"Of A Demon In My View."
Summary -From the lightning in the sky, As it pass'd me flying by.. The sad thing was, no one tried to help him. Everyone believed that was what monsters deserved, too. No love, only hatred. From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form..(When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of A Demon In My View. -- Gaara-centric
Pairing(s) - None.
Rating - M for Mature because of the theme of suicide, and because of future ideas. (Mostly angst and more suicide. Yaay.)
Words - 3768
Alright, yes, I am almost finished (kind of..) with Chapter 3 of 'Rain.' because I recently got inspired by looking up a few lyrics, and a few crappy things that happened in my life because my family is nothing but a bunch of hateful fools. What joyful things can bring back my muse.
Yes, anyway, as I was being lazy and completely uninspired, I looked upon some deviantart thing and found a poem from Poe and I was inspired to write a little one-shot based upon this one particular poem.
Yes, so.. I guess this is it.
About Gaara, naturally. Age period.. ha, yeah, like I'd know. Just.. you pick.
I am working on updating everything else, so stfu. :)
Sorry if its OOC, I'm not exactly sure where this all came from.. My fingers are typing without my brain tonight, so it most likely won't make sense, or be in character, but enjoy, and keep this one question in mind, and take it seriously..
Should this stay a one-shot, or become a story?
- 'Gaakura.
5-11-07, 11:50pm
He hadn't made it far...
"From childhood's hour I have not been,
As others were--I have not seen...
As others saw--I could not bring..
My passions from a common spring.'
A skinny, pale, black-rimmed eyed boy paused, body turning as his dull, lifeless aqua blue orbs looked back into what he could see of his home, Sunagakure. Children laughing and playing, smiling and gently pushing each other before running off, yelling joyfully over their shoulder for the other to 'Catch me if you can!'.
Children smiling and hugging another friend, regardless of gender, and painfully oblivious to the future hardships waiting for them. Their eyes shining bright with happiness, smiles large and cheerful. Those smiling lips also whispering quiet, unheard, and hidden secrets to the willing ears of their friends. Others - those happy, lucky children - were content, pleased with their lives, blissfully and painfully lucky to an extent they didn't even know of. They were normal, and he.. he was a monster. He could not understand why they were normal, and why he was so.. horrid. He could not see what they were, in truth.
As others -- those shining eyes reflecting the joys of the world children saw and felt simply by seeing a ant, or a simple cloud ('animals' shifting in the sky, things that magically brighten the world..) - saw these wonderful things dancing and forming out of nothing - few, only lucky enough, could see these cloudy, colossal giants. These wonderful and magnificent shapes forming out of thin air and moving with disturbing and graceless ease, even some lucky few seeing these majestic forms twirling in a breathtakingly beautiful way no human could ever manage to do.
'Twirling and twirling.. A graceless waltz that leads to nowhere but a meaningless life and death..'
Imaginary friends is what some called them. Imagination was something he really didn't have much of, and such joy and wonder was something he couldn't bring. His only 'joy' (if he could ever even call it that because he knew not what joy was or what it felt like. He knew now he'd never find out) - his only passion came from a spring only common to him, and it was a crimson, warm spring of something that made this beast inside of him howl with immense joy and pleasure.
As a child, he could not find pleasure in sliding down a slide because there was no one there at the end to catch him. He could not find joy in swinging on a swing because there was no one to give him a friendly push. He could not find enjoyment in running because no one would tag him, they'd simply chase him with their rocks and angry screams. He could not smile at anything because there was nothing to smile about, or no one to smile with.
He doubted if it was even his passion to kill, or the demon's.
"From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone. '
A sorrowful sigh escaped his pale lips, and he turned and began to walk again. He dully noted that the sun was starting to slowly set, and observed the darkened and gloomy clouds that seemed to roll across the sky in a almost angry manner, signaling a storm. A small, saddened smile slipped upon his lips as he gazed up at the clouds.
He'd like to think the storm would be reminding all of this redheaded boy's sorrow - his sorrow. Though, none would truly remember, and none would actually care to remember. They'd have a festival in honor of his death, it's all they had been praying for. Sadly, monsters weren't remembered. His sorrow was clearly visible within him, but no one cared, and he was positive no one ever would.
