GHOST IN A SHELL
a Rukia-centric drabble
x
x
x
x
When she was bored in the classroom, she liked to stare at her own hands. They looked like her hands, but they were not hers. There was a kind of stiffness in them when she wriggled her fingers, like the air was around them was heavier it took more effort to move through the air.
She tried to lift her little finger and saw it immobile: somehow she had failed.
x
x
She stole medical journals from the clinic downstairs. Huddled in the closet, she stared at illustrations of the most minute part of the human body, tracing the outlines and the colored lines and whispering their foreign-sounding names to herself.
She knew too little of the human body, too little of her own body. She had little control over herself (it's strange: she used to only think of her self as herself before) and she was afraid.
x
x
During recess, she stood by the classroom window and watched the male students playing soccer below. She touched her sun-warmed arm, wondering whether she was real within.
x
x
A long time ago, when she was still child-like, she would huddle with her friends at some deserted alley, waiting for morning to come. It was a wonder to her, feeling a curious sense of warmth within her, even when she knew their soul-bodies could not possibly emit heat. She snuggled closer to Renji beside her, feeling the warmth intensified. He turned his head towards her, scoffing, but he kept her close.
x
x
Many times she would join Ichigo and his friends to have lunch at the roof or at the school grounds. She would catch him staring off into space while sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree or a wall, while conversations continued around him. He looked content, relaxed, completely without worry. He looked like he belonged.
If she closed her eyes and thought of him, that image of his would be how she liked to remember him with. That would be how she would wonder about him, about how warm he would feel underneath her hand, underneath her cheek, within the circles of her arms.