Falling in Hate
The first time I saw him was at the chunin exams. It was during the written exam. I was sitting with my siblings at my either side making conversation with each other as he burst in to the room with his friends. He was loud, his eyes shining and bright, his smile seemed to radiate from somewhere within him making his skin glow. The way he walked was so careless and casual, not at all the way a ninja should behave. At contrast with his brass self, his soft blond hair shining softly was in a dishevel help up by his forehead protector; some tendrils had fallen loose and were over his eyes. That did not excuse his garish choice of clothes; Orange. All he wore were orange. I hated him. I hated him. I hated him.
It wou8ld have been so easy to kill him right then and there. His stupid face about to burst because he could not breath. I licked my lips at the image. I hadn't felt such a rush in a long time.
I looked up from my musings and my sea green eyes met his violet ones and our eyes held. I could not look away; I was entranced by the violet-blue eyes that I hate. Then, he did something that was unforgivable, and made me hate him more if that was possible. His eyes softened, his violet-blue yes changing into a non-offensive color of baby blue and his mouth turned up in a small, sad smile his body visibly deflating. He did not look scared as if I sated and glared at him. He did not look away in discomfort as my eyes roamed his body and face and I stabbed daggers into his body with my eyes. Instead he looked like he understood. Like, he understood how Sabaku no Gaara felt. Like he knew exactly how he felt at the mercy of the villagers. My hands tightened in a fist, my sand forming a shield or armor to protect or to harm. Then he broke the eye contact, his eyes shifting to my tattoo over my eyes. He lifted his had to his stomach and unconsciously started rubbing it. He looked down, caught himself at the act, and let out a small laugh that made one of his companions smack him on the head. He resumed talking loudly to others around him, sparing me a fleeting glance once in a while, while I could not tear my eyes from him. I hate him.
I look up from my test and look at the bright eyed boy. I hate him. I want to kill him. I want to take his life, make him suffer like I did. It is a mantra now. I hate him. I hate him. How can he look like he understood, like he knows exactly how I feel? If he knows, then how can he smile? How can he not feel the blood lust and hate everyone around him? He knows nothing and I shall show him all that he does not know. All my pain transferred to him as his happy existence flashes in front of his life. I put the pencil down and look at him again. He has his head down, exposing his golden, fragile neck. He puts his head up suddenly, looks around the room, when spots me. His face flushes as if he was caught doing something he should no have been doing. He smiles again, but this time like he is expecting me to understand him. His hand goes on his stomach again. He looks down, looks back up at me and grins. I don't understand this boy. But he is interesting. Killing him would be a waste of entertainment.
Although that does not change the fact that I hate him. That's right. I hate him. I hate his violet-blue eyes that softened for me. I hate his blond, messy longish hair that makes me want to touch it-just to see how it feels. I hate that he talks so much and his full red lips move so fast. I hate that his baggy orange suit he wears hides how he is underneath. I hate his beautiful graceful neck that anyone could snap in half. I hate his long fingers that rake his hair. There is so much more I hate. But the simple fact is I hate him
