String of Grief
By: Me!
This was a sort of plot I have been thinking about for a while. But, most importantly, grief has clung to me as of late for those who have passed. This was something that I struggled to write, just because I didn't know how to put it into words. It's been a while since the last chapter of the Naruto series was released, and I just love everything about it. So, I don't know what happened exactly happened after the war, so this is just an idea of what could happen (I'm not saying that it did). Please, enjoy!
Grief wasn't meant to last forever. To grieve was like losing a part of yourself to the demons that haunted you. Those demons always loomed in the nearby darkness, where our shadows always disappear. Grief is always around the corner, always within reach even if you can't see it. It hides in the little things, like a brush, an old gift, or even in a puff of smoke. Grief has it's own puppet strings, and sometimes even closure cannot detach themselves.
Grief hung over Shikamaru as he sat silently in the graveyard resting against a big oak tree. The skin around his eyes were sunken and turned an ugly dark shade. His eyes were beginning to turn red, and his lids feeling heavy as he continuously stared straight ahead. His clothes were tattered and covered in dirt. In his hand he held the cigarette butt of the last one in the pack that rested in his other hand. Slowly, he let out a long string of white smoke, letting it snake away until he held no more. He watched carefully as the smoke disappeared among the blue sky and tree branches. An uncomfortable silence filled the air as he straightened himself up.
It had been nearly a year since the war was won. A year since all those soldiers sacrificed their lives for a greater cause. A year since he last liked himself.
He never expected to feel this way, even with his lazy ways, this was a new low for even himself. He no longer slept, no longer had the energy to eat, and no longer kept his chin held high. The pride he once experienced was no longer there. The grief had overwhelmed him, and down into the depths it dragged him.
As usual, he placed the butt back into the pack and slowly shut it tight. He stared down into his grime covered palms, watching as they shook furiously. The numbing sensation of the nicotine rushed through his veins as the last of the cig coursed through his veins. He never did like smoking, but sitting amongst the tombstones, it brought back those memories. It brought back a piece of his mind.
Footsteps crept behind the tree, stopping next to his feet, where they stood still. He showed no sign of acknowledgement, and no sign of kindness as a hand reached down and placed a small chip back within his hands.
As if by magic, the bag cracked the disapproving look on Shikamaru's face. With a sigh, he leaned back into the tree and grasped the bag gingerly, reading the bold label with amusement. The figure stepped to his side and sat down, dragging out another bag from their knapsack. Shikamaru turned and watched as Chouji began to munch down on his chips. He too was covered in grime, sweat leaking down his forehead. Chouji looked up, noticing the cloud in the far distance and chuckled. Shikamaru too had noticed, an overwhelming sense of calm washed over his senses.
Time passed, and several bags of chips lay strewn about them as they watched the clouds pass by. It had been a clear forecast for days, and suddenly the clouds were once again crawling overhead like nothing ever happened. A soft breeze accompanied the clouds, cooling down their sweaty heads. The scent of wood filled the air as the rustling of the trees began to chime in. It was like the world beckoned the life to return to Shikamaru's eyes. He felt a sudden desire, one that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. It was then a mental war played silently in his mind.
The demons of grief lingered in his thoughts, fighting the calmness that had settled in his hearts. The weight on his shoulders seemed to bounce as the fighting continued. In the pit of his stomach, anxiety was beginning to build. He took in a deep breath, and held it for a few seconds before letting it escape through his lips. He often had moments like this, however today seemed different. Today, he had his best friend by his side. He knew that Chouji was here to support him. He was the reminder that Shikamaru needed. He was neither pressuring him, or persuading him to overcome his depression. He was the silent reminder that he wasn't alone.
He pried his eyes away from the clouds, and pointed them towards the closest tombstone in front of him. In bold letters, it read NARA SHIKAKU with a beautiful image of one of the Nara's famous deer. Unknowingly, his eyes filled with tears until he could no longer clearly see. Wisps of air gently tugged on the grasses surrounding them making the empty graveyard come to life.
Shikamaru clutched at his chest as his sobs became audible. The pang in his chest grew, and grew. Chouji only continued to stare up and the clouds, listening to his friend overcome his emotional breakdown.
The day wore on. The cerulean sky soon turned to a brilliant orange. His eyes had grown heavy, and his sobs grew silent. He had leaned back against his tree, snoring slightly in the shadow of the great oak. Chouji had disappeared quietly only an hour earlier, heading back to help the construction of the new village. As he hammered in the last nail on a rooftop, he wiped his brow, staring up at the orange lit sky.
"Hey Chouji!" Chouji looked down to see Ino on the ground below, she too was covered in sweat and dirt. In fact, everyone around the area was covered in filth from a hard day's work. "Have you seen Shikamaru? He disappeared at lunch and never came back!"
Chouji carefully hopped down and nodded. "Leave him be though. He's had a rough day." and with that, he gave Ino a soft smile before turning to head down the street.
Shikamaru had a peaceful sleep for the first time in what felt like forever. As he stirred, a chill shook his spine. He sat up, rubbing his crusty eyes. It was already past sundown, and the soft glows from the street lamps surrounded the outskirts of the graveyard. He took another deep breath, realizing he had passed out from exhaustion. He stood, cracking his joints as he stretched. When he felt relaxed again, he noticed something was crunching in his hand. He looked down to see an unopened bag of chips. He closed his eyes and sighed before letting himself smile. Slowly, he took steps forward until he reached his father's grave, gently placing the chips in front of it, before turning around. He walked passed the oak tree. He walked passed the gate. But, what really surprised him, how he felt as he passed the numerous names, the numerous lives that had strings attached to him, were no longer attached, the weights from his shoulders lifted. Although it still left a strong bruise on his heart, he no longer felt the guilt he once did.
He knew what he needed to do.
And he smiled as he walked into the night.
Let me know what you think! Thanks!