As a young child no one cared, and even the most loving mothers scowled and spat at him, screaming horrid taunts as he passed. Before they had went to far, they always tried to harm him, and surely if it wasn't for that sinister, blood-loving tanuki that lay within him, he'd be dead. That surely was no exaggeration, but yet none still seemed to care of the horrid blood red scar that clearly had the kanji for "Love".
Love...
It tainted the boy's bone white forehead, and was something that mocked the redhaired boy - something they all knew he could never have. Even now, no one loved him because he was a horrible beast and some days he truly wished he could just die... Shukaku, despite his wishes, did not allow him to hurt himself. He had hardened his heart, and he liked to think he was completely numb. 'Monsters don't feel, all they do feel is hatred and...' He never did continue that thought.
He never really knew pain. The physical kind, that was.
He was all too use to mental pain, and the horrid throbbing of his bruised, beaten, and bloodied heart.
He could not awaken his cold, hardened heart to any joy offered to him, he could not smile out of true happiness, and he denied himself all chances or opportunities to even try to smile or become happy. As hard as he tried, he could not laugh. It almost came out as a suppressed sob when he tried to laugh, and he never tried to laugh again. It.. hurt, oddly enough.
Monsters did not deserve to laugh, monsters.. did not deserve anything but a cold, perhaps painful, and lonely death.
The sad thing was, no one tried to help him. Everyone believed that was what monsters deserved, too. No love, only hatred. That hurt, as well, and had he not hardened his heart, he'd be nothing but a sobbing wreck.
To live a life hated by all.. To be feared by all.. Betrayal lurked around every corner, and he was deathly afraid of opening up for fear of another betrayal, although he did not show it through his impassive features.
Monster.
All he had ever 'loved' he had loved for alone - his teddy bear, for example. If he had lost it in the park by accident (because, he had really cared for that stuffed animal because he liked to think it cared for him, too, and loved him and only him because no one else did, and went back to get it the next day, it would be ripped and torn, stuffed limbs torn off the body, that white fluff littering the sandy streets, and the button eyes ripped and lost forever. He had cried then, the first time it happened. 'I promise that I'll never let that happen to you again.. I promise.'
A few weeks later, forgetting the bear again, he found nothing but the right stuffed arm, the head (with missing ears and eyes) and only the left leg. That same taunting white fluff was scattered all over again in even larger quantities and the words 'Monster, go die!' clearly written on a note pinned to a tree - just for him. He had to mend it all over again, and broke down crying and sobbing for quite some time, because he was a liar and was a monster for breaking a promise, and because he was forever hated. 'See? This is what will happen if a monster has friends.. I let him die. I killed him..'
All he had ever found amazing and had found himself wanting to see over and over again (like the moon because he liked to think the moon was cold, hurt, and alone just like him) and had found himself loving the sight of it (though he did not know what love was, so he did not know he loved it) he had loved alone. No one wanted to watch the moon with a monster, not even Yashamaru, not even his own elder sister or brother, or even his father.
'You were a mistake. A foolish decision, and if I could, I would kill you. You? My son? Hmph, Kankuro is my only son. I hate you, monster. Nothing but a sickening, pathetic excuse for a human.. Ha, not even a human, not even a person. Just a monster. You sicken me. Die. Die.' His father's cruel words haunted his mind from when he had been six.
'I hope you die a slow, painful death. I hope you die all alone. Worthless. No one loves you, or ever will. Just die, you have no purpose.'
His heart hurt..
Everything he loved, he loved alone, and he most likely always would love alone. No one loved what a monster loved. No one.
"Then--in my childhood--in the dawn..
Of a most stormy life--was drawn..
From ev'ry depth of good and ill,
The mystery which binds me still: '
Shaking his head slightly, the red haired boy trudged onward, hand momentarily clenching as memories clouded his thoughts, memories of his uncle that always made him sick to his stomach. Yashamaru..
He remembered that night, sitting there, watching the amazing droplets of red fall from his forehead in the night (it was his first time ever getting hurt, and it was odd, sitting on a roof alone with the corpse of his uncle not too far away. It hurt, but his heart was cold, hardened and numb. He was Gaara, the self loving carnage). He had sat there in the dawn, his heart numbing and his head hurting terribly. His scar had stopped bleeding by then, and his usually pale hand was now coated in a amazing red colour that pleased the tanuki demon inside of him. 'Stormy.' He had heard the rough, bloodthirsty voice of Shukaku drawl out, and he did not question why the demon had said that, of all things.
