CHAPTER 1NE: LAST WORDS
**Disclaimer:: I do not own Bleach or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Tite Kubo drew and wrote it, Viz Media published and licensed it. I am merely a boy with plot bunnies in his mind; all I own is a double sided poster, a lost trading card (Renji), a collector's booklet, Memories of Nobody, DiamondDust Rebellion, Fade to Black I Call Your Name, Heat The Soul 6 (for PSP in Japanese, not yet available in English), and volumes 1—38. Last Words belongs to Thousand Foot Krutch. Not me.**
**(::. .Part one. This is gonna be a three-shot. I'm realizing that my first chapters are always shorter than I'd like them to be, so sorry for that haha. I'm working on it though, see? Look at all the words! PLEASE REVIEW! THEY MAKE ME WRITE FASTER, I PINKY PROMISE. .::)**
Dear loved one, please listen,
This might be the last chance I get.
I'm sorry I left you;
I'm living in a world of regret.
Don't cry if you can hear me,
I never meant to hurt you dearly.
I'm so wrong sincerely,
Don't stop take life seriously.
These are the last words I'm ever gonna get to say to you,
When everything falls away from you.
Take these words
And know the world is not worth leaving.
He wished he had taken that short-cut. He wished he had taken the bus. He wished he had left his headphones out. He wished he had paid more attention to his surroundings. He wished he had taken Chad's offer to spend the night. He wished he had taken a few extra minutes to say good-bye to Chad's abuelo. He wished he hadn't walked on the main road. But he did. And he wasn't paying attention, and his headphones were in with his iPod blasting Orange Range, and he had left Chad's house in a rush. He left wanting to walk with his thoughts beside him as he took his sweet time walking home, so he went the long way. He wished he had been more alert, with his eyes open in front of him rather than fixated on his shoes. But be as it may, he wasn't. And the only time his eyes left his shoes was as the headlights of a pick-up truck flashed into his vision, heading straight towards him. With his eyes wide in shock, he froze. The lights momentarily blinded him, but his life didn't flash before his eyes. Just the headlights. Nothing even ran through his head, except for a silence that sounded so much louder than anything he'd ever heard, so loud it drowned out the sound of his music. It was a dark silence that offered no comfort or advice on what to do in that moment.
The next thing he knew, he was on the cold hard concrete with a numbness crawling up his body and a white hot pain leading the way. The numbness crawled its way in a way that was painfully slow, like jumping in a cold pool and waiting for what feels like forever for the cold sting to fade away. It hurt to breathe like it hurt to keep his eyes open.
He blinked slowly, completely unaware to the face that his left eye hadn't so much as twitched. He felt blood going into his ear where a headphone had been ripped out. Well, he faintly thought he felt it going in his ear anyway, but in actuality the blood was coming out of his ear. He was cold and tired, staring vacantly at the sideways view of the empty and open road. He didn't blink; nor did he realize it when the light left his eyes leaving one dimmed brow void and the other with glass from the broken windshield embedded in it. He did, however, feel both of his eyelids flutter shut as he painlessly curled in on himself and drifted to sleep.
That was just him though. Had anyone else been there while he wrapped himself into a ball, all they would have seen was a tragedy. A bloody boy with his torso on the ground, glass in his eye, and his back sunken in from a broken spinal cord and a shattered rib cage with a steaming car resting on his rear end. On the top edge of the wall behind him was a rather large smear of blood where the boy's head would have been. On the back of said boy's head was a large gash from behind one ear to the near center of the back of the cranium. Blood was slowly oozing out as the cracked skull pushed thick clumps through the open wound and through the ear closest to the ground with the help of gravity.
The boy's head was twisted at an awkward angle, broken. The iPod played on into the night as the driver slowly stumbled away into the night drunkenly. While the man mumbled to himself about needing sleep and not looking forward to a hangover bound to happen, the teenager's body started losing heat.
Ichigo Kurosaki woke up to the sound of sirens and crying—well, screaming was more like it. He sat up and rubbed his head, it was aching! Why the hell did he sleep on the ground outside of all places? He groaned,
"Damn it, I feel like I just got hit by a truck… What the hell happened last night?"
"Shit," a man came running from the ambulance with another man towards Ichigo, but they stopped. "That's the Kurosaki boy,"
"Yeah," the man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Bit of a delinquent, that one. Got into fights a lot with that tall friend of his. Smart though, had a full ride to med school after high school."
"Hey, I can hear you! And I still do!" Ichigo stood up on shaky legs without taking his eyes away from the man. He walked to the talking pair that seemed to be ignoring him like the plague.
"It's a shame. Lotta people were fond of him, didn't your kid grow up with him?"
"Yeah, Tatsuki. Never met him though, maybe once at the dojo when they were younger. Her and Orihime are gonna be heartbroken. He was like a brother to my girl the way she talked about him and just about everyone knows Orihime's in love with the boy." Mr. Arisawa sighed, "We better tow the car and clean this mess up."
"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" the two men walked forward and Ichigo followed, walking sideways while yelling and spitting profanities at the men ignoring him.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Why aren't you—" his own shock was what cut him off. His head had turned to look at what they were heading towards and his eyes were, at that moment, as wide as his mouth. What he was looking at appeared to be himself… except the him that was… not him… was… mangled. That and there was a pick-up truck on top of him—er, the not-him-but-still-him…him.
"No…" Ichigo whispered and went to shove past the two walking paramedics. When he felt no impact he froze, his torso jolting forward from the momentum of the speed he'd been running at. A moment later he felt his stomach in his throat, like he brushed his tongue too far back. A false-alarm vomit. Tatsuki's father had walked through him. Ichigo shuttered and fell to his knees, gagging. As embarrassing as it was, he passed out.
"Oh my god!"
"Who is he?"
"Who hit him?"
"I'm not gonna ask again, leave! Don't you kids have school? It is only Wednesday you know!" Ichigo had a foot in his stomach when he came to. Literally. He stood up shakily. A group of girls from his school (he could tell from the uniform, he'd never actually seen them) had been trying to see his… his body. Ichigo hadn't even seen it! He wasn't sure if he wanted to either, but he swallowed his guttural fear and took hesitant step by hesitant step through the police lines and passed the tow truck working on removing the car from his body. He rubbed his arm nervously, it felt solid enough to him… He was standing still, looking at the horrific sight of the body that he once called his own with tears in his eyes. He didn't care if no one could see him, he was not going to cry!
He broke that self-made promise when a body broke through the line of policemen. It was a man screaming and crying loudly and barely coherently. Each and every cry broke Ichigo's heart to the point where he collapsed once more, sobbing out loud like a newborn baby. He sobbed hysterically in front of his dead body in sync with every broken, pleading scream let out by the man.
"That's my son! That's my son..!"