He never thought he would see the day when his life flashed in front of his eyes.
It really did flash, actually. It came in a whir of events and colors, almost like a malfunctioning movie tape. No, more like a badly broken television screen, when all the colors of the spectrum rain down in tiny strips with black and white.
Or it flashed like lightning on a rainy day, all at once, and disappearing, then reappearing again and scarring for life. He never liked lightning very much anyways, not really. He liked the sun and a few clouds, but never lightning. Lightning made him shudder at night.
But he agreed that it was quite traumatizing.
All of life seemed to speed past like trees on a road, like he was running too fast without enough water.
Like he was sprinting, and out of breath, and the world seemed to revolve him in multiple rotating circles. They seemed to be rotating forever and forever, infinitely. But somehow, he never seemed to get dizzy.
Infinity was a funny concept, he decided.
It was quite like the loop he had heard about the elders talking about, an extremely powerful illusion that made people go mad, as they thought they were experiencing the same thing over and over in their heads, for infinity.
Except, he thought, there was no way to break out of infinity. Infinity scared him too, he also realized. He was glad others could break out of that loop. He wasn't heartless like others.
There seemed to be an infinite amount of stars in the sky, and infinite amount of things to say to everybody.
Apologies, confessions, insults, compliments. There was always an infinite amount of words to use. More and more words sprouted each day. He pondered if there was a number more than infinity.
He wondered if people thought about infinity when they died.
It was like the endless speel that erupted from his mind when he heard it.
The birds chirping.
The ever haunting birdsong, the birdsong he thought was amazing and yet so terrible, yet sang of loyalty, and bravery, and friendship. The birdsong sang of selflessness and sacrifice. The first time he heard it, he was filled with a sensation of awe and wonder.
But this time the birds sang. They sang of murder.
It was when the bright blue shock of light hit a fragile frame. The squelch and gush of red that spilled on the ground and into the water. The expression of a certain silver haired boy, pupils contracting, body frozen in the fateful pose. Tears spilled from his eyes like tiny rivers.
The limp body that fell gracefully, as if slowed by time, into the water at last, arms and legs stretched wide, and the brown eyes that sparkled so happily closed forever. The mouth that was slightly parted, still dribbling blood. The purple stripes that marked her face, that seemed so perfectly drawn before, now seemed like slashes of war paint.
It was as if she was sleeping, as if the life had not been sucked out of her soul. It seemed as if a doting mother had just sang a soothing lullaby, and not that a blade had crushed her heart.
When he saw her, he remembered. He remembered everything.
A pale, rounded face with a set of bright orange goggles. An infinite shuriken pattern, and a green scarf. The shove of hands, and the musty smell of paper. A bright smile and a stuttered thank you.
I think that's when I fell in love.
The horror struck, yet relieved look that crossed his face when a black eyed individual stalked over to him, and a bubbly brown haired figure pranced across the room. The squeamish feeling when her eyes shifted over adoringly to the silhouette of a skinny gray haired boy.
He remembered another face, a tanned, face, framed by a mop of shocking blonde hair, and dancing blue eyes that always seemed to be laughing. The shadow that he never feared, but loomed over him each day, because he knew that he would always be shorter than latter. He didn't mind. He knew because one day, that face would be engraved in stone, looking over the village. Some day, he thought, I will be a legend too.
He brought along he jingling of bells, and the clanging of metal.
Bells. Her laughter sounded like bells.
Her name meant bells.
He knew at once that she cared about him. Her voice was urgent when she came to him one day, pumping an excited fist into the air.
Give them hell from us!
He remembered the grin, the grin that spread over his face in a matter of seconds. He had no control over himself, no control over the happy-go-lucky smile that almost split his face in half, the joy that came with her words, along with a swooping sensation and a dipping vertigo.
I'm always watching you.
He wanted her to see him. He wanted her to see him get stronger, get taller, get faster, get better. He wanted her to see his love for her, for her existence.
She loved birds. He came to love them too.
She made him aspire. She made him do what he was best at doing.
I wanna be myself!
Everyday, when he made his way across the sandy streets, the towering buildings, the swaying trees, he would think. He saw her in everything. He saw her smile in the clouds, her eyes in the leaves, and her laugh in the whooshing wind.
And it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
They got stronger together. She was careful, and he was reckless. He jumped in the air and swooped down, while she stayed until she was sure her strategy would work. He remembered. He remembered her chiding him. He didn't care. Her voice was enough to make him better.
The other boy got better and better, surpassing them almost by double. He was now the same level as his master. But, he reminded himself, he would never be as good, because he still had that cold arrogant look, and his emotionless demeanor. He had no care for his friends, frankly, and he thought that was the worst of all, to live as a shell without any human quality.
He remembered. He remembered that she liked the gray haired boy.
Maybe it was the cold look. Maybe it was the skill and indifference. But everybody loved him. And he did not. He came to respect him, a grudging sort of respect that almost made him hate himself for feeling so.
But he remembered. He remembered he didn't like him. He remembered the latter didn't like him either, and that was the way he wanted it.
The silver-haired boy didn't care, and he loathed him for that. Blabbering about missions, and emotions. He remembered what he said to the former once.
Those who don't follow the rules are scum. But those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.
He remembered. He remembered the shocked look on his pale face, his face completely scarred by this new emotion. He also remembered, remembered a boiling fire of satisfaction leaping in the pit of his stomach.
He remembered the tumbling stone, he remembered their screams. Their screams. Both of theirs. For once the silver-haired boy didn't scream of rules, or missions. He screamed of desperation, screamed of concern and fear. She screamed for him too.
It cracked his heart in two.
He remembered. All in a tidal wave. He felt like he was going to die. He had burning lungs, watering eyes, parched throat.
