𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 [MINOR EDITING]

𝟑 | 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡

I wake with a start, when I'm finally able to escape my reoccurring dream. Or night terror, I suppose I should say. It was of the man from last night. I... wasn't saved. He had his way with me. If it wasn't for Shōri, in reality, he would've... I would've been... It... would've been a lot worse than it had been.

But, no matter. It's... over with. Somehow, Shōri saved my life by ending his. Not that I couldn't have taken care of things... I've only never experienced such a terrible thing like that before.

Now entirely wide awake, when I stand after deciding to look around the man's modest little shack, a sharp pain tears through my lower body and I stifle a gasp, a tear easily slipping down my cheek. I'd had a feeling it wouldn't get better any time soon, but for it to become even more painful than it'd been during the aftermath, it takes me by surprise. 

I move slowly, using the banister on my right and the wall on my left to assist in my decline down the stairs. The upper floor contained the bedrooms, and below us is the kitchen and the front room. With Shōri still sleeping, I'm careful not to make much noise. I shut my eyes when I walk through the front room, careful to avoid the pile of petrified pieces of slime I'd done my best to push together before joining Shōri in her makeshift cot.

When I enter the kitchen, I surprise myself further by having no desire to eat. I'm not famished. I'm not even thirsty, but I steal a sip from a reservoir in the center of the kitchen. I do feel refreshed, however. Doubting that any kind of ownership existed here within the districts, I suppose what with this house "belonging" to that man who is now... further deceased? It now belongs to Shōri and I. A strange, wicked grin creeps onto my face as the realization sinks in.

From somewhere in the house I hear a knock. It doesn't occur to me that it might be someone at the door until I am halfway back up the staircase, ready to check on my sister as the source of the noise. I steadily hobble back down, one step at a time, and pull open the front door at the bottom of them. In the doorway stands a squinting man wearing a black robe, holding a role of parchment under one arm, and a paintbrush and a vial of black ink in his other hand.

"Hello," I say cautiously.

"Hello," he replies. "As the two newest inhabitants of the seventy-eighth district of south Rukongai, I require your signatures as proof of your arrival."

"Proof of our arrival?" I repeat. "Well, alright... Please, come in; I'll go grab my sister."

He nods, and steps over the threshold. As I go up the stairs, I glance back at him to see him following me with his eyes. I swallow, finally entering the bedroom.

"Shōri," I call. I lightly shake her shoulders. "Shōri, you need to wake up now."

With a light groan, she sighs, slowly stretching herself out. Shōri looks up at me with a frown.

"Who is downstairs?" she asks. I hide my own frown, confused as to how she'd known someone is here when she'd just been fast asleep.

"A guest," I tell her. "He wants our autographs."

Shōri gasps excitedly. "Our autographs?!" she repeats.

"Come on," I say, helping her to her feet.

"It's a good thing you've practiced your signature so much, Shōri." I finish off the last letter of my name and set the brush back into the vial. She takes it from my hands, as well as the parchment, and sets them both on the floor.

"Mhm!"

I extend my hand to the man in front of me and smile.

"My name is Abaron," I say. He stares at it through his partially opened eyes momentarily before taking it in his own. "Like you already know, we're quite new to this place, so... we don't know much about anything. I apologize; it took me a while to get to the door. I'm still getting used to things here... and I'm also... a little injured."

"I completely understand. While it's been a little over three decades since I, myself, arrived by konsō to this place, I still wake up each morning disoriented. I do not remember my life as a human."

"Not at all?" I say. "Is that normal? And wait, three decades? You don't look older than three decades."

"Those who pass on forget about their lives as human," he tells me. Shōri is still writing her first name. "I've never heard of anyone retaining their memories, however. Being fully amnesiac is a rarity, too. And time passes differently here in the Soul Society, even slower for a regular soul."  Shōri is on our last name now.

"Strange," I accidentally murmur.

"How so?" he inquires.

"Would it be considered... abnormal, if say, a soul actually managed to keep their human memories?"

He places his hand on his chin. "I cannot say," is his reply. Shōri stands and carefully carries the parchment back over to the man.

"Is this okay?" she asks us. I nod.

"You've improved quite a bit, Shōri," I admit.

"Yes, for a child your age, this is rather impressive." He rolls up the parchment and opens the front door. "Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Abaron. Miss Shōri."

"Anytime."

"Bye-bye!"

"Did you get it done?"

From within the long sleeve of the man's shihakushō, he pulls out a carefully coiled roll of parchment that he slowly unravels between himself and his three other colleagues. The ink, though only slightly smudged, is legible, reading the names of the two people they'd been waiting for.

"It's them. Now let's go and get them."

Updated July 13th, 2021 | 1,018 words