Yay!

My father hangs himself in my mother's side of the bedroom. I walk in just as he jumps from the chair. I scream.

(Written on Wall next to closet door)

My mother is touching me. And its not because I'm leaving for a Country over one thousands miles away for three years. She's touching me because her hands are cold and my face is warm against her skin. Washington D.C. can be a real bitch to a woman who refused to wear her gloves because she claimed they clashed with her boots.

To my mother I had already left five years ago, just a shadow a figment of her imagination. Nothing more at the moment, than a space heater for her frostbitten fingers. I take whatever form she needs, be it space heater, cushion, confession booth.

" Oh let her go Teeny," Rob replied. Rob my mother's husband as of four years ago. Businessman, political researcher, genius, who knew nothing of my mother's real actions, her real motives for her actions. Mom's hands leave me then, her attention with it. The air about us returns to how it was just fifteen minutes before.

She turns away from me and I don't complain. Rob taps my shoulder. I try not to glare or snap at him. He's looming over me, a whooping five foot seven; mom always liked taller men. I wonder faintly if I got that gene from her. His hair is black, slick and cut fairly close to his head. Eyes slighted and cheekbones raised to meet the curve of his face. He looks Japanese but I can see the Caucasian and foreign features of his face. I try to hide my disgust for him.

On the meantime he looks concerned for me, even the grip he had on my shoulder tightens. I come to a realization that pulling back from the man, who paid for half of my intuition to studying abroad, is best thing to do. No matter how much his tan hand and strong grip make me want to puke.

" Your mother and I will be sending you money through your Paypal account and checks by mail. Be sure to call if you need anything. I have partners in high places, I can have just about anything for you arranged." And I nod because I know he wasn't lying. He was anything but poor, and very socially intertwined.

The flight board switches so that my flight is placed under the arriving section marked with a highlighter green. Mom who was rubbing the sullen center of her abdomen, filled with child, picks up her head quickly. " Her flight," is all she says. Really the only last words she ever says to me before she just about falls over trying to help me load the bags I was allowed to carry onto the plane.

This is my second time being on a plane. My first was with my father on the way to California. He was a graphic designer, who had big clients in big places. I was not originally supposed to go, but after crying he'd decided that getting out was probably the best thing. Normally a mother would complain, saying that her child needed as much school as possible before the world spontaneously combusted; but Teeny was happy to get rid of me, no me or my father meant more time with her secret Rob.

" More tea?" The flight attendant, who's name tag read " Kelly," asked.

I shook my head. " How much time until we reach the next port?"

" Three hours," she answered.

Three hours to sit curled up on a plane, steel toed boots tearing at the lining of the seat in front of me, black pants riding up the inclines of my crotch, Avenged Sevenfold playing in my ears loud enough for the whole plane to hear. Three hours was a long and dangerous time for someone like me to be set to thinking.

" Get up on your feet boy and try again," he said the scent of the aftershave bathing his body. Get up and wash; come down stairs to be beckoned Uryu so-called father to begin training. Yes this was the morning routine or as least for him it was. One that he'd had gotten used to as the days eased by or so he thought. "Had enough already Uryu?" He asked kicking his rib cage; he cringed but didn't cry out.

He made his way up to look him dead in the eyes knowing very well that he was no where near done. He still had a bit of energy left. Enough for one shot, one single shot this time he would beat him. This time he will not get the best of him. Standing up slowly he pulled back his hand and shot.

The sound of him clapping arose from the dust . " Very good Uryu. Very good. Must I make you angry just to achieve some improvement?" He was smiling. That taunting smile, " you're never amount to half of what I am" it said. " keep trying harder." Uryu hated that smile. He hated it with a sick passion. " Being with Soul Reapers has made you weak," he said. Uryu glared at him.

He had been told he looked like him. Told that he nose was similar to his. His eyes, they way the irises dusted blue. Even their mouths looked the same, they said. Uryu hated those comments as well. He believed he looked nothing like that man. While his skin showed an even amount of healthiness, Uryu's shone white and fragile. His hair was gray with age, while Uryu still maintained its blackness, still ran in long streaks down his face and trailed to the back of his head.

" That is enough for today. Your body has reached its limit. Pushing you any further would only mean your death." He sounded almost concerned, almost caring of whether or not Uryu died.

" What should you care?" Uryu snapped pulling myself up. He didn't answer.

" If you are in good enough shape you should go to school. Your grades must be lowering from all the days missed."

" And you care?"

Pulling out his lighter he lit it slowly, the bud of the cigarette burned a yellowish ember color. " I don't," he replied placing it in his mouth. " But you're already a failure at being a Quincy. To be a failure in school as well would only bring about more embarrassments."

Glaring Uryu held my mouth closed, and instead settled on watching the smoke rise slowly from his cigarette. Thinking to himself that if he didn't kill him at least the cigarette's he insisted on smoking would. Taking a long puff he turned on his heel. " I will return here in three days, be here. Your training will resume there." He started towards the door. Pausing when he halfway reached his destination. " Please come with a little more to look forward too son," he replied stepping out.

Uryu watched him go, unmoving. That white suit, he always wore still unstained with not even a hint of blood dirt or debris. It made him sick. If only he could let him see at least that much.

Arrived at the new port. Got a text from my mother.

Mom:You have my designer Indian silk shirt

I check my bag.

I do have it.

I don't text back. The shirt is black, I'll keep it.

( Written on tag of the Designer shirt.)

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