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24 April 2008 @ 11:19 pm
Title: Dinner
Character: Hollow Ichigo (HIchigo)
Fandom: Bleach
Genre: General, Horror
Rating: PG
Word Count: 227


There's a place on the far end of the table where no one ever approaches.

That place is barren, is devoid, is empty of feeling and sight. And is a remembrance too, of someone they all knew a long time ago. The touch, the thought is cavernous—he likes it. Something sacred, something horrid (and demonic). Somehow, he’s got it all down: Ichigo is sitting there (across from him) and facing The Family. Loud, obstreperous and infinitely annoying.


The one on the outside, and he. Him. It. Stood looking in. Like through a window with no glass, just a diamond shell cut and split and revealing grotesque innards of some decayed animal. He can see all the dirty-stinking-rotten tricks they’ve planted in others’ minds, his, and all their own.

The Family: The Father, The Sisters, and Ichigo.

And him.

The one looking in.

But there’s a place on the far end of the table where no one ever glances at. Not even for a teeny, tiny, fracture of a minute.

Because that’s his spot: the place where he sits (if he could, manifested in some form). And they all know this too. Because at every meal, there’s a silver platter placed speck-and-clean on the tablecloth. Perfect.

Just like him. This he is musing.

(And sometimes, on the plate, there would be a head. Dinner Is Served.)