, appearing to be thinking about something.
"What's it supposed to mean then?"
Ever reach that point where a tiny voice in your head just says 'fuck it' and your brain refuses to give you reasons to not sit down and make small talk with a dead person?
"My mum and dad got my name from a Japanese term Ichi-go ichi-e." I explain. I haven't told this story in a while and usually just put up with the comments people make about my name. "It means 'One chance in a lifetime'. They got it from some famed tea-master-guy who told it to his students to remind them that each tea-meeting is unique. I know that sounds kinda shit but it was meant in the context that each moment will exist only once and has to be fully lived and realized. It encouraged them to work hard and-"
I close my mouth right away, well aware I've said too much. I look at Grimmjow nervously and he looks just about as surprised as I feel.
"Oh." He says; looking a tiny bit abashed. "Sorry."
But his apology is embedded with a tiny hint of sarcasm and he smirk at me as I scowl back at him.
Why can't I just learn to shut my freakin' mouth?
The blue-haired-guy (now dubbed Grimmjow) lies sprawled across my bed, his head resting in his hands; electric blue eyes studying me curiously. I try not to grind my teeth in annoyance.
"So you can see dead people?" He asks in a conversational sort of way, like were best friends talking about something we have in common.
No, I feel like saying. I can't see dead people. But I can juggle and I once conquered Russia with a racoon and some crayons.
"Look," I say, pausing to sigh heavily. It's been a long day and I need to get rid of this guy so I can go to bed. "I don't help out ghosts anymore. I used to, but that was when I could afford to waste my time pissing about helping people who didn't really need it. Your dead. Just float away or go into the light or whatever, but I've got more important things to think about."
A small part of me berates myself for acting like a prick but my legs beckon me to my bed and I just frown as my feelings conflict, making my stomach squirm.
"Wow." Says Grimmjow, whistling loudly and pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on my bed. "You're really irritable, aren't you?"
He cackles again.
I don't like it.
It feels like I'm missing something.
An uneasy feeling creeps up my spine and I try to hide the sudden panic from my voice.
"Go on then." I say, fanning my hand in his direction, as if that will make enough of a breeze to blow him away. "Move along." I speed up the fanning of my hand.
"Shoo." I add, feeling totally helpless and almost slightly expectant of his next words...
I hear a voice in my head scream NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! dramatically but on the outside only my eye twitches.
"I'm sorry," I breathe, hardly louder than a whisper. "What did you just say?"
He slinks off my bed like a big sexy panther-man-thing (why am I slightly aroused?) and tips his head arrogantly, glaring at me in a sinister sort of way. He leers at me, his sharp white teeth gleaming in the artificial light of my bedroom.
"I said," He speaks calmly but exaggerates each word, as if he is explaining the situation to a child.
Before I could wrestle with the logic (that he is dead and therefore technically nonexistent of this physical world) which would probably stop any normal person from doing what I was about to do, I reacted.
My arm swung up of its own accord and I smashed his face in.
But what was exceptionally weird was that I actually felt my fist connect with his jaw and he staggered through the wall.
I blinked stupidly, unable to take my eyes off the spot on the unblemished wall where Grimmjow had just vanished.
Then I heard a muffled "Woahh!" from outside and Grimmjow's face suddenly appeared through the brick and plaster and paint and a corner of my Vampire Weekend poster. I tried not to throw a fit about how weird this was but, if you want to be technical about it, he was dead and this was pretty normal for a ghost.
"That's a nice right hook you have there, Ichi." Grimmjow smirked, flashing his teeth. I stared at the head now hovering about 6 ft above the floor.
"B-but... I hit you. How?" I manage to choke out.
"It's because I let you." He replied simply. "I didn't think it would actually work, though. Every time I try it with other people, they just sail right on through me."
But then I pause.
I hit him... because he let me?
Hold the phone!
"Hey, wait one second-!"
Grimmjow had vanished.
I was alone in my room once again and I didn't understand why.
"Ow." I rub my sore knuckles. I hit him. That was weird.
I go to bed, sleep, wake up and go to school. My activities were all totally undisturbed by a mind-games-playing, blue-haired-man.
But for some reason this bugs me.
Who is he? What does he want? Why is he startlingly attractive?
I'm not gay, ok? At least not SUPER gay. I don't go around imagining men without clothes on or what it would feel like to be fucked by a cock.
But I've always felt different because... well, it just doesn't bother me.
Men kissing men, fine. Men kissing women, fine. Even women kissing women, is A-ok (although slightly irrelevant).
I just go by what turns me on. Usually this isn't vaginas or penises specifically but what's attached to them. The person behind the genitals, that's who I like.
