Night Come Swiftly

Night is falling. The sky is an endless plateau of colour, burning near the edge. Flames of gold, orange, crimson lick the horizon as slowly, carefully the sun slides out of sight. Soon the dark will banish it entirely, send it fleeing to a better, kinder place, but for now the sun still lingers, bright and brilliant and red, red, red like…

Like far too many things.

He likes to sit out here on the rooftop, perched on cracking shingles, watching the day die. His eyes are large, solemn, dark—his thoughts are ever the same. He is wise, he is a fool, but mostly—mostly he is a little boy who has grown up far too fast and yet not nearly fast enough. For all his hate, for all his passion, for all his determination and skill, he is still but a child, still young enough to cry—

--but he never does.

The wind is warm and soft and touches his hair in a way that only one person ever has. He makes no noise as he leans to the side, turns his head, closes his eyes. If it is quiet enough, he can just hear her voice, just see her face, just feel enough to pretend that it is her hand which ruffles his hair and caresses his face, and not the silent comfort of the wind.

And if he opens his eyes and they shine a bit brighter than usual, if his lip quivers ever so slightly, if a soft sniffle touches the air, that's alright, because he's a human, and he's still a child, and it hurts so much to be alone.

Small, thin arms wrap around small, thin legs as he hunches low against the roof. He's not sure what he is afraid of, not even sure if it is fear that motivates his caution, his desire to remain unnoticed. Perhaps he wants to keep to himself the one thing that has always been his, the one thing that his brother has never had, never taken. Perhaps he simply doesn't want to give the villagers any more reason to talk about him or pity him. He's not sure, but he knows whatever the reason, this place—his sanctuary—must remain a secret, protected.

A light burns in those sad, solemn eyes that are too dark and too old and too tired. There is something inside him which is just as hot and bright and violently beautiful as the sunset, something which the dark cannot chase away, something which pounds and beats and cries and screams for all the times he cannot and has not and will never be able to.

There is a courage, a bravery, a strength, nestled deep within that lonely boy, and it battles the dark every day, every moment, but this dark is too deep, and the day may come when that light will be snuffed out. But for now it glows bright, deep, unfettered.

He has a hard life ahead of him, and he knows this, and while a part of him fears what is to come, another part, a stronger part, raises its proud head and glories in the challenge. He is an Uchiha, and he will conquer. But for now, for this moment, this beautiful, quiet moment, he is but a boy, sitting on a rooftop, watching the sun die.

And the tears never come.

:fin: