Cause it's five o'clock, the hour stops the sunlight,
The buildings shade the masquerade and kill time
Here we're nothing more than fools and whores and sad highs
Through the summer sand, we're living in a wasteland.
-Wasteland; Augustana

Wasteland

There's pain, so much pain. The world is red through crimson eyes. All he sees is red, all he sees is darkness. The bloody color is the greatest darkness he's ever known. Darker than the blue shirt he used to wear, darker than the black of his eyes.

And he hates it. He misses green, he misses brown, he misses silver and pink. He misses color - blue and yellow, on a single being creating a lone angel in a world of demons. He should know best the kinds of demons in the world. He himself is one.

At least, that's what he believes. But she knows better.

Here, there is also pain. So much pain, but less than his. Here the world is grey through emerald eyes. All she sees is grey, and she remembers what it was like to be colorful. She knows he's forgotten completely though, and the grey around her becomes darker with each day. Dark as despair, dark as the façade she used to perform.

And she hates it. She misses red, she misses green, she misses white and silver. She misses color - blue and orange, a love she had feared so much as it forced her to shatter her façade, showing her the genuine colors of the world. She should know best the colors of this world. She herself is a bright color.

He knows that she is a bright color. He knows better.

For him, watching wasn't the hardest part. It was knowing that he could do nothing. Here, the world is still colorful. But that doesn't matter. Here, he can't hear the sounds of the world. All he hears is blame, all he hears is screams. And it doesn't matter that the world is colorful. The sound he knows now is silence, muted and cold.

And he hates it. He misses birds chirping, he misses the dirt crunching under his feet, he misses joyful laughter, he misses playful yells. He misses sounds - bickering, pointless bickering that had annoyed him to no end as the two who bickered ignored their feelings for too long. He should know best the sounds of this world. He himself is one of many.

But there is no one who sees the color, who hears the sounds. Because there is no one who was left unaffected by Uzumaki Naruto's death.