I'm not talking about all that pure-feelings, I'll-only-sleep-with-people-I-like, kind of thing; that doesn't sound very realistic to me. I mean when you watch porn, you don't have time to get to know the people you're watching, do you? But it doesn't take a genius to work out that the brunet with triple D's (or whatever) is begging for it or that the olive skinned guy speaking in Spanish is pretty fucking hot.
When I say I'm not SUPER gay its because most of the time I notice girls because a) most of my friends are guys and they single girls out and b) the guys at school are my friends and I struggle to see them in a sexy kind of way when I've known (for example) Keigo since he was 11 and I've actually witness him shit himself.
Not a turn on, you know?
I don't wanna be arrogant about it since people think that bisexuals are greedy, but I'm sort of grateful. I know who I am and I'm not afraid of it.
Long, rambling, non-sensical story short - I'm not some sort of totally insecure, snivelling teen, completely dependent on what people think about me or dead-set on getting a girlfriend to appear normal.
I have got some things worked out.
Except this, right now. This freakin' mind games shit Grimmjow is trying to play.
He knows I'm on the edge of my seat. I bet he's here... right now...
Its tutorial; the beginning of a brand new day. It is also Thursday; thank God it's the weekend soon.
"Ichigo-kun?" The teacher calls. Oh – right – the register.
"Yea-" I begin.
Then I hear it.
"Whats wrong, Ichigo-kun?" The teacher suddenly asks; her face creased in worry. Everyone is looking at me, apparently having noticed that all the colour has drained from my face.
Queue Jurassic Park theme tune.
Yes, I am being totally serious.
Someone (who shall remain nameless until I throttle them) is humming the theme tune from the 1993 American science fiction thriller film - Jurassic Park.
Right now I am struggling to convey the depths to which my mortification has just plummeted too.
"Yeah. I'm here. Sorry. Aneurysm. Don't mind me."
"Err..." It's clearly still too early for some people as the teacher struggles to answer, but I glare at nothing in particular and she continues with the register. One by one, people's heads turn away and I ignore Chad's curious stare.
"What are you doing, Grimmjow?" I breathe.
The song is still being hummed but suddenly stops as Grimmjow bursts out laughing and materialises down from the ceiling.
"Alright, Ichigo? Having a pleasant morning?" He speaks in a loud voice over the teacher but no one looks at him because, to them, he doesn't even exists.
Fuck my life.
"What do you want?" I hiss, as quietly as I can.
"Sorry – WHAT? Speak up!" He shouts back at me.
I cringe and try not to look like there is someone dead and invisible, screaming a conversation at me whilst hovering over my desk.
Act like he isn't there.
Yeah! Ignoring ghosts has worked so well for me before. I've kept them away for this long, I can bloody well manage this little fuckwit.
No you can't~ A loopy sing-song voice in my head tells me.
Brilliant. Now I'm going mental.
Ignoring Grimmjow doesn't go quite to plan. I'm fact, I'm pretty sure the whole experience would fall under the category - 'Utter Fail'.
Not only does his rendition of Jurassic Park get so loud it almost makes me ears bleed, Grimmjow headbuts me as I walk up the stairs at break, causing people to gape in amazement as I hit my head on thin air and fall down a flight of steps.
He also stands on the teachers desk performing nostalgic songs such as 'Under the Sea' from the Little Mermaid and 'Get down on it' by Kool and the Gang. I nearly cried when he began to recite 'Firework' by Katy Perry.
But I held my ground!
To the outside world and my close friends it must have looked like I was having some sort of anxiety attack which lasted all day, but I didn't betray the fact that I can see dead people. That must count for something, right?
By last lesson – science – Grimmjow had resorted to sitting on my foot and biting the edge of my desk with his teeth.
I sigh heavily.
When everyone else leaves to go home I pretend I have to be somewhere else and hang around at the back of the class until everyone has gone.
"What do you want?" I ask in exasperation, resting my head in my arms. I feel Grimmjow get up and he takes a short stroll about the classroom.
"Dunno." Is his educated response.
"Right." I spit, standing up and swinging my bag over my shoulder furiously. "Well let me know when..." But my words die in my mouth.
Grimmjow is stood by the window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. My eyes take in the sight before me. He looks so human, his pose relaxed and carefree, but his profile looks sort of grim and his brow is drawn into a sort of pouty frown. I almost laugh when I realise that's his natural face and he isn't trying to be cute. The bright colours from the setting sun stream in through the classroom and right through Grimmjow's torso.
He looks transparent; like a ghost.
Then suddenly, quite unexplainably, I feel my anger towards Grimmjow dissipate into thin air.
He looks so lonely.
"I-I'm sorry." I eventually grind out. "You... you can stick around for a bit, if you need to."
Grimmjow turns to face me, his lips set in a shit-eating grin, his eyes bright with amusement.
