Disclaimer: I do not own 'Naruto' , Masashi Kishimito does!
CHAPTER 1: PROLOGUE
In all frankness or perhaps … in all bluntness, this was becoming unbearably monotonous.
It was almost as if this continuous cycle was sending her to an even earlier grave …it had long lost all its staleness, now it just exhausted her, probably more so than this damned infirmity.
It was the same changeless pattern everyday. She would wake up, presumably at the time she always had and would find the same person there in the same old chair, either sleeping or gawking at her, followed by the cycle she herself had created-of thoughts about healthier days and eventual thoughts of the impending finish to quicken its pace.
She used to stare back until her mother's gaze was ultimately defeated, forcing her to focus on another object in the room.
Ino felt as though she needed to be the one whose stare departed last because it was one of the very few things she could conquer in her immensely damaged and fragilecondition. But now it was different, like she didn't even have the strength to lift her eyelids anymore, and when she did wasting the scarce moments of consciousness she had on petty 'staring competitions' wasn't an option, she seemed to be sleeping a lot more these past weeks. Who knew, perhaps this routine was actually aiding in the rapid process of her ever deteriorating condition.
As much as she believed it, she knew how absurd it probably was to think something of that sort. To the point where she actually felt a tug at the corner of her lip before it was instantaneously replaced with the makings of, seemingly a look of contempt towards an invisible force.
Of course she knew the inevitable would come sooner or later, how could she not? She wasn't naïve nor ignorant to the happenings of the past few months, even if she was; the same, almost habitual routines she was beginning to loathe for reasons unknown even to herself were going to be there, constantly reminding her.
At her age it wasn't silly to wish hard for another chance at this thing they called life. A few months ago she felt fine; she was full of strength and health… a completely different person to what she was right now, she just wanted that back. At the thought of her old and healthier self she felt a tight squeeze at her chest and a wave of piercing chills rushed through her body … familiarshe countered, almost mused.
They were familiar because she knew these were physical signs of her internal and intense feelings of heavy-heartedness and dullness.
Most of her time spent conscious was thinking about the 'looking glass' and how much she wanted to reach out for it and fall on through to a brighter day and out of this wreckage that is her body.
Pathetic, that's how she'd describe this current state she was in, of wishing for brighter days … it almost nauseated her when she thought of what she'd become.
This was what she loathed most about this cursed routine. She would keep dreaming, slipping out of the physical life even though her eyes wouldn't close. She would keep tripping to a place she only knew.
The more she thought about how her frail bony fingers stayed locked here and wouldn't go to the other side, wherever the hell it was, the more she felt it. The warm and moist sensation in her eyes, she didn't dare blink. She couldn't even remember the last time she cried, and she wasn't about to weaken herself any further by showing useless feelings of despair.
She clutched at the hospital bed sheets with both hands; tightly. She was unable to stop the thoughts from involuntarily flooding her mind, about how she hadn't even lived her life let alone for it to be stolen from her without warning. Truly, she despised being feeble … both physically and mentally she furiously contemplated.
And with that last thought, she finally felt the flimsy wetness glide down her cheek, suddenly uninterested about what the other person in the room would think of her then.
She advanced to take a deep breath by slightly parting her lips, and then she felt the salty taste saturate her tongue just before her eyelids became heavy again … she didn't want to drift off just yet so she futilely tried to resist the feelings of weariness overtaking her only to be reminded once again of her powerlessness before she finally succumbed.
She was dreaming again, the difference being she was unawake this time.
Perhaps this time around the drapes would finally close, because she couldn't take it anymore.