I've had this in mind for quite a while and I finally got around to writing it. It's my longest one-shot so far and it took me quite a while to write! Thanks for reading and please don't forget to review.

ForeverFalling.

: I don't own anything :

He was floating in darkness, not knowing up from down; right from left. Time had stopped, the pendulum frozen in place. There had been great pain before it had all faded to nothingness; screams and then silence; peace. The cold that he had become accustomed to had disappeared only to be replaced by a lukewarm feeling that soothed his soul and called him to rest. Something had happened, something that had ended him. His life. Someone had been holding him close, their warmth seeping into him, further displacing the cold that had already begun to ebb away. They had been whispering soft words that had lulled him until his eyes had slid closed, never to open again.

And then he'd awoken in nowhere.

He couldn't be sure how long he'd been there, floating in the warmth of nonexistence. Maybe he'd been there for Forever or maybe Just a While. Maybe he'd Always been there, having dreams of a world that he had never really known, his mind just grasping for something to fill the void that Endless Time brought with it. Ah, he couldn't be sure and refused to dwell on it. For he was waiting, for what, he wasn't sure. There was excitement; expectation, if he had hands they would surely be shaking, longing to reach out and force the pendulum to begin swinging once again.

He was on the cusp of something; he could feel the comforting warmth draining away but instead of cold, he could slowly feel something else; hear it. Pumping, drumming, exploding in the ears he hadn't had what seemed like only Moments before. He gripped at his newly formed ears with the hands that he'd been wishing to have; the drumming continuing, increasing until it was thundering.

Arteries, vessels, bones, muscles, blood, a heart.

They were abrupt in their appearance, but they were there. The spark of humanity he'd been missing. A laugh burst from his mouth, pouring out into nothing, filling it until it was something. The sound echoed in his ears, a tingle running down his fresh new spine at hearing his own voice. The vibrating of his vocal cords seemed to spread until his entire being was shaking, trembling with feeling. The tightening of muscles, the beating of his own heart, the explosions— the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins, flowing and spreading throughout his body. And then he didn't need to cling to the memory of someone holding him, sharing their warmth with his cold body, because he had his own warmth, his own hot blood that wound through him instead of spilling out of him.

But suddenly it was all gone and he was falling falling falling. Falling from the blue sky itself, tumbling through the cold, wet clouds, wind wiping at his face. The pendulum was swinging once again, forcing everything onward and sending him plunging to the earth.

Unstoppable, relentless, unending.

"Toshiro-kun? Are you alright?"

The boy looked up to find Takeshi Sato staring down at him with a worried look marring his young face.

"Ah, yes," he nodded quickly, noticing that class seemed to have ended.

"You seemed distracted all day," Takeshi mentioned as he took a seat on the desk in front of Toshiro's own. "Are you getting sick?"

"No," the smaller boy said as he gathered his books and stuffed them into his bag. "I guess I'm just a little tired."

The other nine year old smiled as he hopped down from the desk, his shoes clacking against the tiles. "Well get some rest ne?"

They lived in a bustling town, people always coming and going, the night never quiet, always filled with the sound of traffic and life. It was always growing, ever expanding as it marched along with the passage of time. When they'd been young-younger than they were-the city had been smaller, but when a large company had built it's headquarters within the city limits everything had suddenly begun to burst with life. Toshiro's father worked for the company just like most residents did.

"Did you get question five?" Takeshi asked as they waited for the light to change so that they could cross.

"The one about the fractions? I got two over five."

His friend cursed under his breath earning a glare from an elderly woman who was also standing on the corner.

"I got six over nine."

"You know, I could be wrong," Toshiro grinned as the light changed and they made their way across the road.

"You're never wrong!" Takeshi laughed, giving him a playful shove.

"There's a first time for everything."

"I guess."

They bid each other goodnight as they went their separate ways, idly waving before they both turned the corner.

Toshiro sighed as he made his way towards his house, his shadow stretching out before him across the pavement. He could hear a train somewhere off in the distance along with the far off sound of the traffic that never stopped.

He remembered a time when the roads had been empty; homes had been in disrepair and abandoned to sit sadly alone on their overgrown lots. But with the company had come the traffic; the life; the people. He wasn't quite sure what they did, his father never would tell him.

