Author's Notes: I like writing oneshots. Oneshots are fun. So here I am with another one, an angsty one this time. So uhm, yeah, I hope you guys like it. Please leave a review. Thanks. ^_^
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Mors et Vita
Death – it's something that you think about often, maybe too often. But then again, why shouldn't you? Your whole being is built around it. Your life revolves around it. If anything shaped you, turned you into what you are, then that something would be death. It was the death of your father, your mother, your family that broke you. And it was for the death of your brother that you forced yourself to survive. It's really painfully ironic how things turned out in the end, how Itachi turned out to be – what – innocent? Not quite. Innocent is not a term that can be used for someone capable of killing his own blood. But he was a victim, a victim just like you. And his death – well, it shattered the broken pieces of you. But it's not like you can do anything about it, not now. You can only do what you've always been doing, and that is to seek revenge. As it is, death is once again the thing that drives you – the death of Konoha's elders, and after that, the death of Uchiha Madara.
Death has become so incredibly central to your life that you could say that it is the only thing you live for, although there is still that tiny, forgotten, almost dead part of you that wants to create life. You could say that you know death intimately, almost like a lover. And, like a jealous, possessive lover, you don't just give it to anyone. You choose your victims meticulously, and always, always, for a good reason.
But sometimes you wonder if, despite how intimately you think you know death, you actually have it all wrong. You wonder if death is really a form of respite, and not a punishment. Because, really, on the two incidents before this one that you yourself have come precariously close to death, all you felt was oblivion – sweet oblivion. You spiraled into it and you almost welcomed it, because it felt like finally, finally you were free. But you've never gotten close enough to know whether oblivion really is the only thing death held, or whether there is something else, something like damnation. Because in those moments when oblivion almost claims you, you get pulled back into life. You always… you always wake up… you always wake up to her.
So this time, the third time, when you feel that insistent pull and you know that it is not your time, not yet, it no longer comes as a surprise that it is her that you see when you first open your eyes.
And you wonder, as you're once again encased in a tight, desperate embrace, if maybe she is life. She's certainly as confusing, as frustrating as life. Because you never know if you hate her or you love her, if you're better off with her or without her. All you know is that she's there and she's yours, whether you like it or not.
And you're powerless against her, you always have been, so you sag against her as she presses herself closer against you, persistent and insistent and… warm. For a few moments, you savor it, the feel of her pink hair pressing against your cheeks, the familiar smell of her vanilla-scented soap, the forgiveness and acceptance and the love in her much-too-tight hold.
Then you notice it – her sobs, her tears – they make you conflicted, confused, they make your skin crawl and your hands tremble, and they make your heart constrict, twist, and ache. And if only it wasn't so damn painful, then you could almost say that you're happy, that you're glad, that you're relieved that you still have life, that you still have her.
Almost.
See, the thing about life, you think as you push her away and she looks at you with eyes that are full of tears and warmth and love and pain, is that it's not like death at all. You can't welcome it as easily as you welcome death. Because, as much as you wish otherwise, you don't really deserve it.
Fin.