No one’s story consisted solely of rainbows and sunshine. Each story bore some sort of clouds, some rain, and maybe a crackle of lightning. It seemed from the very mood that the two of them were plagued at some point in their lives by tragedies. One looked at their past and still was able to emit what seemed to be the Seireitei’s brightest smile, but soon was donned the moniker, “The Clown.” One could only imagine the story that he had, especially with living for nearly half of a century. The other used a medium of sorts to relieve him of his hell. With the amount of suffering, the amount of carnage, and the amount of death the two of them had seen and suffered through, they might have been more alike than different. Even though the mood was made brooded through their talk, there was something that struck Zhou, something rather surprising that just resounded like a wave of understanding emitted from the Soul –
It was as if the male had fully comprehended what Zhou had been going through. Despite the words easily able to dissect someone’s core, forcing them to ooze out emotions in the form of tears, verbal retaliation, or another similar negative sanction, Zhou just accepted them without any reaction – Like something inside of him wanted to evoke some sort of response, but the more he
wanted to, the less he was able to. There was a moment of silence after Asahi’s final question. After the brief pause, Zhou began.
“I’m just… somewhere that seems impossible to escape from. To put it simply… I feel like this.”
His voice was as monotonous as ever. Despite him giving so few words usually, he gave this “thing” a try – socializing. He witnessed this action a lot, especially with his aspiring Shinigami. There were times the few of his students opened up to one another about different worries, concerns, or problems they were or had been facing. For some reason, whenever someone who was troubled vocalized their concerns, the troubled began exhibiting rapid signs of emotional recovery. Being in stark contrast to his usual actions, he parted his lips with the same dry and emotionless look as before.
“Imagine your first mouthful of an exact replica of Yakisoba, again. The very first time you elicited a positive response. Now you scoop in to take another bite of the same bowl. Then another, and then another. You soon begin to notice something, that the bowl of Yakisoba does not change or alter at all. Instead, you’re simply enjoying what seems to be an endless bowl of a really good meal. At first glance, this might be a dream come true. All you can eat Yakisoba without an inkling of an issue. Time goes by though and not only are you only eating that Yakisoba meal all of the time, but you’re eating it constantly, over and over again, never to be finished. There’s nothing else besides that one bowl of Yakisoba.”
While he spoke, Zhou took his chopsticks, spinning the noodles around, slowly. The motions were something that Asahi could detect with his peripheral vision with ease, regardless Asahi could literally see and hear the noodles’ sloppy sounds emitting from the bowl, as the male’s voice didn’t change, or alter. The only thing different were the words that emitted from Zhou’s mouth – the tone, timbre, volume – all of it the same.
“Yakisoba is all you know, and all you will ever know. It is a constant perpetual cycle of eating the sustenance the same way, tasting the same flavor. At some point, you notice how you consume the Yakisoba, the very patterns to your eating. Soon enough, you might try some different ways to eat the noodles. In essence, it’s all the same thing; you’re just consuming noodles in the end. In time, the very same proportions of Yakisoba enter your mouth because the fruitlessness of trying something new is evident. You soon notice how long it takes you to chew and swallow the Yakisoba, down to the very last second. You begin to try different ways to consume the noodles: mouth full, mouth half-full, mouth barely taking any noodles inside. Just like the previous concept about yourself you’ve noticed, any sort of difference to the amount of food you intake is just as fruitless because your body routinely does the same thing … repeatedly.”
He continued on with not even a change in his motions. Everything was constant, the droning noise of the noodles stirring in the bowl with the exact same speed, the exact same flow, the exact same.. Everything. During this time, Zhou didn’t even blink. The male simply moved his wrist in the same spherical motion without any sort of break. The chopsticks didn’t even scrape against the bowl, no. The only thing that was available to Asahi from Zhou audible were the sounds the noodles emitted, and the sound of his voice.
“There is no difference, there is no change. You look up at the sky, and you notice that the sun is in the same spot. It is as though time itself is the very same as when your first bite of the endless bowl of Yakisoba. Nothing changes, even the wind that you felt against your cheeks is the very same as the last breeze. That’s when you realize… that too is timed. Soon enough, you’re able to predict everything that’s going to happen to you in any given instance. What makes matters worse, you’re not hungry, you’re not full. All of the Yakisoba you consume doesn’t make any difference to how you feel in that given instance, physically speaking.”
Zhou’s greyish orbs continued to peer into Asahi’s watching to see if he truly could understand Zhou, if he could get the very picture he was painting in what some would find hell, a story just as gruesome as Sisyphus, in a much more …
twisted way.
“There is no change whatsoever. The noodles, your body, the sky, and the very time are all the same. The taste, the smell, and the very sounds that you hear are replicated to such a degree, it’s like you’ve become in control of everything, but at the same time, control of nothing. You’ve become a master, though. You know what’s going to happen. You know what your future will be, what your past has been, and what will remain in your presence. Just like your body doesn’t change, neither does your mind. You can’t grow because all the information in front of you is all that you can attain. In a way… it’s like you’ve died.”
Pulling out his chopsticks, he aimed them straight towards Asahi’s face. He had moved his arm in such a swift motion, the naked eye probably wouldn’t be able to fully decipher his movements – it was like going from 0 to a 100 in the blink of an eye. This was a complete and utter contrast to his previous actions. His arm was swift, and the way that his hand bearing chopsticks soon appeared right in front of Asahi’s face, could have been perceived as a threat. Regardless, the pair of chopsticks would be two inches from those unique visual orbs where he stopped, pressing the pair together as a cracking sound could be heard from the ends that connected due to just how powerful Zhou slammed the ends together with his fingers alone. With the chopsticks being in such close proximity, Asahi could have been privy to a slight breeze emitted from the chopsticks. One might have thought that sauce would land on Asahi’s face, but due to the speed Zhou moved his arms, the very sauce didn’t even
exist on the chopsticks anymore. Not a single noodle was harmed in the making of his example.
“That feeling … That feeling of nothingness is what I want to subside. Here, I’ve found it a bit easier to clear my head at least. I’ve been learning from other people, learning how they communicate, how they socialize, and how their wants and desires fluctuate. During my time as a Shinigami, I’ve lost my desire. I want to feel again, Asahi.”
After his soliloquy, Zhou finally answered Asahi’s question, placing the chopsticks back into the bowl and letting his arms rest at his side. He blinked a few times before looking down at the bowl of Yakisoba. He was right, it was a waste.
“I’m not sure. Fighting is all I’ve ever known, all I’ve been taught. It isn’t something I’d use to communicate; It’s a tool that I use to carry out my orders. This art that I have is supposed to lead me to successful completion in regards to whatever my assignment is, nothing more, nothing less. Right now, my body is to be honed so that I can teach the next generation of Shinigami how to fight without use of their Zanpakutō.”
Soon after, the male stood up from his seat, as if he appeared ready to leave from the table.
“If you wish to train, or grow stronger in any regard, that too is something I am obligated to do. As a member of the third division, being able to assist fellow comrades is something that I need to do.”
Zhou said, allowing Asahi to make any decision regarding Zhou’s monotonous yet genuine words. To make matters worse, Zhou didn’t feel the sense of relief that the others felt when giving his point of view. The taller figure simply had that same numbness that resided over him – like wearing thick clothes on the muggiest day.
