In Ulqui's Head
Title:
Author/Artist: Me
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of Szayel/Ulquiorra and perhaps UlquiHime if you look hard enough.
Also this may be depressive to some.
Summary: Philosophy via Ulquiorra
Word Count: 1267
DISCLAIMER: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.
He watched the wind toss errant sand over and across the dunes. He normally wasn’t one for paying special heed to nature at all, especially in this never changing vista but found himself more and more yearning to sit out here, alone, away from everything and everyone under that high white dome. He was a private man and preferred to keep it that way, absorbed in his thoughts, leaving the others to wonder what exactly was going on in that sealed off mind of his. So it was as the wind combed through his hair he sat and thought, basking in the solitude of the never ending night.
What is it anyway, that I should bow to him? He’s powerful, yes, but still, I am not easily swayed by power, but what it is that I gain from this marred relationship, except more time in this tiresome existence. We are soldiers yes, merely pawns in Aizen’s game of chess. I understand that and it doesn’t bother my much, that I am disposable to him. It never bothered me at all really. I guess nothing ever does… He paused in thought and sighed.
Is that all there is then? That we’re destined to be nothing more than cogs in the wheel that turns Aizen’s plans? Does it really matter in this meaningless existence of the next what purpose we have or don’t have? In all the turns of the wheel of fate, in all incarnations has it been the same? It would, I think yes, to go from one life to the next, meandering between worlds. What reason is there to live, copy, die and repeat the same things over and over again? If destiny is chosen for us, then who chooses destiny? If someone else, but we control our life, it isn’t worth living then. The shell may be different but the life is the same. It’s always the same, like these endless nights stagnant and unchanging, going to and from start and end with no purpose but that which deluded minds place before themselves. Yet I can’t begin to understand why someone would delude themselves in this naive concept known as ‘purpose’ in the first place when the result is always the same. Wouldn’t it just be better to strive for the result? All things die. It is nature. Everything that lives or has ever lived dies yet everyone pathetically clings to the stench of life, powerless against the end, yet somehow believing they can do something to prevent it. I would rather be an agent of death than cling to a mirage. Something akin to disgust welled up inside him and here alone in the dunes he let it show for what it was and then shifted in the sand and centered himself.
However, even I can not say that there isn’t something intriguing about them; those pathetic souls that wander the world below content in their delusion that living matters, though their weakness disgusts me so. Faced with the truth they flee or deny it, even in trivial things, concerns so small as to not even affect the time or space around them, unable to see beyond their own conscious mind. Yet… He paused, recalling the image of the orange haired prisoner he was now assigned the task of caring for. …even as long as she’s been here she still clings to these false concepts of ‘hope’ and ‘faith’ despite my attempts to open her eyes. Why is it that in the face of inevitability she should still hang on to these notions, even though she becomes more and more like us every day? He absently rand a black nailed finger in the sand, watching as it pushed up around his finger, divide and grow as he scratched a line in it. He looked up again, not sure what drove him to do it in the first place. When he looked back down again he realized what he had drawn there: a heart. His eyes widened slightly and he moved to wipe it away but paused over it.
The heart is merely an organ in the body, yet, they talk about it all the time, those humans, and they draw it simply like this, lacking the valves and muscles the organ really has. It’s like there is something about it that they hold on to, something more than just the flesh.
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. How is it that I find myself thinking about trash? He paused, facing the wind, letting his mind wander.
Is it that which is tied to the senses? If that was then I would find myself faced with a dilemma. Mere stimulus is not what they are talking about. He looked at the heart on the ground.
I’ve had my share of physical stimuli. I should feel violated, but I’m not. I should have blasted him into oblivion or thrown the weaker espada into a caja negacion for his insubordination as soon as Aizen stopped watching my humiliation play out for him in that lab of his. Yet, that scientist, I don’t think I could rend his flesh from his bones as readily as I would end the lives of everyone below, or even the others here. I can’t say that I understand it at all what I feel about him, or the others, or if I even feel anything towards them at all that isn’t caused by some outside force, some will other than my own; perhaps Aizen’s?
I would not be here had it not been for him. I don’t crave companionship like La Primera so desperately needs it, nor do I wish to push myself to the top of the pillar as La Quinta, or need to prove myself better than everyone like that insufferable idiot La Sexta. He paused, a flash of distaste crossing his lips.
I don’t hate him or course. I don’t hate anyone. It’s just, if there’s anyone save La Octava’s ministrations that has come close to exposing my weaknesses to the outside world, it’s him. He just won’t stop pushing me. Either way it will be over soon. It will all be over soon and I won’t have to think about it or anything ever again.
Perhaps that is what I am really after. He looked up at the moon. …an everlasting peace… an end…the end… to everything…
He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in the face of that fierce wind. …because I hurt… I’m broken, and I can’t fix it this time. A solitary voice inside him spoke up and a solitary tear rolled down his otherwise placid cheek until he stifled the cry, shifted again, stood, straightened his uniform and turned around.
Time to go back to work, to serve death, even if it means as serving as a mere soldier in Aizen’s army of throwaway toys, bereft of meaning, like life without purpose. He paused again looking up at the tall dome of Las Noches that loomed over him.
A means to an end. That’s why I serve him. It has always been a means to an end, their end, the living’s end, the shinigami’s end, my end: my final act; to bring down all that is and all that will ever be. Perhaps it is not me who is the pawn in this marred relationship. He held his head high as he walked towards the doors, his coat tails billowing behind him, leaving the heart drawing to disappear in the wind.
I will be as Death himself, and bring about the form of true despair.
