! ☎ ✏ ✈

He silently watched the vertical clouds floating in the slanted, azure sky, tinged with ash grey.

The heavens matched, oddly, withthe dark blue buildings on their sides on which he sat upon.

In this world there were only three colours. Blue, black and white. Maybe four, if one counted the amber tint in his eyes.

But... white.

A colour so pure, so clean, so... holy. Light, good.

Was he suppose to symbolise all that?

Then why did people, his King (who ironically was always associated with black) , call him a maniac, an evil presence...

Hollow.

A thought came to his mind and amber eyes wandered down to his chest.

No hole.

He scowled. From what he knew hollows were suppose to have a mask and a hole in their bodies.

He had a mask, but no hole. What was he then?

A shadow of the King? A jester to serve his King. A jester...

Clenching his fist, the hollow shut empty, golden eyes. Was it pain he felt?

Was he even capable of feeling pain?

If he wasn't, why did his face fall when he tried to reach out to the pretty shinigami that day, only to get his outstretched hand slapped away? Why did he feel like his world crumbled when she raised her snow white sword to his neck?

Why did he care if she hated him for torturing the King? Her King...

Did loneliness drive him to such acts of desperation? To be recognised as a single entity, not as his shadow, but as himself. He still didn't have a name yet. No name, nothing to identify his existence with.

He snorted, the metallic smell of rain growing.

Why love the Jester when you can have the King?