The boy looked up into the pink streaked sky, noticing a plane heading towards the newly built airport and vaguely wondered who was coming this time and who would soon be leaving. Before, he had known everyone in the town by face if not by name. If someone had gone, it was noticeable and newcomers were welcomed with open arms. But now it was impossible to tell just who was new and who wasn't. Who belonged and who didn't. He couldn't say he enjoyed the new life of the city like his father did. He didn't find it exciting like his mother. The new lights that lined the streets and buildings bleached the night sky, the millions of stars stolen away only to be replaced by the blinking lights of planes passing overhead.

When he arrived home his house was empty. His mother was visiting family in Chiba and his father was working late yet again. That was something else that had changed. Before his father had been there every evening when he'd arrived home from school, his mother already toiling away in the kitchen for dinner. Now she was always visiting family or friends somewhere and instead of home cooked food, takeout had become the new standard. Sometimes she was only gone for a few hours, other times a weekend or a week. But whenever she came home she'd pat him on the head and disappear off into her room, avoiding her husband's gaze.

As he slipped off his shoes he noticed a small pile of money and a quick note from his father telling him to order in. Toshiro sighed as he padded into the living room and set down his bag, not bothering to change from his uniform just yet. He huffed as his eyes fells on the clock, noticing the time. He'd need to leave for Kendo practice soon enough and then he'd be able to pick up something for dinner on the way home.

And his life would continue like that for several weeks. Come home to an empty house, head to practice, pick up dinner, the same empty house-no longer much of a home-and go to bed. His father had become a shadow that he saw in the early mornings from his bedroom window as he climbed into his car. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually spoken with him; their only communication coming in the notes that the man left on the step every day. The money would also be sitting there almost glaring at him, having long lost the warmth of his father's hands. When he picked the coins up they were cold just like the hardwood under his feet, or the sheets when he crawled into bed at night. Just like the house.

His mother fluttered in and out of his life like a leaf caught in a breeze. There one moment, before she flew off again with barely a glance in his direction. There were times when it became so quiet, not even the ticking of an analogue clock there to keep him company. When that happened he'd throw open the windows, filling the house with the sound of the traffic. Honking horns, running engines, screeching breaks. Life. Even if his was slowly falling apart, there were thousands of other people out there on the streets living their own. And as he lay there at night listening to the noise, he didn't feel as alone.

And it continued like that, until one day...it all changed.

Toshiro sighed as he waved to Takeshi, the sound of the even present traffic rumbling in his ears. He was surprised to find his father's car in the driveway for once. As he walked up the drive he couldn't help but notice that the front door was open, several bags waiting on the stoop. He pulled off his shoes and set down his own bag, casually noticing that for about the first time in two months there was no note waiting for him. He found his parents waiting in the living room together for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"What's uh...going on?" he asked, taking note of his mother's new haircut and dye job.

"Toshiro," his father started, his own hair beginning to show signs of grey. "Your mother and I...we have something to tell you." The man opened his mouth to continue only to shut it with a snap, apparently at a loss for words.

"Honey," his mother cut in, her voice lacking the warmth that he remembered. "Your father and I have discussed this for a very long time."

How could they have? They hadn't been in the same room for the better part of four months.

"We've decided that it'd be best for us, all of us, if we were to separate."

Toshiro stared for a moment, realizing what they were saying and finding it hard to be surprised. And yet...

"Separate? As...?"

His father nodded, running a hand over his tired face. "We're getting a divorce."

Hearing them actually say it and realizing were two completely different things. The world seemed to have suddenly slipped out from under his feet. His life, his world, it was falling apart, ending right before his eyes. He could hear whispering in his ears, telling him that it'd be alright, but he knew it wouldn't. And yet he could still hear the sounds of the city filtering in from the open windows that he'd forgotten to close that morning. Out there, beyond the walls that bore pictures of a smiling family that seemed to have died, people were still living their lives. Moving on, while his seemed to have petered out.

"But..."

His ability to speak seemed to have left him, leaving him defenceless against his parents' falsely soothing words.

"It's not your fault Toshiro," his father whispered. "This...is between your mother and me."

Was it just him, or had the room gotten colder? His mother stood, brushing off her skirt as she did. Toshiro stared up at her as she came to stand in front of him, placing a soft hand on his head to ruffle his hair. As he looked up into her eyes he couldn't help but realize that he'd almost forgotten what she looked like. Forgotten how the smell of her perfume clung to her clothes.

"I'm moving out," she said softly. "Your father asked for you to stay here, but you're welcome to come with me darling."

