Title: Rain in Hueco Mundo
Characters: One-sided UlquiHime, and a mention of Tatsuki
Rating: G I never thought that I would write something G-rated... has the world gone mad?
Warnings: None, aside from the ever-present general spoilers that obviously accompany anything UlquiHime
Summary: For Orihime, rain is symbolic of much more than the weather.
Disclaimer: I always forget to include this... No, of course I don't own Bleach
A/N: It turned out to be exactly 400 words, which makes me happy.
It never rains in Hueco Mundo, or snows. Here is a world drier than an old bone, an endless desert of identical off-white dunes in which the strangely beautiful buildings of Las Noches are as a pebble in a dead sea.
And here, here is a girl, wishing for rain that will never come. Rain is something magical, water falling from a sky that otherwise looks so high and cold and disinterested, a gift from that sky to the earth below. She remembers how, in her own world, the sky would turn the color of polished stone; and how water collected in her shoes when she forgot and left them outside. She thinks of rain in late spring, when the delicate maple seeds that fell from high branches floated on water instead; of Tatsuki’s excited feet splashing through a puddle and scattering them.
This world without rain is a lonely one, she muses, but she tries to keep the rain stored up in her heart, in the knowledge that if she doesn’t, nobody else can. She is, she knows, the only living soul in this city of people, the only true heart. So she keeps the rain safe.
Most people aren’t too fond of rain showers, she knows. But in a world with no rain, nothing can grow. She muses that if it did rain in Hueco Mundo, perhaps some deeply hidden plants would sprout from the fallow ground, something that nobody could have imagined could grow in a place like this. Maybe even a heart or two would grow. Maybe, she thinks, they’re already there, compacted into something immeasurably small, like a seed, waiting. Maybe, she hopes, those hollow holes are simply a symbol, not a statement of fact.
And then the door opens, and a tray of food is set before her with no trace of emotion, not even boredom at being assigned such a menial task as trying to force a girl who dreams of rain to eat food as dry as dust. Words float on the surface of the air; Eat your food, woman. And here, perhaps, is one case where the surface is all there is. Isn’t that the definition of the word ‘hollow’?
All of the girl’s musings crumple in on themselves like a burning leaf, because hers is the only heart in this world, and there can be no rain in Hueco Mundo.