Summary:

When you open your wardrobe, you will find either clothes, a corpse or Narnia. You do NOT, repeat NOT, find a messed-up passage to a world that is best described as 'the Bleachverse'.
At least, I didn't expect to find it- and when I found it, I hadn't even realized yet what deep shit I just had gotten into.


Although I just said that everything started with a wardrobe, it actually started with a ringing doorbell. Which, rest assured, I too wish hadn't been the rather cliche start of my story, but a beginning's a beginning. Had it been me pulling the strings, it probably would have started way differently.
Preferably, it wouldn't have started at all.

Past-tense first-person meta-lamenting aside, I really think I should get back to that goddamned doorbell. More importantly, perhaps, the reason behind the obnoxious HIEEEIINNG echoing through my house.

This might be a nice opportunity to introduce Suzume. Suzume is not her real name, naturally, but it sounds pretty cool and our names differ comically because of it. She is one of my best friends. I'm pretty jealous of her sometimes, because she is one of those insufferable people that are alright. Sure, she's not without her flaws and spikes, but there's this thing about that makes you think 'Yeah, she's a nice person'.
Also, she's a BAMF with karate/kickbox-skills, and ready to learn anything if she puts her mind to it. 'If' being the operative word here, but you didn't get that from me, hush.

While I'm at it, why not introduce myself? That's going to have to happen sooner or later, since I declared myself the main protagonist of this clusterfuck of events and misfortunes. I'll stick to the facts; who am I, after all, to describe my own personality.

My name is Myrthe. I'm 16 years old. I look average, my hobbies are average, and any skill I possess is average as well. I like average things. Videogames, tv-series, books, being pretentious with a camera, those things that many peers like. My childhood was average, my present is average.
I wasn't the stuff of legends. I resigned to that fact pretty early on, it made a lot of things easier. I was content with pretending to be something greater in my head and conclude afterwards it wasn't going to happen. I made do.
I did not and do not consider myself a particularly nice person.

So, that's us, Suzume and me, two teens just doing the teenage thing and stumble through days with laughing fits and senseless fury. We were pretty different, something that has only become more prominent over time. Didn't mean we couldn't flip our shits over the same topics, though. In accordance to this story, let me just keep it at the shared love for anime, with its eccentrics and melodrama and anatomically whacky tits. Bleach was one of these guilty pleasures, and we liked to meet up every once in a while and submerge in Japanese shouting and somewhat phallic weapons being constantly pointed at bishonen whilst one-liners with dubious subtext were rapidly fired.

It was one of those afternoons, and the doorbell I discussed thoroughly a few paragraphs ago announced its beginning. A little skippadoodle in time later, we were high on that lethal combination of a sugar overdose and animated mindfuck.
So we decided to get check my wardrobe for any signs of Narnia. Because we were awesome like that. Door open, idiots in, door closed.

Step.
"Holy shit, your wardrobe is huge."
Step.
"I've never been this deep into a closet."
"I think your closet is big enough to host all the self-deceiving gays in the world."
Ste-

And that is where my life started to suck, although I hadn't realized it yet.
I was far too busy with falling through what was supposed to be the back of my wardrobe. There was black, there was white, and there was a space made up entirely from all possible colours, as if we were falling through a prism or inside a rainbow; and briefly all I could think about was damn, there's a rainbow inside my closet, I should review my sexuality again.

Although I realized later on that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, at that very moment of falling through something, I was terrified. I completely forgot about Suzume and could only think of my certain death and how much I disliked this turn of events.
I was screaming and praying that this was just a bad dream or that I had somehow sniffed up crack; and we just kept falling and falling and falling and just when I thought I was doomed to fall for all eternity, we landed.
Since I was still under the impression I was going to grow old as nothing but gravity's toy, I was too surprised to properly land when my feet touched the ground, and I stumbled and fell on the pavement.

There's supposed to be no pavement in my wardrobe.

And after I concluded the obvious, I scrambled up to my feet and took a good look around. It was sunny, the birds were chirping happily, a guy yelled at me for sitting in the middle of the road, and I was somewhere that I had never been before.


Looking back, I guess that it must have been around that moment of wonder and traffic blocking that the man on the throne was informed of our 'arrival'. It's not hard to imagine that monster putting down his cup of tea, smiling that one smile. That smile that has been haunting me ever since I witnessed it first-person.
I can see vividly before me how he probably would give the order to start the first test while casually asking for Ulquiorra to pour him some more tea. And I can feel my fingers tingle as they beg me to let them throw boiling hot maginary tea in his imaginary face. Or the cup. Or some sharp, porcelain shards from the cup. Preferably big shards of a Ming vase coated in poison and crawling with flesh-eating millipedes and the boiling tea.


Myrthe: Thus begins the tale of how I became the butt-monkey of my real-life alter ego.


~*~*~*~*~*OPINION WHORE SECTION~*~*~*~*~*

Welcome to the Opinion Whore Section, where I ask for your opinion so that I can say mine is better!

Oh wow. My story sucks. Badly. This is like the literary black hole within every little aspiring writer's soul that sucks up all confidence in storytelling and leaves nothing but the kind of emptiness that emo bands devote songs to.
I'll be revising this story. Reanimate the dying loose ends and put plot holes and gruesome sentences out of their misery.