She was...leaving him behind? Then again, hadn't she been doing just that for months? It really wouldn't be all that different if they were to divorce. It'd still be the same cold house, he'd still come home to the same note and money. There'd just be a little less furniture, a half empty closet.

She seemed to take his silence as his answer and she brushed away a tear before she bent down to give him a hug. He couldn't remember the last time she'd held him. The room was silent except for the sound of her feet thumping against the hardwood as she left. His father remained quiet, staring over at his son as if not sure what to do with him.

"You uh...have Kendo tonight don't you?" he asked awkwardly, his voice more empty than Toshiro had ever remembered it being. "You'd better get ready."

With that the man stood, ignoring his only son as he disappeared into his office.

The nine year old stood in the resounding silence, his eyes slowly drifting to the front door that his mother had disappeared out of. The walls suddenly seemed to close in on him, the smell of her perfume still permeating the air. With only a moment's hesitation he broke out into a run and tore from the house, ignoring the shoes that he'd abandoned along with his bag.

People stared as he ran towards the train station, watching as the shoeless boy ran down the street still dressed in his school uniform but he ignored them, instead trying to spur himself on. Faster faster faster, he chanted. His legs worked until they burned and he was running faster than he ever had.

"Toshiro?"

He came to a halt at the sound of his name and turned to find Takeshi staring at him, holding the bag that he brought to practice every evening.

"Are you okay?" His friend's eyes strayed to his feet, staring for a moment before he looked back up with worry in those dark orbs.

"I uh," he stopped for a moment, panting breathes pouring from his mouth. "Don't think so."

"Practice is in ten minutes, if you're sick you shouldn't go. I can get my dad to walk you home," Takeshi suggested, reaching out a hand to grab hold of his friend's.

The Sato household was a happy one. A mother, father and son all living together. Toshiro swallowed as a wave of nausea hit him.

"My...mom. I've...got to get her back," he said as he broke out running again, ignoring Takeshi's calls for him to come back.

He needed to get her back. They could make things right again if they tried. Pants tore from his throat as he continued to run, his feet smacking the warm pavement. The cars raced past him and people walking darted aside to avoid him. Cars were honking, their engines rumbling, people were walking, laughing with one another, some talking into cell phones or listening to their music players. The sound of it all thundered in his ears; the pulse of the city.

As he raced onward he realized that he could see his mother across the road, hefting one of her bags onto her shoulder. He bounded out into the street, ignoring the cars, screaming out for her as he did. They could make it right. Everything would be okay. His voice was swallowed up by the greedy city, always taking with the pretence of giving. He screamed out for her again, and she turned to meet his gaze.

But the city never stopped, its pulse of people and traffic beating on. Even if it meant that his did not.

As he floated in nothingness the sound of cars and feet on pavement joined the whispers that echoed in his newly formed ears. But as he felt his own heart begin to beat he ignored the sounds and instead waited in awe as he began to feel the pulsing of his own life.

Toshiro sighed as he adjusted his uniform, trying to ignore the aura of fear coming from his subordinate.

"Look," he finally said, catching the younger man's attention. "Just calm down, and watch your head. Everything will be fine."

"Y-Yes sir," Yamamoto stammered his voice barely above a whisper.

The war had lasted four long years. That was one thousand four hundred and sixty days. He'd joined the army at eighteen and now at twenty-four he was one of the youngest people to attain the rank of Sergeant First Class. They called him a prodigy. The name Toshiro Hitsugaya often came up in conversation, mostly concerning his young age and lack of experience. But no one could deny that he did his job, and he did it better than most.

In an effort to truly prove himself Toshiro had insisted on being deployed in a hot spot of enemy activity. So far, he'd been there for seven months, lost one good man for every month he was there, and almost died more times than he cared to remember. As he lay in his tent at night sometimes kept awake by the sound of far off gunfire he couldn't help but think that he might be in just a little over his head. But as he stared down at the quivering mass of flesh crouching beside him that was nineteen year old Kida Yamamoto he knew that he wouldn't have had anyone else at the young man's side.

They were stuck in the middle of nowhere, out of ammunition with no backup in sight. If he were being honest with himself, Toshiro couldn't deny that they were screwed. An explosion rocked the earth as they ducked behind the solid concrete wall that they were hiding behind. Takada Kimura lay dead twenty feet to their right, the rest of their comrades long dead and scattered throughout the small town where they'd been ambushed.

