Blue remembered hills (Solo)

A face full of fear and terror, twisted and marred by tears. His arm came down...

A black darkness, an abyss. He had been here before. The recesses of his mind, where he was pushed back when the dregs of his sub conscious decided to surface. Such was his plight that he was susceptible to lose control of his facilities...

His blade was arcing upwards, a diagonal path that cut clean through the hip and went on to exit just after the collar bone connected to the shoulder. This unorthodox cut was necessary do to his reverse katana.

He floated in distress, he had to get out of here; surface. When he lost control who knew what alter ego would take control and what said fucking psycho would do. The problem was that there was no way to force exit, he would have to wait for a crack to appear in his mind and force his way through. Although to be fair they weren’t exactly rare.

His blade sliced through the young girl, tearing the terrified soul to pieces. It’s a clean cut, straight through skin, muscle and bone. The screams die on her lips as the blood rushes out of them.

A gap, a crack... Whatever it was appeared before him and he pushed his way through with the angry murmurs of the horde of personalities shouting their disapproval behind him.

He had his zanpakuto griped in his left hand, raised in the air and extended fully as if he had just slashed upwards. Before him the spiritual body of a young girl dissolved as she ended her afterlife seemingly just as she had started it. The last seconds of her existence confusion and horror were prevalent on her face. The two emotions etched into her skin in a way that should never associated with youth, as if she had beheld a monster in all its fury.

His hand trembled as it hung there in mid air, as if having been caught in some murderous act it was reluctant to move for fear of punishment. A shame built in side of him, beating with a tortured rhythm against his insides until it released as a frothing fury directed ridiculously at his own arm.

Taking his zanpakuto he beat upon his arm, smashing it with his katana and feeling nothing but the thud of a blunted blade hitting his steel like skin. No pain. Nothing. Much worse were the tears that rolled down his check, hot they were with regret and embarrassment.

Tears misted his vision as he dry retched on all fours. He couldn’t bear the monster that he was when he lost control, his body used as an unwitting tool of pointless destruction cutting threads of life that had the potential to be weaved into beautiful patterns. It hurt him, it cut deep. It hurt him, it made his head pound...

His head was pounding...

He felt a pressure behind his eyes as black spots appeared and grew in his vision. And then the world was null.

Blackness dissolves around him as light fights its way into his vision.

‘‘Xavier hunny, breakfast ready.’’

A woman’s voice calls, Xavier? The sound of it is familiar, he know he knows it but not where he knows it from it’s as if he’s trying to look through a fog to find his way. He had been lying down and now he sat up to look at his surroundings.
It was a bedroom. Bunk bed, T.V, computer games, chest of draws. Just a regular bedroom. It was so familiar yet he was sure he’d never been here before. Had he?

‘‘Come on quickly, schools in half an hour.’’

That same woman’s voice, it seemed even more natural now; a part of his life that had always been there. But he was certain he had never heard it before, wasn’t he?

Who was he?

Were these his hands, with the soft pale white skin? These his arms covered in Goosebumps? His chest that rose and fell in its lifelong battle for air? Yes....Yes it must be, mustn’t it?

His body lay there with is zanpakuto dropped to his side. Rain poured but not a muscle twitched. Not one.

Walking through the small flat he felt such nostalgia but he couldn’t tell why, this was his home wasn’t it? He saw a woman’s figure in front of him before she turned around to smile at him, a face that brought back memories.

A fist knocked into his face, a headbut the other side and his legs buckled out from underneath him. Voices and laughing. Hatred. Weakness. Why didn’t he just get up and kill them? He couldn’t, he was only a child.

The city at night, the sky lit up but a mass of fireworks burning their glorious colours for moments before fading away into the dark maw obscurity. The shrill whizz of the little rockets making their short flights and the indiscernible roar that bellowed from the mouths of thousands of people. Each tiny conversation making up a part of the violent noise that assaulted his senses.

A slight shift, small movement. Then a low groan, some signs of life. The rain still poured, torrential.

His mouth was dry yet his hands were sweating, he was sure people were going to know what he was doing. He wasn’t sure exactly how they would know but they just would, his hand snaked forward and grabbed a handful of sweets putting them in his pockets along with the crisps he had half stuffed down his trousers.

His body started to rise and fall as his breathing became heavier. His hands started tightening up and loosening.

