ASHES, ASHES.
by THE LOVED BIRDS.
(It's hard, being newly sixteen and hating for all of your life and knowing that your existence doesn't even make sense.)
When Kabuto says, Orochimaru-sama, please wake up because that long-tongue-snake bastard was taking a nap, Sasuke does not know how it feels to be woken up from a long, long sleep because he has never done so. And he watches, hearing Orochimaru say scathingly, Would you like to be fed to the hungry orphans living in the streets? and Kabuto says, No sir; I shan't, and Sasuke watches, without saying a word because he is newly sixteen and a year away from seventeen and he feels old right there; in that hot summer day from July, in that blue, hello-I'm-looking-down-on-you sky. He wants to erase himself from the world—would that feel strange?
(Strange, because he strangely misses the yells of Sasuke-kun—go—on—a—date—with—me! and Sasuke-teme—spar—with—me—before—I—go—insane! And he wants the flowers; hydrangeas, roses, marigolds, sunflowers, and he wants something beautiful to look at in this barren place; this empty place, and he wants out from this place because it's tiring from the heat—hotter than Konohagakure—and he is suffocating. Is Otogakure a freaking desert?)
And speaking of flowers and deserts—no, it's actually thinking, but wowee, who gives—cares—a damn carcass of a…—, can flowers really grow in the deserts? Because flower-in-a-desert is a synonym of oops!-it's-wilting-and-only-five-minutes-have-gone-by, unless it's a cactus flower, but no one really likes cactus flowers because cactuses are cactuses and spiny and they probably aren't nice things to accidentally land on because Sasuke has a phobia of needles now and they hurt—not that he has ever landed on one—like splinters you can't reach and that strange phantom pain afterwards. Anyways, cactus flowers—wait. No. Who needed flowers for their graves anyways?; there aren't any real graves—the ones with beautiful stone, marble, granite, concrete angels, looking down on them; protecting, they say, but who is protecting them when the grave-robbers come? What happens when the skeleton-robbers come? It would be like, I-will-protect-you and then you end up with the protecting.
Screw that—to hell with that. Who needed protecting?
Everybody says that shinobi are the ones who disrespect the dead, but the villagers are the ones who disrespect the dead. Only shinobi know what the dead are like—who do they think they were, anyways? What do they know?—anguished, parched souls, knowing of their death, sooner or later (usually the latter, because… well, it's the shinobi who kill them, so… —). People think that the shinobi are heartless bastards, and the people aren't heartless bastards? No, because shinobi are people who have perfected their emotions to… to… to what? Perfection, and a little bit—a lot?—…no, because… ninja aren't… human anymore. Or, at least, he isn't. Or maybe he was the only one that had listened, soaked up the information the chuunin sensei had fed to them, and taken it to heart. Maybe he's the only one stupid. Maybe…
Maybe, he was thinking too much.
And, dying—you don't have to say, argh, can't—live—any—longer—honey—I'm—sorry and having one arm left and two legs to the side of you and your head split open and blood gushing out, covering your eyes like a really, really, really bad horror movie to die. It helps, but it's not, and it is, and there he is, confusing himself again. Life's a cold-hearted bitch. So many reasons to die— I had to; I'm not strong enough; I am the martyr of this cold-blooded war; I sacrificed my life for insert-someone's-name—and so little to live—damn, he can't even think of any reasons right now. To keep my bonds alive? No; that was plain stupid. Because I had a family. That was lying. I'm in love. With who? Sakura? He doesn't even know her anymore. Where is the thirteen-year-old girl who was awkward—so awkward in all the wrong ways? Definitely not Naruto. He's not gay. Or, at least, he hopes so. (Does thinking about him in an I-want-to-beat-the-shit-out-of-him way count?) And not that pedophile—Orochimaru—or that medic—Kabuto—or even Kakashi.
( Damn it, you fucked-up brain, I—am—not—gay. Sort of? No, that was a stupid joke. Maybe he should lighten up a little… and then what? Itachi: you aren't focused enough on your hate and anger and now I am going to cut off the last ties of your small happiness. So smart. So smart. Goddamn, Sasuke, aren't you smart? He's talking to himself again. Has Kabuto been violating his tea? Is he insane?)