They'd been dropped off with fifteen people in their unit to scout out ahead. They hadn't been told of any insurgent activity in the area, let alone the actual city that they were in. They'd said it was a ghost town, they were only being sent in as a precaution. They'd been ill prepared and for a reason that Toshiro hadn't quite figured out yet, practically abandoned.

Their uniforms were drenched with blood, some their own, some not. Their guns were still clutched in their hands, more out of habit than anything else. Toshiro felt a sting of anger in his chest as he looked down at Yamamoto who had a family waiting back home. He'd promised him that it'd be alright. That they'd be fine. A little white lie, but if the pallor of the other's face was any indication, it hadn't assured him in the least. The sky was dark with smoke the colour of death and the air was filled with the rattling of guns and the booming explosions that were slowly drawing nearer.

In a small lull in the attacks his ears picked up quiet muttering and when he turned he found Yamamoto praying. For what exactly, he was unsure. Mercy maybe? A quick painless death? Because it didn't take a prodigy to see that there was no way out for them.

And as he felt the concrete wall give way under the force of an explosion, Toshiro couldn't help but wonder just what exactly they were fighting for anyway.

He exploded into nothingness but before long the whispers had returned to his new ears, accented by the sound of cars and feet against pavement but now quiet muttered prayers joined the din. And yet, as his heart thundered to life the sounds were forgotten until he would return to nothing again.

The funeral had been a quiet affair. He hadn't really wanted many people there to witness something that barely he could stand to see. Without her the house was quiet but as he stared down at his sleeping son nestled in his arms he knew it wouldn't last for long.

He'd never pictured himself as a new father at thirty, never mind a widower and a single parent. When planning your future you didn't bring the possible death of your wife into account. He'd always seen himself with a happy wife and two children, a son and daughter, maybe a pet of some sort. But instead he was alone with a baby and Akane's body had long gone cold.

As he stood in the doorway to the nursery he couldn't help but curse her for practically imprinting herself in the walls. She'd painted a mural of the moon and stars, picked the crib and carpet; everywhere he looked, there she was. Toshiro sighed as he adjusted his son, minding his head like Akane had told him he'd need to do, and carried him into the master bedroom where they'd set up a bassinette a few days before everything seemed to fall apart.

"You can sleep in here tonight," he whispered as he carefully lay the baby down and detached his thumb from Takuya's surprisingly strong hold.

The man leaned down and gently brushed a knuckle against the child's cheek, staring in awe at how much he resembled his mother.

"Your uncle will be by tomorrow," he muttered as he pulled off his shirt and began to get ready for the long night ahead, ignoring the half of the bed where his wife had once slept. She'd already been gone for a week; leaving the house cold and empty without her presence to warm it.

"We'll have a nice day out with him hm?"

As he lay beneath the cool sheets he could practically hear her voice whispering to him about trivial everyday things. How her day had gone, about the project her firm had planned for the autumn, about the adorable outfit she'd seen in a shop window and how she could just imagine it on their baby. How excited she was to finally be able to hold their son. He remembered the night when she'd leaned over when he was half asleep and simply whispered the name Takuya. That would be the name of their child. And despite the turn of events he'd honoured her wishes.

So as he lay there at night, plagued by her voice, trying to lose himself in the sound of Takuya's breathing. Night after night, it was always the same. She was there, right beside him, holding on to him. And it brought him no peace. He couldn't bear to see her, especially when he'd only just buried her and finally worked up the strength to say goodbye. But instead of finding peace he was sentenced to try and let the world slide away and fall into sleep in vain. The doctor called it stress and insomnia, the medication she had prescribed had worked for the first few weeks. Two tiny blue pills of nothingness. But as the nights continued to come, the pills that led him to his peaceful nothing began to fail him. Takuya's breathing coming steadily from the still present bassinette could only sooth him to a certain extent and it was there in his semi-aware state that Akane would haunt him.

Soon the two tiny pills became three, and then four.

Toshiro sighed as he laid the four month old in the bassinette, kissing him gently on the forehead before he slouched down onto his bed. The bottle on his bedside table seemed to glow in the dim light of his lamp, calling out to him. The man, father, and former husband lay back, stared up at the ceiling and waited for his nightly torture to begin, flicking off the light absentmindedly as he did.

"We're going for your first visit to the zoo tomorrow, Takuya," he whispered into the darkness. "You uncle is coming with us again to give me a hand."

