Videotape.
Haruno Sakura remembers things in images. She remembers fragments; fragments of life, in short vignettes, like looking through old photograph albums. Innumerable amounts of scenes, these vignettes of her past, in this ongoing play. (This endless, continuous play is her magnum opus.) Some of these scenes, these fragments, she remembers in great detail –like clenched fists, conveying barely concealed anger and frustration; sakura petals, once pastel pink now turned iridescent under the gleaming white light of the sun; the dark quality of his eyes, alight with rage, yet not released, directed at herself. Some scenes she remembers as blurred images;
(those same eyes, twinkling in amusement and arrogance; one corner of his pale mouth turned upwards in that smirk she dreamt of in wonderment; the four of them, lying in the dewy, fresh grass at night, and her, unable to sleep, gazing at the pitch black, star-filled sky with hope and contentment, at their union, and the intimacy of their group, being involved—)
—mostly unclear and hazy, sometimes she wonders if they ever happened, or were simply figments of her imagination, her hopes and fears.
She tried to remember the words, to accompany these scenes, these half-memories, once-upon-a-time-ago. The more she tried, the more apparent it became to her that they weren't necessary. These images seemed to tell her the story, images flowing seamlessly as they entailed her magnum opus. A lifetime, lived in the span of 15 years, all devoted to one figure, yearning to be close to them, spent in waiting.
(you are my centre as I spin away—)
Some memories she remembers in great detail; one she probably remembers in the most detail, her one full-memory, the last positive memory of him.
(the sound of the wind, gentle at the start, slowly increasing in sound and turbulence, symbolic of the flow of her emotions, the flow of the scene; the feel of his breath upon her neck, their proximity increasing her yearning, her desperation, so close yet so far the most apt words for that feeling; salty tears, leaving marks across her face; the bitter taste in her mouth, the anxiety as she swallows to quench her pained, dry throat; and then those words:
"Thank you."
then, nothing. The image fades.)
Haruno Sakura does not wish for romance, for the reciprocation of her feelings, for hugs and kisses and Iloveyou's, even for his return. She does not hope and dream for him, because he is in a place she will never reach. The only wish Haruno Sakura wishes for was that, in retrospect, that was the last memory of him she ever had.
(the tears, when she sees those eyes near-crazed with vengeance and bloodshed, come falling fast, yet all she can do is curl into herself; the pitying gaze of the near-dead, bespectacled girl, solely directed on her)
It was perfect. The perfect ending to her dreams. The perfect image, the perfect, whole, full-memory, full of sight, touch, taste, colours, dreams, hopes, and words meant with sincerity.
Sasuke-kun is dead. She repeats it like an incantation to herself.
Sasuke-kun is dead. Sasuke-kun is dead. Sasuke-kun is dead, dead dead dead—
She says it to comfort herself, to preserve that perfect memory, that perfect image that was the last of him. She likes to think she was the last person to have a truly perfect memory of him, and she takes solace in this incantation. It is twisted, and contorted and disturbed, but it is perfect.
Sasuke-kun is dead, dead dead dead dea—
Uchiha Sasuke is dead. When she first found out, she did not cry, did not speak, did not think— she stopped. Haruno Sakura stopped functioning for 7 minutes and 9 seconds, before she finally understood the words, the syllables, the sound.
She cried silent tears, filled with a fusion of sadness, anger, anxiety, relief. He is gone; he was gone. He was gone a long time ago, before his death.
She doesn't ritually visit his grave like Naruto. She pays him only one more visit after the funeral, dressing in black once more on a sunny day, mind clear and in focus. She comes empty-handed, no gifts or flowers in hand, having given him the most important things she owned.
(this is my way of saying goodbye—)
Haruno Sakura remembers things in images. An array of images, arranged page-by-page, her magnum opus. The last image of him, was that grave stone. Discoloured stone, worn and glimmering in the warm light, letters etched deep into stone, the tracks and the contours of the shapes smooth, following them with tentative fingertips. The soft breeze against her legs, the sun's warmth upon her back. The chapter was finished, that chapter in her life.
Her wish came true.
(because I know today has been the most perfect day—)
A/N:
It has been ridiculously long. But to the small amount of readers who actually read my fanfics: this isn't a comeback. I'm not even sure how I managed to churn this out, hahahaha. I've really gotten out of fanfictions and Naruto in general. I stopped reading the manga ages ago, and I barely read any fanfics now. There is most probably no chance of any updates on any of my fanfics, if I'm being honest. Sorry to anyone who reads them; but then again it's probably not that big of a loss, as they aren't very good lol.
I quoted some of Radiohead's 'Videotape' (hence the title) in brackets in the fanfic. Also, if there's any confusion in this fanfic, just pm me or leave questions in reviews, and I'll respond to you. And magnum opus literally means 'great work', and refers to an author's or an artist's masterpiece, or their major work.
Reviews are welcomed greatly :)