It was dark outside, the sky black mirroring the heart of the night. He could feel something out there, a beast of violence. A wolf among lambs. It’s howls pierced the air yet he knew no one else heard it, he had been alone in his perception of these strange beasts for a while. He dared not unburden his soul to another for fear of ridicule, yet he was terrified. The guttural grating noises were getting closer and with every second his heart was pounding just that little faster, just a little more sweat would roll down his back, his breathing would shallow ever so slightly more. And then he felt the presence of it, a sinister sickliness that was neither smell nor sound nor sight yet a combination of all the senses that exuded evil desire.

He groaned deeply, his upper lip curling as his body started to come towards consciousness.

His bowels had emptied and he lay in a crump on the floor crying his tiny heart out as the dark silhouette looked down upon him, unmoving, unfeeling, inhuman. He had done nothing to harm the child yet he couldn’t move with any control, this was fear that crept into you invaded your darkest places burrowed into the marrow of your bones and paralyzed you in abject fear and humiliation. Then the monster moved. With a savage grin it moved in close, close enough that it’s horrid white mask was prominent in his view. Reaching down it picked up the boy in it’s horrid claws bringing it closer to it’s face.

‘‘What’s your name boy?’’ A chuckle followed and sick amusement filled its eyes telling him it didn’t rally care.

It was important to him, what was his name? Yumm...Yu... That wasn’t it. He couldn’t quite grasp it. His name was...

‘‘Xavier!’’

A single chuckle. Then the light dissolved as darkness fought its way into his vision.

Picking himself off up of the ground Yummei was shaking inside. Such a rush of images? Dreams....Memories?

Whatever they were he felt a part of him that he had never felt before. Something human, something that was pulling him in a specific direction. Nostalgia.

Old style decadence, great stone works of time when it’s might spread across the oceans of the world.

New style trash, an age of cheap brick and rusted metal a once proud nation had fallen from glory and wallowed in its own self destructive filth.

He moved among the streets, observing those that he paced with an apathetic eye. He no longer came as an emissary of death, yet there was a barrier between he and they something so fundamentally different that it was if watching aliens visit. For so long had he prayed upon the dead souls of these cattle like meat sacks that he could not think of them as a life forms with any real sense of purpose yet he knew he had stemmed from such humble and primitive origins. Embarrassing really.

He had been drawn to this city. He couldn’t help but smirk, drawn was such a clichéd pseudo mysterious man word. Rather he had felt he needed to come here, the barrage of memories had filled a hole within himself that had been there since he could remember. It was made you a hollow, having that emptiness inside, a chasm of despair always present and scratching at your conscious mind driving you closer to the brink of despair every waking second.

He was hollow no longer, yet he still bore the hole in his chest. A physical representation of the humanity lost to him, not that he desired to be burdened with a humans body or perspective; yet...

...

...he couldn’t not follow this desire to be filled, completed. It was different to a hollow seeking souls to sustain its life force, this was something less physically necessary but it offered the hope of a balm for the aching of his soul that it was something he could no more turn away from it than he could change the nature of his being.

So here he was, stepping the stones of London, it was not as if he was lost in his search. He knew where to go, the memories could guide him, yet he was apprehensive. Procrastinating through sightseeing, such a pathetic human act. Yet his feet wove their own path, eventually leading to the area that from his memories suggested was his old haunting grounds, his home as a human.


There was no sudden rush, no epiphany, no gained humanity. It was however strange to think that he had previously walked these streets in another from, his soul in an act of déjà vu. He saw the block of flats that he had lived in, and leapt to the top; taking his perch he settled down to wait.

Night was falling and his body was numb and stiff. He had remained an unmoving statue, simply sitting and waiting; it was then that he saw them mother and child. Walking together, coming home after a long day. The woman’s face was not as he had remembered, the smile was there warm for the child she walked with. Yet her face bore the lines of time and time had been cruel, her eyes spoke as deep pools of sadness that evoked within his black soul an empathy that he would have thought impossible.

They walked closer to him and he observed the child, a happy young boy. Laughing and running ahead of his mother, energetic and spritely. The epitome of youth, of life itself.

He stayed like a phantom in their lives, watching for the rest of the night. And then on into the next day, and then beyond that. He lost track of time while he watched. He didn’t think of the absurdity of the situation, in fact he didn’t think of anything. He was merely wrapped up in the feeling of contentment, he finally knew what the hole in him had been. This feeling, the feeling of belonging.

Bitter sweet.

He had found a peculiar love for these humans...his family. Yet they couldn’t even begin to be aware of his presence let alone reciprocate his feelings.