His life - full of hatred, hurt, pain and betrayal - was not a sunny filled place, it was all but sunny. It was rough and stormy, a dark cloud forming within his mind at birth that was ultimately the tanuki demon that murdered his sanity just so. Thinking that Yashamaru loved him for only a small section of his life may have been the only slightly good times in his life he had ever experienced, the rest of his life nothing but terrible, ill, and horrid happenings that - had he been able to sleep - would have surely caused him nightmares for the rest of his life.
Confusion, one of the main things he always felt. Why him? Why not Temari? Or Kankuro? Why was he the monster? Why? These things, he knew now, he'd never figure out. Monsters didn't deserve to know. Monsters didn't deserve... -- Surely, this mystery would bind him still, even in death..
Oh god, all he ever wanted and desperately needed was love, and that was it... That was it!
"From the torrent, of the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold-- '
Fingers moving nimbly in remembrance, he unbuckled the belts that held the large gourd to his back that was filled with grimy, blood covered sand. As his pale fingertips slipped away from the last buckle, he felt the pressure being relieved from his back. With a loud thud, the blood soaked gourd fell easily off his back. He turned his pale face slightly to stare down at the lifeless object that rolled for a moment before stopping completely, seeing that the red sash that had been tied around the skinny middle part of the gourd had been unwound slightly, becoming loose and rolling off a little.
From the impact of the ground, the cork had become loose and lay only inches from the opening of the top part of the gourd. With the sick fascination that was only the tanuki's, he watched as small pool of blood from his last victim began to drip out from the gourd, the warm liquid falling upon the same crimson coloured liquid and darkening slightly with each drip, growing slightly larger with each drip as it fell upon the dried and thirsty sand that covered the desert.
Suddenly averting his dull aqua orbs from the blood, he took a few steps forward, gazing down upon the cliff he now stood upon, near the edge. In the darkened sky, and in the glowing, round, setting sun, the cliff seemed to be illuminated a dangerously familiar colour of red that the demon within always demanded for. Looking up, he noted that despite the sudden darkening of the sky, a small autumn tint of gold still shone from the setting sun that was almost completely gone, hidden behind the horizon and the growing and now rumbling, blackened sky, though he could still see areas of a beautiful colour of blue in the heavens.
'A glow of hope.. For.. a new day.. It's.. too late.'
Closing his black-rimmed eyes, he moved forward to the end of the cliff, suddenly feeling a drop of what he thought to be water land upon his pale features, rolling down in a perfect line from his closed eye in a mocking resemblance of the tears he held back, obscured deep inside of himself. Had he not learned of rain a day before, he would have panicked, but instead he remained eerily calm, expression impassive and completely blank and unreadable.
Opening his eyes once more, he watched the blackened sky and the falling rain. The thunder rumbling in the sky seemed to only enhance the beating of his empty heart and how at times his heartbeat would fade away and he'd be left in the silence he had suffered through for years until another furious roar, and lightning soon followed, flashing in an angry, violent, and threatening manner.
Maybe.. the heavens were crying for this monster?
He'd like to think so since it rarely, if ever, rained in Suna..
"From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by-- '
A small, estranged smile took shape upon his thin and pale lips. Distant, perhaps, would be able to slightly describe the strange smile that caused his lips to curve upward. Not a smile of happiness, conclusively not, but suicidal intent and desperation was carved within those lips that usually were always in a permanent frown. Yet now it was not a bloodthirsty or bloodlusting smile as his usual ones were, but of a pained and lonely smile... - Of a boy who knew nothing of what most all knew.
Devoid of love, contentment, and life.
He stood there for a long time, hours even, and as he stood there the storm started to slowly let up, the rain stopping, sky beginning to lighten and now even more patches of blue were quickly becoming visible, dark clouds snarling and whirling on, never to return again. The desert was no longer as thirsty, but such a small storm could surely not have quenched it's entire thirst. Few and rare bits of lightning and thunder were still seen and heard every now and then, but surely not nearly as often or frequent.
