The sand kept falling.
Always, that white, smooth sand kept trickling grain by grain through the needle thin hole. There was no way to stop it, no way to reach out and press a finger to the narrow corridor and just hold it there for always, never continuing forward, the happiness of now never lost among the ever growing pile of cold, cruel sand. It was enough to make even a warrior cry.
And cry she did. But only a little, a tear here and there for the happiness that was buried beneath that ever flowing white, for there was no happiness that lasted forever.
She was a solider.
He was her over lord, her king, her God.
She was expendable.
He was to be jealously guarded, protected at all costs.
She was a hardened veteran.
He was an experienced commander.
She would have given him her life.
He would not accept that life.
She jumped in the way of the kunai barrage.
He pulled them both out of harms way.
She shoved him down quickly and blacked out when the tag exploded.
He protected her inert body and carried her to a medic.
She woke up.
He was there.
War makes people funny. The inevitable death hanging over their heads makes them more susceptible to emotions, to feelings. But she would not allow it and kept the distance wide.
He kept her near to him after that, on the battle field, in a conference, at camp.
She was more than happy to serve him, to jump headlong into any danger.
He trusted her with all the important things.
She accepted his trust in all things and never failed him.
He asked her once why she served him.
She couldn't tell him, so she said nothing.
He frowned, but didn't push.
She cried that night because the answer was love.
He was her overlord and couldn't accept it.
She knew that, and it cut her to the quick.
He was content to keep her near to him.
She was content to stay close enough to touch him, caress him, love him- but didn't.
He and She were happy.
But the sands keep falling and they don't stop for anything. Not even love.
The battle was bloody, ferocious, and over far too quickly. The victory was theirs, but she really couldn't bring her self to rejoice, everything was so quiet, so muffled and the strength leaving her limbs made her feel lethargic. The sky above her moved, the great golden dunes of her country flew past, faces wreathed in white shouted fiercely above her, but it was all so detached, so far off, not really a bother to her at all.
But then she saw him. Saw her king, her God, her love. And there was sand in his hair and water on his face that shouldn't have been there. And the noise around her was thrown into sharp relief because his mouth was moving and she heard him speak and then wished she hadn't because the tone of his voice was so seductive in the way it made her want to keep going, made her want to keep on struggling but she knew that she just couldn't because the sand was there.
The white sand was burying her and there was not a thing she could do to stop it because her fingers couldn't stop that sand from falling. So she used them to touch him. Just this once she let herself touch him.
Her fingers moved softly over his check, moving down across his chin then up the other check until she reached his temple. Then they stroked across his red scar and over his brow before winding into his sand covered red hair, feeling the roughness of the strands, before they trailed down the center of his forehead and traced the straight line of his nose before veering off to caress the deep black that surrounded his pale green eyes.
They drifted now, drifting down away from his face and then his fingers came up and stopped them from drifting too far. The skin there was not smooth and unblemished like his face. It was rough and filled with imperfections and she let herself imagine for just a moment what it would have been like to let those hands touch her, stroke her tanned skin, slick with sweat, clad only in the cover of darkness and a thin sheet of a bed occupied by He and She. And she regretted it deeply, for she knew her mind could not truly comprehend the feeling of his hands touching her, and she wanted his touch badly.
But she pushed those thoughts away because it was of no help now. No help because that white, smooth sand kept trickling grain by grain through the needle thin hole. The happiness of now was going to be lost among the ever growing pile of cold, cruel sand. It was enough to make even a warrior cry. And cry he did, clutching her hand to himself crying her name and she let him cry because surely his tears would wash away the sand and keep her afloat.
But no; the sand was not dissolved by tears, it was dissolved by a warm, crimson liquid, but that didn't stop a thing. Nothing could.
The sand kept falling.
Well, that was a sad little bit, but I'm still proud of it, especially since I cranked it out in an hour, including editing.
Obviously it's Gaara-sama this time, in a war that hasn't actually happened according to current Naruto chapters. Show of hands on how many people figured out it was an 'hourglass' theme? Everyone right? I figured out half way through editing that I never used the word 'hourglass' but I guessed that teh clever readers could figure is out on their own.
Anyway, a little treat for all.
teh Lady Death