His brother-in-law had been a God send, helping out where he could and always offering a shoulder should he need it. As his eyes began to slide closed Akane's voice broke through the fog of sleep, stirring the ever present pain in his heart. The room was otherwise silent, her voice ringing off of the walls and echoing in every corner of his mind.

With only a moment's hesitation he reached for the pills and dumped out a few into his hand, the number unclear in the poor lighting offered by the unshielded window. He swallowed them easily and lay back, waiting for the peaceful sense of nothingness that they brought him. Akane's voice slowly began to fade away, the feeling of her hand against his cheek disappearing. Soon Takuya's breathing was the only sound in the room, only the sheets were against his cheek.

Toshiro stared at the now empty bottle and carefully set it on the bedside table before lying back again. As he waited for ever illusive sleep to come and his eyes slowly became heavy he couldn't help but wonder just how many he'd taken.

He fell into nothingness, the sound of a child crying echoing in his delicate new ears. Soon enough the sound of traffic and feet slamming against pavement arrived as well. Whispers and muttered prayers haunted his developing being until the thudding of his heart drowned them out, easily forgotten in awe of his newly given life.

His mother was crying at his side, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Toshiro remained silent, his teal eyes staring at the wall opposite of him. He really wasn't all that surprised with the news. Leukemia wasn't new to him. And yet his mother still continued to cry as if she hadn't seen it coming at all. More chemo, more hospital visits and possible operations.

His mother seemed to pull herself together long enough to squeeze his frail hand. "It'll be fine dear. Don't you worry."

The doctor who he'd known for almost all of his life gave him a sympathetic smile, not because the cancer was back, but because he knew what his mother's worrying did to him.

When the appointment was over she still refused to relinquish his hand and instead held on more tightly as they crossed the road to where the car was parked. Toshiro sat down in the back with a sigh- he wasn't allowed in the front- ignoring the nervous look his mother gave him as she checked that his seatbelt was properly buckled before starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

"Everything will work out Toshiro," she said, her eyes locked on the road with a stiff smile on her face. "We'll get your chemo out of the way and you'll be better in time for summer vacation."

They both knew that was a lie.

As they pulled up in front of the house he couldn't help but wish she'd just keep driving. He didn't want to go in and see the looks on his brother's face, see his father's disappointment and crushing sadness.

His mother opened his door for him, cautioning him as he slid out of his seat and out onto the road.

"Be careful, don't trip," she warned, taking his hand and carefully leading him to the front door.

They entered the house, the air conditioning making him shiver and pull tightly at the sweater he was wearing despite the warmth of late May. Over the years he'd become used to the chills; the cold that he carried with him wherever he went. It didn't matter how many layers he wore, or if he was standing in the sun or not; he was always cold. Like a corpse. Warmth was a sign of life and he lacked it except for when it came to the horrible fevers that left him dizzy and bedridden for days at a time.

His older brother peaked out into the hall from the living room, the forced smile on their mother's face enough of an indicator as to what had happened. The teenager gave Toshiro a nod before he disappeared back into the room. They would speak later during the quiet of the night without their mother hovering over them ready to step in at any time. They weren't particularly close, not for a lack of trying on their part; their relationship was just the by-product of their situation. An older brother wanted to teach his younger sibling to throw a ball, drag them to the park and play until the streetlights came on and Toshiro just wasn't built for that. He was 'far too fragile' as his mother said. A poorly thrown ball could result in horrendous bruising that would linger for weeks; playing too roughly could cause a cut that would bleed for hours.

Now at eleven, Toshiro could only remember three occasions when he'd been allowed to play around with his brother. Although to be fair, two out of the three had ended in his injury, so in actuality his mother had a valid reason to keep them apart or preach the entertainment value of a good board game.

His father was waiting for him in the kitchen with a sandwich and a glass of water. "So, how are you holding up?"

"Okay," he said quietly as he took a seat. "Mom's freaking out."

The man nodded, a pained look overtaking his face. "She...worries about you. We all do."

"She worries a little too much," the boy muttered as he picked at his food.

"She just wants you to be safe and healthy Toshiro, there's nothing wrong with that."

Safe and healthy maybe, happy not so much. He loved his mother, he really, truly did. But he was tired of her forced optimism and useless worrying. He'd been sick for as long as he could remember. Diagnosed when he was almost two, and been in and out of remission ever since. Leukemia wasn't just a disease anymore, it'd become his lifestyle. School was a luxury, friends were far and few between and his bedside table was covered in various medications. It had gotten to the point where his grandfather would call every other week to ask if he was dead yet.