But why did he not feel the life slip away from his lips?
He thought about infinity.
He thought about how long he would have to wait to see them again. Infinity? More than infinity? Was there more than infinity?
Was there an end to the infinite amount of guilt that had amounted in his body? Was there an end to the infinite amount of love that he felt? Was there an end to the infinite amount of feelings building up?
He had chuckled, chuckled deep within. He remembered that the other boy expected a gift from him, a piece of helpful material that would never hinder him. He laughed again; all his troubles were gone, as his burden was now lifted from his shoulders. The burden that was him, now crushed under a rock. Useless, he thought, but not so useless, after all, was he?
The stones tumbled all around him. He felt a warm hand grasp his own, and threaded fingers within his own. His remaining eye fluttered shut, and he managed a small smile, before releasing it.
Obito!
There were an infinite amount of things he had left to say. He didn't know how much he appreciated him in the end. She didn't know how much he loved her.
He wanted more time, he realized. That was all he wanted.
And of all things, time was not infinite.
And he heard it again. The infinite birdsong. A harsh chirping filled the air, now more angry and ragged than before.
But it spouted one of the most beautiful songs he ever heard. He remembered.
It sang of loyalty, and trust. It sang of bravery and sacrifice. It sang of anger.
But most of all, it sang of love. His heart burst.
The rocks tumbled and tumbled, almost obscuring him from view, as he screwed his right eye shut, the eye that he thought would soon perish with his left.
He heard another heart rattling scream, and it pierced his heart.
Rin…
Kakashi...
He heard another yell, and he desperately wanted to reach a hand out, to help them, to hug them, just to pull them closer, telling them it was going to be alright.
But he knew it wasn't going to be alright.
He met a strange man in a strange place, one who claimed to be his ancestor. Frosted white hair and the same glowing crimson eyes. Dragging along some white humanoids with a drastic sense of humor.
Years had passed, and he didn't live in bliss.
He thought about them, were they happy?
It was sudden, the time one of those weird, happy-go-lucky creatures came galloping towards him, yelling and blubbering about his friends being outside, and he scrambled to get out.
But then he heard it.
The whirling images came to a halt, and he sneered, encased in a fibery, gooey material. His hair now masked his bloody red eyes, and the lips that were then lifted in a smile now lifted in a terrifying sneer.
He killed her. I loved her.
What did I ever see in him?
He couldn't believe it was the same birds, the same birdsong. The same sound he used to dread and anticipate eagerly.
Chidori!
It stabbed right through her, with the lightning still crackling, birds still chattering. It haunted him, and disgusted him.
His eyes stung in the air, but he knew it was not from the cold.
He understood why the boy that was so cold wanted to never feel a thing again.
They whirred, and he saw it on the other boy's face too, eyes now streaming with tears and soot.
It formed a new pattern, an odd pattern, that the enemy shuddered and fell at.
He knew what it was. He didn't like what it was.
These eyes…they come…once you kill your closest friend.
And at that moment, he remembered it all. He couldn't believe, just seconds before that, he was eager, finally to play the hero. To save them. To come rushing at them, to tell them he was safe. To tell them he would never, ever let them get hurt.
He remembered the pain. He went through a lot of pain, just to get out of the dingy cave, with a scary old man, with white hair, and stunning red eyes that were so like his but made him faint. He wanted to get out, even with the help with a coat of spirally armor, and a blabbering guide. He wanted to yell, why isn't their master here, and why they were alone. He wanted to envelop them in a hug, feel her hair beneath his fingers, and wanted to see the first smile on a lone figure's icy face.
But he knew it would never come.
Time was a thief, stealing everything away that he loved.
There was a tiny pitter patter, as tiny diamonds of water made its way down to the ground. Locks of brown hair fanned out in the water, revealing a blue headband around her forehead.
Konohagakure.
He had never felt such a rushing hatred for his village, the village he thought he loved. He remembered all the things he done, he felt, and realized it was all for nothing. All for naught, when it came to this.
He remembered his dream. He remembered that he always yearned to be up there on the mountain, head carved for the world to see, that maybe, maybe he, some ordinary boy from the Leaf, could rise among the legends that rose up to the sky, and the world had bowed down at their feet.
He realized it was hopeless too.
He wanted to sink to the ground beside her, and clutch her to him, hoping selfishly that it was just a dream.
But dreams stay dreams, do they?
She looked so peaceful.
He didn't regret anything. He barreled his way through all the soldiers in front of her, wishing to catch a glimpse of her pure, smiling face.
A smiling face now stained with war, and blood.
She smelled of metal.
He collapsed to the ground, and cradled her limp body to him. Her hair brushed against him, and he inhaled a shuddering breath before bawling to the moon like a wounded animal. He felt vulnerable, he felt angry, he couldn't control all the feelings inside him. He felt too much like a human, and wished childishly that he was born a mere statue carved from stone and not a live breathing boy after all.
And him, the boy he admired, and hated, and loved, all at once, did he feel no regret? Did he feel no guilt? Did he feel nothing?
He ignored the tear tracks on his face, and knelt in the water, ignoring the fact he was cold, and shivering, and a small nagging voice was protesting for him to go back. He did not ever want to leave.
He felt as if someone had dug a hole into his body, and scooped out his heart. All his pain collapsed into a dull, numbing throb. He stared glassily at the lifeless form before him, before setting her back into the trickling water.
She looked like an angel.
He understood it. Finally, he did.
I'm in hell.
He stole one more glance at her, and scampered off, feet hitting the ground hard. He did not want to look back. He didn't.
But he could still hear it, clear as day.
The infinite, never ending birdsong.
The howling, screaming birds, singing of murder.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto