parallels from the bird

Ichimaru had a bird once. Or, at least to Kira's knowledge, he had a bird once. The vice-captain remembered the countless times he strolled into his captain's office, stack of paperworks completely blocking his vision, while catching a glance of Ichimaru not focused on his own individual (and much larger) stack of work, but instead absolutely captivated by his bird.

It wasn't much of a pet as more of a captive; Ichimaru had always kept the cage open, but he had tied a taught string around one of the bird's hind legs. Even if it had tried to fly, Kira doubted it would've gotten any further than the very edge of its metal prison.

The bird had the most beautiful voice, the most beautiful appearance. Or, at least in Kira's memory, it had such traits.

He only vaguely remembered its mesh of feathers, some green, some blue, some white. Ichimaru had never allowed him to pet the bird, but from the way his captain was constantly distracted by it, Kira figured it must've had an insane degree of softness. Its melody it had chirped was calming, but not droning. Lively, but not shrill. The bird's voice had been perfect, even to the point where Kira had found an asleep Ichimaru Gin as he came into the office, his curved grin only slightly relaxed in his slumber.

That was the fact that irritated Kira the most - for what reason, he didn't quite know himself. While he himself could never even stand up to Gin, never able to look him in the eye without skipping a breath, never managing to stop stuttering in his presence, the bird had no inhibitions against his captain. He figured perhaps the bird was too lowly, too much of a perfect slave, to be afraid of Ichimaru, but, he found himself in slight jealousy of the bird. Again and again.

Yet, one thing Kira knew for sure was that he never wanted to be that bird, that animal in the open cage, trapped with the irony of not being able to escape. Entrapment was one reason, for sure. But, even stronger, even more horrifying, was the smirk his captain had given the bird every time his attention was on it. It wasn't Ichimaru Gin's normal smile, as infamous as that was; the bird had received a smile much worse, one of uncertainty, of doom, of all the acts Ichimaru was capable of that Kira didn't know, didn't even want to know.

Kira never wanted to come face to face with that same, horrible grin.

In fact, even for awhile, Kira was completley content with the bird occupying all of Ichimaru's attention, however work-adding such a distraction was for him. Because, the satisfcation, the relief, of knowing that for once, his captain's gaze - his deathly glare - was not upon him, was worth more than anything else Kira could've asked for.

But, one day, as if out of the blue, the bird disappears. Gone from Ichimaru's office. Gone from this world, as far as his captain had informed him. The table where the cage sat previously had already been replaced with another mountain of paperwork, almost seeming to erase the memory of there ever being a bird in 3rd Division.

"W-what happened to the bird, Ichimaru-taichou?" Kira inquired, eyes scanning the room for any trace of the previous 'pet' in the room.

"It got borin'." Ichimaru replied simply. His chin was resting on his uprighted hand, nearly setting a pose completely matching his previous words.

Raising his eyebrows in doubt and confusion, Kira wasn't quite sure if he should've kept on talking or not. Hadn't Ichimaru loved that bird with the same affection of a completely toy-obsessed kindergartener?

"Boring?" The vice-captain parroted. He was almost completely certain Ichimaru was able to feel the quivering fear resonating from his voice.

"Didn' ya' think so too', Izuru?" He paused for a moment, twirling on the desk with his free hand a piece of paper that was probably more important than Ichimaru regarded it to be. "All it did was stay 'n the cage all day. No fun at all."

Kira didn't bother mentioning that the bird was stuck in the cage all day because Ichimaru had willed it to do so. Instead, he focused on the finer points of what his captain had said. If, there had been finer bits.

"Are you planning to finish some paperwork, then?" Kira's voice was somewhat meek. Even after months and months of being 3rd Division vice captain, he still couldn't find the courage to speak with a firm voice in front of his captain.

"Na'," Gin chimed, voice lightheartedly dull. "Tha'd be no fun, either."

Throwing back his head, Ichimaru let out a big, playfully bored sigh. His hands were behind his head, and he seemed to be leaning back in the chair with a bit too relaxed way. Something told Kira that his captain was plotting once again; whatever unfortunate results would become of this, he had the strangest instinct that he himself would be effected.

"Are you planning to buy a new bird, taichou?"

"Hmm," Ichimaru instantaneously pulled his head back, so that his face was now meeting Kira's, who was halfway across the room. The grin across his face was eerily foreboding, eerily familiar to Kira as it embedded itself into his captain's expression. An 'aha!' look, the bad kind - Kira's own experience so far had taught him that much-, was practically screaming, dying to let itself, the idea of its purpose, to be revealed.

"Nope." The smirk remained as Gin continued.

"Then, w-what?" Kira couldn't help but be taken back by the smile of his face. That smile, he had seen it somewhere before. He had been frightened by it, somewhere before.

"'ve found somethin' much better."

Ichimaru then took the liberty of plopping himself up with one sly movement, gliding himself over to Kira, and ruffling his vice captain's hair before leaving the room, all the while with the smirk still upon his smug countenance.

Kira was frozen in spot, body completely rigid. He didn't know how to react, how to breath, even, as his captain ambled out. His fists were clenched together now, the hands ice cold, without his own notice. He couldn't get the image of that smirk out of his head, couldn't get the fear associated with it out of his head.

Where have I seen it before?

The realization hit him, hard and fast and unexpected and frightening. The same smile. The same smirk. The same grin. The same curve of Ichimaru's lips.

The same role as the bird. The same doom.

crumbs from the sky

So, I'm strolling down the park, taking in the usual - the mundanely green trees, the repeated squawking of birds, the same old lady on that same old bench-, when a boy drops from the sky, out of nowhere. He glances at his surroundings, then me, then the surroundings again, and back and forth until his eyes focus on the pigeons not too far from him.

"Birdies." He whispers to himself, barely audible above the roar of the wind.

"Um, do ya' maybe wanna' git up?" I drawl to him, speech slow and reluctant. It's not everyday you see someone fall out of the sky, let alone someone who does so, and then seems to only care about a couple of pigeons.

"Birdies!" He repeats loudly, as if saying those words again fueled some sort of inner energy. The boy takes my advice, and helps himself up, raising to a height even taller than me.

"They dun' pay any attention t'ya 'less ya bring 'em bread." I say, motioning to the prime example of the old lady who brought a bag of bread each day just to catch the attention of said birds.

My eyes remain glued to the boy, memorizing the pattern of the checkered t-shirt he wore, the slightly gelled blond hair, the faded jeans, and the scratched up sneakers. Not a single scratch messed up the perfect complexion of his face, of his body. Even with such dirty clothes, the boy was perfectly clean.

"Bread?" He questions, as if he never heard the word before. This newfound word seem to draw his attention away from the 'birdies' - or, at least temporarily.

"Y-yeah," I stutter, realizing I had never needed to define the word bread in my life. "It's tha' white thing tha' lady o'there is holdin'."

Pointing directly to the bag of bread, I continue to keep my attention on the boy. However, it didn't take less than a split second for the boy to immediately disappear from my sight, and then appear just as quickly right in front of the old lady. His sudden intrusion to the usual scene flustered the birds, sending them cooing this way and that in anger and fear.

"Bread for birdies." The boy states to the woman, his hand out to gesture his want for the bread. His fingers were sleek. Long. Perfect.

The woman gives him the same look I do, but perhaps more shocked and more judgemental. She stares at him for a long while, her grasp on her bag of bread tighter than before.

"Excuse me, young man?" She raises an eyebrow dubiously. I could tell her scanning the flawless appearance of the boy.

"Bread for birdies!" He responds, voice even louder, with more demand this time.

"I beg your pardon." The old woman says, no longer paying attention to the birds who found there to be a great lacking of bread crumbs.

"Bread!" The boy nearly shouts as he spontaneously attacks the woman, grabbing the bag crudely from her hands, tearing it as he did so. His speed is inhuman; by the time I blink in even more surprise, the bread is already in pieces, dispersed on the floor by the boy himself.

I approach him, even more careful and reluctant. Perhaps he had fallen from the sky for one reason: he isn't human.

My eyes and the eyes of the woman - who had probably suffered a minor heart attack herself - are pasted on to his figure, his actions. We watch as a triumphant smile crawls up his impeccable cheeks, the sun reflecting off his dazzling face.

"I got the birdies' attention." He states blatantly; a myriad of pigeons surrounds him, as if the bread crumbs he had given were a blessing from the gods.