(no subject)
[ There's a little boy sitting under a ragged tree during early summer rainfall, his yellow-ochre yukata stained and torn with old brown blood as he shivers. Head down, shaggy hair drips steadily onto wiry bent knees, everything about his expression closed off as he cries, mouth open on silent wet sobs. A splash of dirty grey and mint-green lining reveals itself to be his blanket, the slice of an embroidered Fifth-Division emblem stretched across his tiny shoulders. A captain's haori, hugged like his only anchor to reality.
Initially, he doesn't give any reason for his tears, face partially buried in the sodden fabric belonging to an absent older counterpart, nor does he look to be completely stable as he glowers at the same patch of dirt before him, milk-teeth gritted against a fury no child should ever experience first-hand or have play across such an innocent face.
The ground splits in all directions as he throws back his head and yells, backing up firmly against the tiny sapling. Curling in on himself, he gasps and spits out the rain, haori seams splitting with the force around which it surrounds his shoulders. Very quietly, forlorn and lost, he hiccups and whimpers, crying anew.
It sounds very much to keen ears like, I don't want to go to Hell. ]
Initially, he doesn't give any reason for his tears, face partially buried in the sodden fabric belonging to an absent older counterpart, nor does he look to be completely stable as he glowers at the same patch of dirt before him, milk-teeth gritted against a fury no child should ever experience first-hand or have play across such an innocent face.
The ground splits in all directions as he throws back his head and yells, backing up firmly against the tiny sapling. Curling in on himself, he gasps and spits out the rain, haori seams splitting with the force around which it surrounds his shoulders. Very quietly, forlorn and lost, he hiccups and whimpers, crying anew.
It sounds very much to keen ears like, I don't want to go to Hell. ]