Author/Artist: Me
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of Szayel/Ulquiorra and perhaps UlquiHime if you look hard enough.
Also this may be depressive to some.
Summary: Philosophy via Ulquiorra
Word Count: 1267
DISCLAIMER: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.
He watched the wind toss errant sand over and across the dunes. He normally wasn’t one for paying special heed to nature at all, especially in this never changing vista but found himself more and more yearning to sit out here, alone, away from everything and everyone under that high white dome. He was a private man and preferred to keep it that way, absorbed in his thoughts, leaving the others to wonder what exactly was going on in that sealed off mind of his. So it was as the wind combed through his hair he sat and thought, basking in the solitude of the never ending night.
What is it anyway, that I should bow to him? He’s powerful, yes, but still, I am not easily swayed by power, but what it is that I gain from this marred relationship, except more time in this tiresome existence. We are soldiers yes, merely pawns in Aizen’s game of chess. I understand that and it doesn’t bother my much, that I am disposable to him. It never bothered me at all really. I guess nothing ever does… He paused in thought and sighed.
Is that all there is then? That we’re destined to be nothing more than cogs in the wheel that turns Aizen’s plans? Does it really matter in this meaningless existence of the next what purpose we have or don’t have? In all the turns of the wheel of fate, in all incarnations has it been the same? It would, I think yes, to go from one life to the next, meandering between worlds. What reason is there to live, copy, die and repeat the same things over and over again? If destiny is chosen for us, then who chooses destiny? If someone else, but we control our life, it isn’t worth living then. The shell may be different but the life is the same. It’s always the same, like these endless nights stagnant and unchanging, going to and from start and end with no purpose but that which deluded minds place before themselves. Yet I can’t begin to understand why someone would delude themselves in this naive concept known as ‘purpose’ in the first place when the result is always the same. Wouldn’t it just be better to strive for the result? All things die. It is nature. Everything that lives or has ever lived dies yet everyone pathetically clings to the stench of life, powerless against the end, yet somehow believing they can do something to prevent it. I would rather be an agent of death than cling to a mirage. Something akin to disgust welled up inside him and here alone in the dunes he let it show for what it was and then shifted in the sand and centered himself.
However, even I can not say that there isn’t something intriguing about them; those pathetic souls that wander the world below content in their delusion that living matters, though their weakness disgusts me so. Faced with the truth they flee or deny it, even in trivial things, concerns so small as to not even affect the time or space around them, unable to see beyond their own conscious mind. Yet… He paused, recalling the image of the orange haired prisoner he was now assigned the task of caring for. …even as long as she’s been here she still clings to these false concepts of ‘hope’ and ‘faith’ despite my attempts to open her eyes. Why is it that in the face of inevitability she should still hang on to these notions, even though she becomes more and more like us every day? He absently rand a black nailed finger in the sand, watching as it pushed up around his finger, divide and grow as he scratched a line in it. He looked up again, not sure what drove him to do it in the first place. When he looked back down again he realized what he had drawn there: a heart. His eyes widened slightly and he moved to wipe it away but paused over it.
The heart is merely an organ in the body, yet, they talk about it all the time, those humans, and they draw it simply like this, lacking the valves and muscles the organ really has. It’s like there is something about it that they hold on to, something more than just the flesh.
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. How is it that I find myself thinking about trash? He paused, facing the wind, letting his mind wander.
Is it that which is tied to the senses? If that was then I would find myself faced with a dilemma. Mere stimulus is not what they are talking about. He looked at the heart on the ground.
I’ve had my share of physical stimuli. I should feel violated, but I’m not. I should have blasted him into oblivion or thrown the weaker espada into a caja negacion for his insubordination as soon as Aizen stopped watching my humiliation play out for him in that lab of his. Yet, that scientist, I don’t think I could rend his flesh from his bones as readily as I would end the lives of everyone below, or even the others here. I can’t say that I understand it at all what I feel about him, or the others, or if I even feel anything towards them at all that isn’t caused by some outside force, some will other than my own; perhaps Aizen’s?
I would not be here had it not been for him. I don’t crave companionship like La Primera so desperately needs it, nor do I wish to push myself to the top of the pillar as La Quinta, or need to prove myself better than everyone like that insufferable idiot La Sexta. He paused, a flash of distaste crossing his lips.
I don’t hate him or course. I don’t hate anyone. It’s just, if there’s anyone save La Octava’s ministrations that has come close to exposing my weaknesses to the outside world, it’s him. He just won’t stop pushing me. Either way it will be over soon. It will all be over soon and I won’t have to think about it or anything ever again.
Perhaps that is what I am really after. He looked up at the moon. …an everlasting peace… an end…the end… to everything…
He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in the face of that fierce wind. …because I hurt… I’m broken, and I can’t fix it this time. A solitary voice inside him spoke up and a solitary tear rolled down his otherwise placid cheek until he stifled the cry, shifted again, stood, straightened his uniform and turned around.
Time to go back to work, to serve death, even if it means as serving as a mere soldier in Aizen’s army of throwaway toys, bereft of meaning, like life without purpose. He paused again looking up at the tall dome of Las Noches that loomed over him.
A means to an end. That’s why I serve him. It has always been a means to an end, their end, the living’s end, the shinigami’s end, my end: my final act; to bring down all that is and all that will ever be. Perhaps it is not me who is the pawn in this marred relationship. He held his head high as he walked towards the doors, his coat tails billowing behind him, leaving the heart drawing to disappear in the wind.
I will be as Death himself, and bring about the form of true despair.