𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑪𝒀𝑶𝑵 𝑶𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑵 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

Colourless ~ Age 11

"They sure did a number on you... The bleeding had stopped, but the wound is still fresh and by the looks of it, deep," the older woman said, "My name is Katan, and if you hadn't heard, the other nurse is called Naomi." Katan introduced herself with a light voice.

The bed covers crumpled in his tightly clenched fists as he tried to utter the words at the tip of his tongue, "I'm... Aizen." His throat burned, as if someone had rubbed sandpaper on the sensitive flesh.

"Don't worry Aizen, your wounds will be bandaged, but I'm afraid you won't be able to participate in the rest of the exam, if it's still in process." Naomi said, kneeling in front of him, her thin hands wiping over his thigh.

That was of no concern to Aizen.

He had no plans to continue it anyway.

_

After his injuries were tightly bandaged, he was given a new set of clothes. Sadly, his previous pair was thrown away since they had suffered tears, ones so great that they were no longer repairable.

The nurses left his room, leaving him in the deafening silence.

Finally, the static had gone away. It went away along with the pain in his limbs.

Yet, the pain in his chest remained, almost harsher than before. Maybe it was because that was the only pain he currently felt, it was amplified — more apparent — since nothing else hurt.

The outside was pitch black, a dark tranquillity which was married to a poetry of stars. A softness that called body and brain to rest and allowed the heart to go in its own, steady rhythm. It was almost a reward of sorts, a kind of restfulness from the above, made to calm the tired soul.

His tired soul.

The old clock in the corner of the room chimed. Midnight had befallen him, wrapping around him in the form of a dark blanket. The sun had long since set, finally allowing the full moon to rise to its glorious beauty.

Silver stars, like the flickering embers of a dying fire, winked down at him, illuminating the atramentous curtain of the sky. They looked close, so close that he thought he could scoop them all in his palms and let them all swirl and touch one another. But they were distant, so far apart that they cannot feel the warmth of each other.

The couldn't feel the warmth even though they were burning hotter than a thousand suns.

And yet, none of that could push away the guilt eating at his mind.

The guilt was like a flammable liquid in his guts. His insides slowly died out in the toxicity, needing no more than a stray spark to set it aflame. Even as he calmed himself, slowed down his breathing, it didn't work in stopping the deep cuts from tearing into him.

And yet, none of that could push away the grief wrapping around his heart.

The grief was like an ocean. It came in waves, engulfing and overwhelming. The darkness spread from within, strangling his veins. He was at the mercy of that grief. At mercy of its whims. It bit at him, unexpectedly, with such ferocity that he feared it would leave nothing behind when finished.

And yet, none of that could hide the crimson staining his fingers and hiding beneath his blunt nails.

The paleness of his hands stood weak against the invisible stains of blood. Still, it dripped silently. Fast, it slipped across the ground. Wet, it stained his hands. Dry, it painted his body.

With it, came life.

Without it, came death.

Forever, he would stay in that moment, his hand scarlet and sticky. The colour burned in his mind along with what he had done. It may no longer stain his hand, but it will forever stain his mind.

As an eternal reminder of what he had caused.

He had stared, unable to move, as blood flowed across the dusty ground. There was nothing he could have done to stop the inevitable from happening. But, as much as he told himself that, there was no denying what had happened.

The boy was gone, probably carried out of the arena, lifeless, as his teammates could do nothing but watch.

Images flashed through his mind, different scenarios playing out. What would it be like to watch his own teammates lay still, scarlet dripping out of their body and soaking into the ground beneath them?

How would he feel? What would he do?

Nothing...? Would he stay rooted to the ground, unable to move? Would he run to them and desperately try to save them? Would he be forced to watch the light leave their eyes?

Was that what it was like for the boy's teammates? Was that how they felt as they watched his unmoving corpse be carried out?

Death was permanent. Death was forever. Death is when the spark in the eyes dies out, extinguished.

What was it like for the boy to die? Had death come to him slowly, painfully? Had it come fast, unexpectedly? Was it lights out immediately? Was he forced to bear the pain until it took him?

Had he been greeted by the gates of immortality? Had he been greeted by the eternal darkness or a blinding light?

Death wasn't kind. Death snatched left and right. The hooded veil of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening, never distinguishing.

If one went onto the next path after death, would it be their last or are they fated to forever keep on walking?

He didn't know.