Surprisingly enough, Tanaka Hitsugaya was his favourite grandparent. The man didn't beat around the bush. He was blunt when many people weren't when it came to Toshiro. It'd become a bit of an inside joke between them; his imminent demise. A very dark, morbid joke, but a joke none the less. Everyone else walked around as if a breeze might kill him. When he'd grown up constantly hearing his mother yelling for him to be careful, telling his brother not to rough house with him because he was 'fragile' and to be gentle, he truly appreciated someone who didn't really give a damn if he was sick or not. Tanaka Hitsugaya loved all of his grandchildren equally; sick or not, no one got special treatment.

Toshiro shivered again as he took a bite of his sandwich, thanking his father as he passed him another sweater.

"Do you feel like going out?"

Toshiro looked up, eyeing the man curiously. "Out?"

"For a drive."

The thought of leaving the house was an appealing one, but his mother's anger was not.

"I'll handle her," his father smiled.

Toshiro pushed away his half eaten meal and followed the man out of the house and into the garage.

"We're taking your car?"

His father commuted to work on the train but had bought himself a beautiful convertible a few years before Toshiro had been born. Their family was rather well off but with the cost of all of the medical bills money could be tight at times. Still, his car was one of the few luxuries that Daijiro Hitsugaya spared himself. And so the pair climbed into the car and drove off.

The wind bit into his already cold form but Toshiro ignored it and instead smiled at his father, enjoying the feel of it wiping through his hair. They drove out to the coast and for just a while Daijiro wasn't a worried father and Toshiro wasn't his dying son. They parked the car on the side of the road where they could see the sky slowly bleaching different colours as the sun began to set. When his son began to shiver fiercely Daijiro pulled a blanket from the backseat and set it on his shoulders. Toshiro nodded in thanks as he watched the sky change before his very eyes. It seemed as if he was finally free for once, away from his mother and the house with its heavy air.

"You know," his father started, breaking the silence that they'd held for some time. "I want you to be happy. And if you're not...you can tell me."

Toshiro looked over at him. If you're too tired to keep going, you can tell me. That was what he was really saying.

"I know your mother really spearheads everything, but I'm here for you too," the man said, swallowing thickly. "I just...I want what's best for you. And that might not be what's best for your mother."

As Toshiro stared he felt a wave of relief wash over him. And gratitude. Gratitude for this man who was suffering so much, trying to hold his youngest as close as he could, but was still willing to let go. He'd heard that the hardest thing for a parent was to bury their own child, and his father was offering to go through that just so that he could find some peace.

He reached out and grabbed his father's hand, ignoring how cold his own must have felt, and gave it a tight squeeze.

"I...thanks."

Daijiro nodded as he leaned over and embraced his tiny son who only seemed to be getting tinier.

"I love you so much Toshiro."

"I...I love you too dad."

They would sit there together until the sun had set and they could no longer ignore the frantic ringing of the cell phone resting on the dash. Despite his father's words Toshiro knew that he couldn't give up so easily. His mother wouldn't let him, and he couldn't bear to do that to her anyway. She was annoying and overbearing, but she was his mom.

The next week found him sitting in a familiar chair, nausea plaguing his stomach as the chemo flooded his system. His mother of course was right by his side, holding a bucket for when his stomach would begin to rebel against him.

"Deep breathes," she said as she smoothed back his hair. "You'll be fine. I promise. Everything will be okay."

She always was a terrible liar.

He once again found himself in nothingness only this time as his ears came into being he held on a little longer to the sounds that flooded them. There were the whispers of a woman almost hidden among the sounds of small feet smacking against pavement, car engines, muttered prayers, and a crying child. But another sound assaulted his senses: a high pitch beeping noise that seemed to slow until it was just a never ending whine. And this time he held on, listening to the foreign sounds as he waited. Waited for the pendulum to begin swinging once again. Unstoppable. To once again feel the sudden loss of gravity and the overwhelming sensation of falling. Falling from the sky and to the earth, tumbling from death and into life. So he listened to the sounds of what he realized to be his past failures, his mistakes, and as his new heart began to thunder in his ears and the nothingness began to fade he couldn't help but think that maybe this time he'd get it right.