It was almost gone..
As the sky cackled, and a large, curved, bright line flashed across the sky, he decided his purpose had fallen away, and his existence was fading. Gaara moved his foot forward and with the other pushed himself forward, and down, down, down he went, that eerie smile remaining upon his flawless lips as he fell, almost a tranquil look appearing in his eyes for only seconds before it was gone, and nothing remained but that eerie smile. 'Help me.. Why.. won't anyone save me..? Why me?'
"Gaara!"
A voice rang through the storm, and he found he could not care at all anymore. It was too late, he was gone, and perhaps if they had tried a little sooner, he may have been able to be saved. No one loved him, and no one ever would love him or care. 'Just some fool, they can't believe that the monster is actually giving up. Demons don't die, monsters don't give up.. But, this one.. is gone. This monster deserves to die.'
As he fell, he felt his body turning, facing the sky, watching the now more blue sky, watching as the last seething roar of thunder was heard, and the last golden bolt of lightning was seen in the sky. As he fell, fell, fell, he watched the sky now turn blue, the clouds no longer so dark and ominous as they had been. Mostly all but one cloud had turned white, an angelic, pure, and heavenly colour. Only one hostile and sinister looking cloud still rolled on in the heavens, tainting the sky with its melancholy and viciousness.
Reaching one arm out, his black-rimmed eyes grew wide and suddenly fearful, and a strange sound of what may have been a mixture of sorrow and fear tore itself from the redhead's mouth as he fell down, the air feeling cold and malicious. He felt terrified, but ready. Terrified of never knowing if - had he tried a little longer to live and survive and not let his purpose fall away and his existence fade- if he ever could have been truly loved, but now he was sure it wastoo late, and he was afraid.
He was ready because, maybe, death held a place for monsters to be loved and wanted and needed and where there might be someone like Yashamaru, but better because he, or she, would love Gaara and only Gaara forever and ever and never let him go, and tell him everyday 'I love you and onlyyou, no one else. You are my precious person forever and ever. I won't ever go away or let you go away, and I won't ever hurt you or betray you because I love you.'
Maybe even his Mother..
But.. monsters didn't deserve love..
That was all he ever needed.
"From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form..
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of A Demon In My View."
His hand clenched in the air, grasping at everything, and yet nothing as he continued to fall - 'Down into the deepest abyss of Hell where monsters belong..'. He suddenly felt the suppressed tears that monsters couldn't cry begin to escape from his wide, dull aqua blue orbs. The strange smile suddenly faded off his lips as his gaze suddenly became fixed upon the single dark cloud that seemed to be suddenly shifting into some form.
The cloud's dark shape seemed to be twisting and twirling ungracefully, spinning and whirling like a hellish dance. An ungraceful waltz that could surely was some type of horrific omen. It was not wonderful, magnificent, or any of the things he had heard about such a thing happening. It was none of that..
It was utterly frightening, and yet wholly breathtaking in a horrid way.
Dull aqua orbs only widened a little more as he watched, and the dark cloud took a form when the rest of Heaven was blue. A few more tears fell from the redhead's wide eyes as the dark cloud took a last horrible shift and the form of a disturbing shape took place - a form that looked exactly like... him, features obscured and distorted but it was undeniably him, a sickening, inhumane grin spreading across his blackened features. It had shifted into a monster - of a demon in his view.
Poem By..
-Edgar Allen Poe
----------------------------
Ooh, the demon he saw was himself..
You can pick for yourself whether or not Gaara dies.
... But...
Since I could never kill off Gaara, in truth, he didn't die.
Though, still, you can pretend (those of you cruel people who pretend he did..)
If I get one or more reviews of people wanting me to continue, I will, and explain how and why he didn't die.
When you review, feel free to find a song or poem or something that might fit for the next chapter, if I do continue.
- 'Gaakura.
"From childhood's hour I have not been,
As others were--I have not seen...
As others saw--I could not bring..
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone.
Then--in my childhood--in the dawn..
Of a most stormy life--was drawn..
From ev'ry depth of good and ill,
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, of the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold--
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by--
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form..
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of A Demon In My View."
- Edgar Allen Poe