Burning Alive
It is a uniquely unnerving experience to be inconspicuously dying. When people come and talk to you - hug you, claim that they are glad that you are finally back to 'normal' - but don't seem to realize that you are dying.
Strange, and altogether too hard to comprehend, to explain, though not for lack of effort; people can be so pathetic in their desperation to be understood.
The problem seems to be located in the fact that people try to explain it in 'emotions,' when it may actually be better related to the physical sensations.
Perhaps it's something like… The dissonance when everything around feels both too starkly colored, yet meaninglessly lifeless all the same. When every laugh rings hollow and jarringly sharp, every smile looks like a ripped red knife wound carved into an ugly, fake face; horrifying in its reality but even more horrifying for how it elicits no response at all in you.
No cringe, no wince, not even a laugh. But nobody seems to mind, claim that you've always been a pretty expressionless sort.
This is a lie, of course, but nobody knows that side of him anymore. The only person who ever had is dead and gone, by his own hand.
But perhaps, that's what it means to die; sensory perception loss, judgement loss – just the steady thrum of nothingness, when you can't even muster up the emotions. Bone tired.
And that's certainly true a lot of the time, but not all of the time.
Sometimes, it's like a body burning alive from the inside. The thick ash coated over the length of a throat and tongue, the bitter taste filling your nostrils, choking, stifling, suffocating. But since it bubbles up from deep in the stomach, invisible to everyone else, the people around you just keep chanting, 'Be grateful! It's over! You're back!'
And if they can't even see the charring, if your suffering means nothing to any one of them, if they can't even recognize reality as reality; why bother engaging with them?
Why try to convince people that you are burning alive if all they ever wanted was your dead corpse of a body to smile and laugh and pretend that everything! Is! FINE! Anyways?
They only want you around so they can say to themselves; 'Yay, Congratulations! We saved him,' even though you are dying; slowly at first, but after being here for a few weeks, rapidly accelerating.
You'd rather die alone; in a field, or on a mountain, maybe beside some running water and some shady trees.
He would have liked that, at least; which is why he is buried under a tree with the most aromatic of tea leaves, beside a gentle waterfall. There are as many seals around his body as there are in existence; so he is untouchable there. Nobody to touch him, fuck with him, to manipulate and blackmail him into doing their bidding.
At peace; finally.
Regardless of whatever fucking catastrophe was afflicting to the world this time, every month since he learned the worst fucking secret in the universe, he has slipped away to go there. Alone, no one else was worthy.
He collects some leaves; Brew them in a cup with a platter of dango to eat and drink in silence, all but for the crashing waves of water on the shore, the tears on his face.
Besides, how could the presence of some moronic sub-humans make anyone less lonely? Sure, you were literally dying before their very eyes, but they were too self-absorbed to notice.
It feels so ridiculous because you aren't alone, not literally; you are surrounded by people pulling on your face, trying to force up the corners of your mouth, trying to even tickle you so you have to physically laugh.
But maybe you're still lonely because those aren't people smiling at you. Those are fucking hyenas.
Actually, that's not true, though it makes for a nice metaphor. Of course they were people, because what could be as shallow, ignorant and condescending as a person? Prodding and pestering, 'What's the problem, huh? Just fucking get it together and be happy like everyone else!'
Her smile is pleading; lips parted slightly, arms pushed together to emphasize her chest like it mattered to him.
Their sensei watches on with an amused quirk of his lips behind his mask, and he wonders why he doesn't just fucking marry her if he finds this fucking charade such a sight for sore eyes, and let him go.
He needs to go back to the tea tree; and he doesn't want her, or anyone else in Konoha. They aren't worthy.
At least with hyenas, you know. You know that when you see hyenas laughing and circling around you, that those hyenas are trying to get you; kill you, eat you, whatever. And those hyenas knew too; they weren't going to try and put on airs and try to make you smile and love them enough to stay.
And hyenas were smart; if they saw you choking on air – on invisible ash and smoke – they'd know that something was wrong with you. Sure, they probably would run away from you, and your dying corpse, but that would probably be better than this.
Because with people? People were stupid. What could you do? Rip out your fucking charring tongue and hanging yourself with it? Pull out your burning lungs and throw them on the floor to sizzle and hiss in front of everyone?
Well, at least then they'd know that you were dying.
Naturally, you won't do this, because you understand the flames and the ash are all invisible, that the burning you feel is psychological, not physical, and the metaphor has run its course.
But that doesn't matter; you shouldn't underestimate the mind – because when feelings are real, the consequences are real, so you are still dying.
Konoha's Savior reaches out his forehead protector, wearing what looks like a smile, but isn't. He is closer than ever to being Hokage, sure, but he will need the votes from all the major clans; the Nara, the Aburame, the Hyuuga. So he's finally going to marry the simpering heiress, after trying for so long to pretend that he hadn't noticed her little confession; and it's a little ridiculous, because he is still very very much in love with him, not her.
He smiles back, and takes the protector, wearing a real smile; actually trying his best not to maniacally laugh aloud.
He would have felt sympathy for him, really, if he could still feel sympathy (or anything else); but the other man wasn't as stupid as he let on to be.
He should have known that this godforsaken, corrupted village would screw him over, 'Savior' or not.
It comes as a surprise. The smell of ash and tar and burning has become so familiar that it barely registers any more. But it's definitely there, he can smell it anew; the smell of a fire burning over flesh, noticeable because it's a different fire, and it's someone else's flesh.
He turns on his heel and leaves; he has a standing appointment at a waterfall that he is late for.
Is it crueler to not notice that someone is dying in the first place? Or crueler to notice, but not do anything about it?