He imagines what he'll do to his brother, instead. He'll stab his eyes out. Stuff it down his throat. Tear out his spine. Chop him up into goddamn pieces. What will he do after that? Go back to Konohagakure? (Will Naruto and Sakura even welcome him back? Yes, and no, and yes, and probably no, and a little bit of yes and—shit, he doesn't think in halves; he either does or doesn't.) No. What will he do after he kills his brother? Sit on a rock—the two of his elements are not earth because he is lightning-and-fire-based, which doesn't make much sense at all because what'll he do when someone with earth comes along and goes, oi, Uchiha Sasuke, I wanna challenge you to a fight because I heard from Konohagakure that you're a lightening and fire type and I'm gonna pummel you into the ground? Just sit. Stare. Possibly laugh. And… and then what?
He supposes that he could just curl up into a ball and laugh and cry and be a hermit. Be a hermit. Is he kidding himself? Go back to Konohagakure and just hope they won't hurt him too badly. Or, maybe throw him in prison until he dies. Or kills himself. Or maybe refrain him from going on missions for another million years. And while in prison or wherever he is, he'll ask for some paper and write his entire life story—what'll it be called? The Life of Uchiha Sasuke. No—sounded tacky. Confessions of an Avenger (Who Failed). No. Why is he thinking about failed-love stories and failed-life stories? He should be thinking about getting stronger—
(And then wonders if Naruto was getting stronger this minute while he was talking about failed things and flowers and deserts and cactuses and dying and living and perfection. And then wonders if Sakura—what was Sakura about? Courage? Smarter. Stronger, like Naruto? Why does she want to throw away her perfection to start from the very beginning again? Why is she crazy? Why is she the one with the perfect chakra control and the photographic memory and the perfect, normal-little-girl life? Why wasn't he born like that?)
And then thinks about if—if he hadn't made his heart so small, then maybe Naruto would become his brother and Sakura his… his what? His sister? His girlfriend? It's sad to think about it that way, isn't it? About what-ifs and when-I's.
It's hard, being newly sixteen and hating for all of your life and knowing that your existence doesn't even make sense. He knows. It's strange, because he is craving flowers and chocolate and home like a pregnant woman—the smell, the touch, the sight of home —and his mother and strangely his father and he wonders, If Itachi never went crazy, would I still be there? If his clan was never murdered. If Naruto was never sealed with the Kyuubi. If Sakura was never friends with Ino. There is no sense in his life; their lives; their intertwined lives, soaking in… what? Why is their luck so horrible? It's hard, being homesick when you say you aren't; hard, when you are trying to erase yourself when you're really rewriting a story of your pitiful life. Don't start again, they say. There's no pain in living, but aren't they all lying? Hiding behind lies, and a massacre, and flowers and deserts and dying and perfection and family, again?
And now Orochimaru is dead because his most-trusted pupil is insane for running away from his home— home —and Kabuto is still in Oto and Suigetsu who reminds him of a very deranged Naruto is on his team—Team Snake—and so is Karin who reminds him of Sakura when she was twelve and Juugo who is Juugo (insane) and wherever he goes, doesn't the city burn? Doesn't his heart hurt? Hiding—always hiding behind something, and isn't he lying?
He is sixteen, so why can't he get his endings right?
(Throw the ashes out of the window because you won't need them anymore.)
"Ne, aniki! Does your arm still hurt?"
"Hm? Oh. It's better now. It still stings once in a while."
"You know, someone told me that pain doesn't really exist. It's just something your heart uses as a barrier. Our heart is afraid of something but we don't really now what."
"… and, what idiot told you that?"
"A blonde kid."
"Heh. You know what, Sasuke? That 'blonde kid' of yours is correct. Dead on."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then how come every hates him?"
"… you know, Sasuke? Even though everyone hates someone, you don't have to hate him. You don't have to pester him at everything he does like you're at a freak show. Tell him he's right. Because it doesn't matter if everyone hates you. It matters on how you live your life. To the fullest."
"Aniki?"
"… and, you know, Sasuke?"
"Hm?"
He laughed thickly and smiled. "It really doesn't matter either way, in the end."