None of this is mine(except this lovely little oc), all Kishimoto's. But if I were him, I would totally give certain characters more depth and get rid of all the goddamn fillers.
A curl of smoke through the door. Smokey, as smoke is. Sweet, perhaps some spice? Musky, a pinch of perfume?
The room grows warmer. The screams get louder. And all the while, I sit.
Darkness falls. A shadow against the door. A creak. The door is opened, and the monster slides underneath my skin. It oozes and sparks, swirls and bumps. Footsteps. A voice. Two.
Darkness falls. True darkness. Darkness is the absence of light, and sound cannot be heard. Blacker than the blackest black. More midnight than the darkest ebony. The strength of a thousand stars cannot bring back the light.
Still, I sit in the blood and gore of something that once, I loved. Once, loved me. But now, it is nothing more than chunks of flesh and slowly congealing blood upon my face.
The voices still speak.
"We cannot bring her back."
"I know that, I am not an idiot."
"Then why did you say it?"
A child? Ha. I have no room to speak. No room and nowhere to run. How depressing. How disgusting. My mother would be ashamed. If she was still alive and her eyes still in their sockets, that is. Gods. I hear myself speak and sound disturbed. Well, speaking is wrong, I suppose. I cannot speak. I am paralyzed with fear. Really.