Yaaaaaaay!
another oh-so-unbelievablyANGSTY story by me!
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN. Sasuke would have shown up by now if I did.
Read and enjoy! (and then review)
He was weak.
After all of the training that he went through-the torture that the sadistic snake sannin handed out to him-he still wasn't even remotely close to where he was supposed to be.
Coughing out blood onto the cool marble floor, he couldn't help but reflect back on when his enemy-his brother-finally showed up after the four-year gap. He hated himself for how he felt when he laid eyes on his brother's form-feeling almost comforted by the aura he gave off. Then Itachi spoke, and his world shattered into millions of tiny pieces, impossible to place back together.
"It's been a while, Sasuke."
How-how could five simple words be so devastating? How could they rip his heart asunder so easily?
He didn't know.
He was weak.
Feeling his eyes begin to burn, he tried to hold back the strange flopping feeling in his stomach-he would not cry-biting his tongue as a hoarse sob built up in the back of his ravaged throat.
Even his ultimate attack was nothing on his brother. The thousand birds were erased into a trickle of blood and pain pain pain.
He had defeated him with a flick-a flick-of the wrist, sending him hurtling into the wall on the opposite side of the empty hallway.
Itachi hadn't even broken a sweat.
He was weak.
He coughed roughly, unable to hold back the itching and burning at the back of his eyes and throat-they were merciless-as more droplets of red flickered out onto the marble where he lay.
Struggling to hold back the tide of despair that was washing over him, he dug his nails into his arm, sending pain-delicious pain-ripping up into his head and rotating behind his eyes, causing a wave of dizziness to force him under.
He
Was
Weak
Closing his eyes, he curled up into a ball, clinging to his arm as he sobbed. He left those he held dear to him-loud exclamations from a blonde-haired boy, giggles from a cherry blossom, lazy excuses from his silver-haired sensei-as he fell, deeper and deeper and deeper into his own personal, self-inflicted Hell.
He let down those who believed in him, threw away the love of one he might have loved back, might have killed his best friend-his only friend-without a thought about the consequences.
Tears ran down his bruised cheek, burning a way down his skin-burning him-with the obviousness of his emotions.
Emotions are for the weak, he thought bitterly.
I am weak.
And he opened his eyes to glance at the far marble wall-far, so far so far so far-with shadows that danced beside the flickering flames, guttering torches so far from him…
The light couldn't reach him. I am too far from its reach, he noted coldly, emotionlessly. No light could shine on him now. He had banished himself to the shadows for something that his brother had done, had punished himself for not being strong enough when it mattered most.
He hated himself for caring when he wasn't supposed to care-she cried, and he hated himself for it-and hated himself for always having to drown in his brother's shadow.
He hated himself.
He hated himself.
Hate… Was that all that he was left to feel? Was he to become that which his brother desired him to become-a puppet, easy to manipulate, something to neglect when one got too bored with it-did he have no choice on what he could become?
Was he that weak?
His father didn't even care about him-his father-didn't even care when he finally mastered the Katon. After all… Why should he care, when his son-his prodigy-mastered it at six, and he at eight?
They all thought he was weak.
Nobody cared for the young child who stood in front of the doorway as the rain fell, wet and dripping and cold and alone, eyes crying out for someone-anyone-to notice him just once. Not even Mikoto-the perfect wife, trophy for her husband-tried to help him; she would smile and fade into the background like a proper wife should.
He couldn't stand it. Wherever he turned-whoever he turned to-people would turn their backs to him and ignore him. Nobody cared for the runt of the clan. He was weak, they said to each other, not even glancing at him as he passed through the room, dirty and broken and tired and lonely.
He felt like the most ignored person in the whole village.
When he came back from the Academy, he had received the highest marks out of everyone in his class. He was ecstatic. Maybe then his father would acknowledge him-even tell him that he was his son-and with hope and energy bursting throughout him, he approached him.
Fugaku hadn't even said a word to him as he scanned the card-so disapproving-and placed it down onto the tatami mat as he stood and walked away.
His hope had died then, as he watched his father leave-not even a grunt-and lowered his head to stare dismally at his hands folded in his lap. Am I not a good enough son for you? He wanted to scream, am I so weak that you won't even acknowledge me as your son?
Am
I
Weak
He didn't eat dinner that night-didn't have much of an appetite-and sat down on his futon, wondering if he was doing something wrong. Itachi didn't even keep his promises to him-it wasn't cool to hang out with such an unloved child-he didn't even seem to notice that Sasuke was suffering.
They thought that he was weak.
Yanking himself back to the present, he stared dismally at the flickering flames. The tears weren't falling anymore-dry now, all dried up-and his throat was raw from his hacking, hoarse sobs.
His eyes were dull-empty-as he listened to the torches crackling in their sconces. A dark emptiness throbbed within him in time to his hollow heartbeat. He sighed raggedly, dried blood coating his lips.
If they thought he was weak…
Maybe he should be.
I was writing this when I should have been working. curse my access to a computer on school premesis... CURSE IT!
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