Sleep Song
It's nighttime when they come to me and fly halos around my bed; the shadows and the bees, dancing around eachother and intertwining, swirling up, up, with the bees making little propeller noises.
The shadows are always around me. I mold them and leave them but they follow me. They stretch out in my bedroom, wearing themselves so thin that gaps tear through them. I've thought, for a long time now, that it must be painful.
The bees are a different story. In the moonlight their wings glint like scraps of metal or the strange glitter that can be found in a carpet of newly fallen snow. The yellow of their bodies appears white and it shines with an almost ethereal glow, reminding me of an angel. They live in the walls and creep out at night to buzz a soft lullaby for me.
I'm on the verge of sleep most of the time when I think about the rookie nine and the elders that shape who we are. The bees remind me of Shino and his kikai, because even though the language they ooze is like song instead of speech, I understand them. They are simple, not mystifying, creatures. Startling in their simplicity, I'd say.
Unlike humans.
I don't usually try to empathize with people, since I like things that are solid, like facts. I wonder, if I was a doctor, would I work with mending bones? The thought of broken people coming to me is frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.
But I don't think I could do it. The pressure would smother me.
Sometimes I don't like to think of any of them. Not Naruto, who, for all of his ambition, is still lost. Not Naruto, who doesn't know how to achieve or gain respect.
Not Chouji, who is blind to anything but food or insult. Not Chouji, who lacks the want for power.
Not Neji, either, whose ego is larger than the village. Not Neji, who doesn't bother to hide his superiority complex, and whose anger is visible to anyone with eyes.
And definitely not the girls. Not Hinata, who struggles through conversations, who is haunted by the words that drift through her ears; about how she isn't good enough, about how she will never be good enough.
Not Sakura, who can't keep step with her teammates. Not Sakura, who feels shame for having family.
We're all damned, I think. Why else would God deal such misery to us?
We're all damned.
…But during the night, the bees help to salvage my hope, and I think that, maybe, just maybe, my pipes drip black honey.
(During the night, the bees and the shadows remind me that there is a Heaven.)
Fin.
For Momosportif, because the dark rythm found in her story "Done Then" was beautiful and this is my best attempt at recreating it with Shikamaru.