Bleach: Memories In The Rain Novelas e Histórias

“Elle can you see me?” “Yes”. I look around and I realize I’m in his head. I’m inside Rain’s memories. Holy shit. This is real. It’s happening. Myself and Rain before me and we’re standing in someone’s living room but whose? “What's happening?” “Shh Just watch and enjoy the show.” Rain winks at me, taking my hand and holding it. The living room is beige with a nineties dusky pink sofa, picture’s hang on the walls of dark wood. More memories of happier times. I want to go to those pictures, to see a younger Rain. But, my body can’t move. “This is my memory. We can't move inside it but we can watch them.” Rain leaned in and whispered in my ear. Fuck even in this world he know’s how to use his

Rain lashed down , cold , bitter , hard . Chelsea was soaked in a matter of seconds but she seemed not to care about her clothes that were sticking to her body , not even in a slightest bit . " Soak me " " Cleanse me " " Rinse me " Chelsea kept chanting again and again as if she wished to cleanse her mind of all the memories that she once wanted when she first arrived at this place . But now those memories were pure torture , once her brother had said that she really had a flare for dramatics , because she liked to stand in cold shower of rain , just like a broken heart bollywood heroine in some sad song .

The relentless drumming of rain against the panoramic windows of Liam Chen's office created a melancholic rhythm that resonated deep within Kayla. The sky, a bruised purple, seemed to mirror the turmoil brewing in her own heart. It was one of those afternoons where the city lights blurred into hazy halos, and memories, unbidden and persistent, clawed their way to the surface.

"What do you want to know, Bloom?" I shrugged lightly. "Favourite colour—and movie?" Zac's eyes squinted as he chuckled. He hummed for a moment. "Blue and Pulp Fiction." I nodded slowly. "Why blue?" His head cocked to the side as he looked out ahead at the world sprawled out in front of us. "It reminds me of the ocean." I bit on my bottom lip to stop my smile from stretching miles. I would have never seen it coming—Zac Miller being soft and sentimental. It was endearing.

When it talks to you like you don't belong Or tells you you're in the wrong field When something's in your mitochondrial 'Cause it latched on to you, like— Knock knock, let the devil in Manevolent as I've ever been, head is spinnin' This medicine's screamin', "L-L-L-Let us in!" L-L-L-Like a salad bowl, Edgar Allan Poe Bedridden, shoulda been dead a long time ago Liquid Tylenol, gelatins, think my skeleton's meltin' Wicked, I get all high when I think I've smelled the scent Of elephant manure—hell, I meant Kahlúa Screw it, to hell with it, I went through hell with accelerants And blew up my-my-myself again Volkswagen, tailspin, bucket matches my pale skin

(Background song: Memories by Maroon 5) Here's to the ones that we got Cheers to the wish you were here but you're not 'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories Of everything we've been through Gazing straight ahead, only half-aware of a world outside the claustrophobic comfort of the car, his hands stroking the wheel, the almost soundless changing of the gears, the pattern of traffic lights, it blinks red. Toast to the ones here today

She gave the parking lot one sweeping look, but there were too many employees walking back and forth, so if she let herself bathe in the rain, it might ruin her reputation. Zheira waited with Melinda’s decision, her eyes intent on the rain that was just passing by her. It was fun watching it, but seeing that there were people who were running away from it, trying not to be soaked, made her stomach clench. In someone’s memory, she had no way of being affected by anything unless the host of the memory felt it. So far, Melinda only transmitted frustration, making her longed more than ever to feel the rain.

"Your description of the weather is inaccurate." "It was raining, Cale. It's always raining in my memories of you." "On that specific date," Cale tapped the page, "the barometric pressure was stable. It was overcast. Stratus clouds. No precipitation." "Rain sets the mood." "Rain is a variable. If it was not raining, the friction coefficient on the sidewalk was normal. If you write rain, you imply slippage risk." "It's a memoir, not a police report." "Memory should be precise," Cale insisted. "Alex deserves precision."

The engagement ring was still on the vanity, and the diary was still open on the desk. On the last page, there was a line of words: [Ron smiled today because Lisa drew a painting. I hope he’ll smile for me one day too.] Caitlin stares at that sentence for a long time, then closes the diary. “Silly girl,” she murmured. “He didn’t deserve you.” Then she stood up, turned off the lights, and left. The room returned to darkness. My soul began to fade, like morning mist dissolving under sunlight. I knew it was time for me to go to wherever the dead were meant to go, whether that was heaven, hell, or eternal nothingness.

~HOLLY~ I can’t breathe. Something is pulling me apart, and open. Like something buried deep inside me is being forced to the surface. My body is still suspended in the air, weightless, glowing, burning, and yet I feel like I’m drowning in memories. “No… stop…” I whisper, my voice trembling as my head throbs violently. But it doesn’t stop. It only gets worse. I see darkness first, then I hear the sound of rain….so much rain, and a woman's soft and loving voice.