Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
Summary: My attempt at a story told in five drabbles, 100 words each.Character Death, Angst.
A/N: No names, but I tried to make it obvious who each was about (they are all someone different). I find it funny (odd), I just can't seem to picture that certain someone without suicidal tendencies.
Feedback: is appreciated. Can you tell who they are?
500 Words about Death
It felt good. He'd wondered about it for so long and now that the time had finally come, all of his doubts had been proven unfounded. Now, at the bitter end, it was surreal. Though he knew that there was only one way he would ever be satisfied with death, he never really expected that his final wish would be granted. He'd been hoping to stare into eyes twisted with malice and spite he as took his final breath, but to his disbelief, those eyes shown only pain and regret. He realized then that he was sorry. "Foolish little brother…"
He used the dagger his grandfather was forced to commit seppuku with. He'd gone down to the Nakano River and bathed, then redressed himself in something simple and black. He went into the shrine to pray before the alter and pay homage to his ancestors, at peace with the idea that he'd be with them soon. As he held the knife above his head he wondered if the hesitation he felt could be considered cowardly, but as he plunged it into his belly and ripped upwards he realized it didn't matter. He lay alone, smiling as his life slipped away.
He'd seen it coming for a long time. He loved him like a son, but as much as it hurt to watch as someone he loved slipped away, he knew it was the only way the boy could regain his honor and he'd learned at an early age that disgrace was something a man had to deal with alone. It hurt beyond any loss he'd ever felt, but he pretended he was numb to the heartache and wouldn't allow himself to cry because weapons aren't supposed to have feelings. Coping with loss was something he thought he was good at.
It wasn't that she wasn't able to let go. Well, yes it was, in a way. She'd always told herself that she didn't love him anymore, couldn't love him after what he'd done, but she'd realized all too late that she'd become keenly adept at lying to herself, and when she was forced to realize that she'd never been strong enough to save him, she wept. She didn't understand why she couldn't make her feelings go away, why she couldn't will herself to stop crying. She wanted to hit him, beat him, hurt him as much as he'd hurt her.
It was as if the world had suddenly stopped. No, the world had kept going, but somehow he'd stopped. Stopped laughing, stopped smiling, stopped dreaming, stopped everything but the mechanical trudge though the days as they passed, repetitive and tedious. It was as if the man he was had simply ceased to be. It wasn't as though he wanted it that way, but it couldn't be helped. He'd bet everything on his ability to save the one he held most dear, and he'd still lost him. How could he have known that sometimes you just can't save someone from themselves?