"So I have your consent, then? Yay! We can shower together and I can watch you whilst you pee or have a good hot wank-"
"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, absolutely apoplectic with rage. "Why are you here ruining my life and making everything so fucking difficult?" All the bottle up frustration from being taunted and teased for nearly 7 hours just pours out from my mouth. I'm so angry. I hate people who just mess about with people's heads! Not to mention this creep is confusing me with his bi-polar behaviour ...
"I haven't been able to sleep or concentrate or think! God, you are the most retarded asshole I've ever met!"
Grimmjow's smirk slips off his face like thick paint and I admit I am kind of intimidated by the expression beneath.
"Who the fuck am I?" He asks quietly, placing a hand on his chest as if I ought to know. "Who the fuck am I? More like who the fuck are you?" Oh, ok- he is shouting now. "I've been dead for weeks, just floating around, bored off my tits!"
"Hey! Calm down! I didn't ask for your life story-" I shout, unsure why we are suddenly yelling.
"But that's just it!" I freeze as hysteria begins to creep into his voice. He suddenly looks a little mad. "I don't have a life anymore! I can't eat, I can't fuck anything and I can't even take a piss-"
"That's because you're dead..." I mutter furiously. "Being dead might entail not being able to do those things-"
"I've been bored out of my freaking mind! I haven't spoken to anyone; my friends can't see me-"
"So your just here because you're bored?" I say suddenly.
He pauses and shrugs. "Guess I am." He replies, appearing to be calmer.
And then I look at Grimmjow, and I mean really look at him and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him. He's dead, all alone and totally clueless as to why he is here.
"Got a problem with that?" He asks defiantly.
"Well yeah, actually." I say frowning. "You can't just hang around me because you're bored. Can't you just... I dunno, move on? If you stick around me then other ghosts will see and then I'll be swarmed and stalked and my peace will be gone forever..."
"Is that why you want me gone?" Grimmjow asks with raised eyebrows. "Coz I'll bring others?"
"You have no idea, do you?" I say quietly, trying very hard not to let the tremble of my voice be heard. "It might be all fun and games to you but..."
I swallow, suddenly overcome with nerves. I reach into the pocket of my trousers rub the soft pocket lining between my fingers; for some reason the smoothness calms me down.
"It's scary sometimes."
I want to smack myself for sounding so pathetic and Grimmjow almost smirks at me... almost...
Then it all comes pouring out in an effort to make Grimmjow understand how much I need him to be gone.
I was 6 the first time it happened.
Then came a horrible slithering noise.
It didn't help hiding my head under the blankets. I knew it was there, climbing the stairs. And it knew where I was. There wasn't enough time to run into my parents room. Besides, no matter how much they would comfort me, it would always follow me, whichever room I'd run into.
I would just have to sit there and wait for it.
It was drenched in blood and chains and rags. I could see its ribs poking out and its jaw was wide in a silent scream. Its eyes were mad, rolling into the back of its head; its nails dirty and bloody as it clenched at my carpet in an effort to drag itself towards my bed.
Then it would just lie there and cry out in agony for help... to be saved...
I couldn't do a thing; creatures like that were beyond any help I could give.
So I screamed.
I screamed until I thought my throat might tear.
I screamed until my dad would come in and carry me away.
I didn't want to listen to its horrible cries. I didn't want to smell its rotting stench. I didn't want to be the one it came to for help... when I couldn't do a single thing but watch.
I sigh, feeling a lot older than my 17 year old self.
"Ichigo," Grimmjow is looking at me intently. He can't be a day over 20 but he's got dark rings under his eyes and an old sort of smile.
"Slow down." He tells me. "Just... slow down."
The whole situation has me feeling stupid and venerable.
"Yeah." I croak, wondering when I suddenly got all tired and heavy. "You too."
He laughs dryly. "I'm dead." He almost sounds bitter, but then- "I can go as fast as I want!" He punches the air and does a sort of pelvic thrust.
I laugh before bending to grab my bag for a second time. Grimmjow watches me as I walk towards to classroom door. I pause as I'm about to open it.
"Come on then."
I beckon Grimmjow with a hand and he bounds across the room excitedly and jumps through the wall.
When I open the door, he is stood there waiting for me on the other side.
I know the ending might seem a bit... odd. But so is this situation; Grimmjow is dead and Ichigo is making contact with the dead. Also neither of them are happy with where they are right now. Ichigo is trying to ignore who he is (which is unhealthy) and Grimmjow is dead and needs to go into the light or whatever. I just wanted to show how similar they are in a kind of 'we both feel a lot odder and older than we look' sort of way. Get it? Have your little brother run into a radiator then you might understand, hahaha.
Anyway. Review. Now. Biatch.
But seriously, leave a review.
Many thanks! :D