The Spot

Warm, sticky, flowing freely

Blood slips quietly down the flesh.

Drip, drip, drip, splash.

The skin is parted, cut is fresh,

And the pool grows larger, spreading out.

Stinging pain fades as the lifeblood

Drips, drips, drips…

At last, the hurt departs, taking with it

The grief, the humiliation.

Blackness takes over vision.

Hearing is lost.

The heartbeat slows, slows, slows

As the blood drips, drips, drips, stops.

Grimmjow finished reading the poem, then looked at Ichigo. The orange-haired kid had been eating lunch with his friends when the bully had inserted himself into their group to begin reading from a very familiar notebook. Ichigo wondered when Grimmjow might have stolen it, although now that he was done reading, it didn't seem to matter anymore. His life was over.

To their credit, Ichigo's friends alternated between giving him sympathetic looks and glaring daggers at Grimmjow. Renji was halfway from his sitting position, ready to beat the shit out of the blue-haired menace when he spoke.

"Didn't know you wrote poetry, Kurosaki!" Grimmjow yelled for all to hear. Ichigo looked mortified; eyes wide and face pale, his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped audibly. "It's really not bad. I just wonder, were you planning to off yourself?" the bully asked, feigning concern with his voice, but proving his cruelty with his maniacal grin.

"I – I…" Ichigo began, but he couldn't seem to find words.

"If you were, you know," Grimmjow continued, "I bet I could find you someone to help you with it." Ichigo gulped again. "I would even be so kind as to offer my own services—" Grimmjow began.

"I'm not suicidal," Ichigo said simply. He seemed amazed his voice didn't crack with emotion.

"Are you sure?" Grimmjow countered. "This is very disturbing stuff, Kurosaki. Perhaps I should show this to a teacher so you can get the help you need." Again, the twinkling blue eyes and lunatic grin contradicted the caring tone of voice. Ichigo paled, if possible, even more at the thought. His eyes widened, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline before he answered.

"I don't need any help, Jaggerjaques. Just give me my notebook back, and fucking leave." If he would just walk away, Ichigo thought, this won't end badly. Or… worse-ly. Grimmjow leveled his gaze at Ichigo, smirking.

Then, he delivered the final blow. "Are you still upset about how you killed your mommy?" The whole rooftop seemed to silence in that sentence, and the orange-haired boy's eyes narrowed.

Ichigo was behind Grimmjow in a split second – it was hard to say when he had moved. He held a long switchblade knife at the bully's throat with his right hand as his left staid any movement. The orange-haired kid leaned toward Grimmjow's ear and whispered, just loud enough for all to hear in the shocked silence, "I didn't write that poem about myself." And then he pulled his hand quickly, expertly to the right.

Grimmjow opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a gurgling sound came out. A red line appeared across his neck, rapidly expanding to a gash, and then a gaping orifice. More gurgling came from the bloody mouth as the blue-haired boy fell forward. He rested on his hands and knees for a moment as his blood stained the concrete below him, and then he lay face down, the black-red pool spreading around him as his eyes filmed over and he died.

Screams echoed on the rooftop of the school. Some teenagers in uniforms ran for safety, for help as others, those closer to the carnage, sat helpless. Frozen in the horror of what they had seen, they stared. Ichigo's friends, wide-eyed, asked incredulous questions.

"Why would you do that?" Orihime screamed.

"What have you done?" Rukia echoed.

From Chad, a whispered, "Who are you?"

His orange bangs fell over his eyes as the irises glinted gold in the sunlight. The corners of his mouth pulled up cruelly, baring his blood-spattered teeth as he screamed, "I have no name!"