Yes, hi! It's been a while, friends. However, I'm back with a story I came up with a while back and well, I felt like uploading it. So enjoy, dearies. (I have absolutely no clue how to write that.)

Oh and yes. I'm doing the elegant yet weird and cringy quote thingy. Sue me.

The man who has no imagination has no wings.

A Beautiful Mind

Over my lifetime, I've met many people. Humans just like any other, nothing much to set them apart. Yes, some may have been tall, others may have been short, some were smart, others not so much, some were as blond as I was, others brunets and not to forget the gender issue. There seldom was something that stuck with me.

I care little about appearances - I've never even seen my real face - and neither do I pay attention to a person's intellect. What catches my eye, is the thing that shapes you. The thing that makes you who you are. A little something you like to call imagination. It's the sole reason for my existence and without it, this world would be a concrete city with a white sky.

Not a lot of you see it my way. You promote popular looks, judge others on that one agenda and if you dislike theirs, then that's all there is to it. You make no attempt at digging deeper, because you simply don't care. An awful mistake. There is so much you're missing out on. So much beauty you can't see with your eyes open.

I've felt sparks of it from the children that have created me in the past. They were carefree, the whole lot of them and there was something glowing from within them that was strong enough to reach the surface. The dilemma with sparks, however, is the delicacy they are subjected to. I know best just how easy it is for one of them to extinguish. It's unfortunate, but inevitable. Everyone grows up sometime.
Out of all of my precious creators, there was only one, that tore my hearts to shreds. All three of them. The reason, was his spark that wasn't a spark at all. It was an inferno.

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I met this boy when he was no older than five. Around him, the children his age were running, hiding behind the swings or climbing the slidetower. Some were giggling in anticipation, other crying at their loss, while the little raven sat next to the sandbox and stared at the few grains in the center of his palm. His eyes were lit up with joy and curiosity, undeterred by the commotion around him.

He wasn't my target. He wasn't even on the list, but he intrigued me. Unlike the one who was supposed to have created me, he was the one grinning up at me with his chubby cheeks. The radiant warmth he gave off must have drowned out any other signal. "Do you see?" He asked, when he held up his hand for me to gaze at. On the offered palm lay the sand, unmoving, reflecting the sunlight. "See what?" I whispered. The kids I usually talked to always lost their spirit after hearing me say that. His grin didn't falter. "Do you see?" He asked again, raising his arm to get close to my face. If I had a face. I don't know actually, he was the one who had imagined me in the first place, so ask him.

Oh, but I did see. I did see the beautiful colors, shining from his hand, rather than the sand. Saw them dancing in the air, changing into delicate figures I'd never seen before. They interacted with each other, running in circles and transforming into new beings from time to time. Now that was a first. "I do." I said, looking back into his charcoal eyes and watching as they crumpled up along with the rest of his face to make way for a smile.

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When he first got into grade 1, I saw his demeanor begin to crumble. Of course, as his companion, I was there with him, every minute of every day, but it seemed like I was unwelcome. Whether it was the teachers or the students, they looked at the boy with contempt and condescension. I know, that it is frowned upon, to have an imaginary friend at the age of six, at least it seemed to be where he was from. I was also painfully aware of the consequences, should the boy keep up with defending my existence. But despite all the scorn he got from the people around him, adults in particular, he didn't give up. He would sit with me during break, while the others shared estranged looks with one another. He would ask me for help when he couldn't figure out the problems in class. I felt needed, and I loved it. It was heartwarming to have this creature interact with me. To have the person, who gave me my image, give me his undeterred attention.

He always used to tell me stories he'd made up, when we were locked in the safety of his room. All of them started out with something you saw every day, a car, a street, a cat, until they turned into something adventurous, fantastical and mysterious. He could hook you more with every word that passed his lips, as if everything he said was part of a magic spell to reel you in.

At night, I would hover over his bed, watch over him so no nightmares could claim him. I would stroke his cheek and allowed his imagination to fill the room, allow me to see what he dreamt. It was more vivid than any story he could make up. A perfect display of what was happening in that extraordinary mind of his. The ground was forever moving, growing exotic flowers as well as trees colored in beautiful shades. Beings without outlines, just flickering and flitting across the ground, going up into smoke and reappearing in a different place. And he would dream of heroes braver than any. It made me love him more.

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Over the years, I watched as he grew, both physically and mentally. I watched how his brain started to function differently than it had before, started thinking more logically than emotionally. Watched him turn into something society wanted him to be. And yet it didn't seem to be enough, as I also watched him be beaten by his father.

The alcohol in the liquor cabinet was stocked full when the boy left in the morning, but empty when he returned. He came to hate the smell of whisky after he'd broken his nose for the first time. I never found out why his father had started drinking in the first place, so I can only assume it was because his wife had left. Violence against his own son had probably been brought on by his self-hatred. It came in spurs, like random outbursts of rage and flying fists, but Sasuke had come to find ways of evading them.

After the first few beatings, he rarely spent any time outside of his room when he was at home. It lead to him becoming more distant with each day and spending a lot of time reading books or doing homework. He was turning into a machine, manned by order and routine. Not one hair was allowed out of place or the whole thing would collapse into a heap of misery.

And it was my fault. I might not have been the initial reason for his father's behavior, but I always seemed to make it worse. I made him suffer. He spoke to me and this was the consequence. I wanted him to stop, for his own good, but I was selfish. I wanted to spend time with him, be his friend for as long as possible because he was so different from everything I'd known until then. And yet, despite the way he was treated by his parent, he never lost his world. Never forgot about me. Always found time for me, to laugh with a broken smile. His beauty had begun to die.

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At thirteen was when I first noticed it. The faint flickering of my orange coat. Then the inability to move my fingers and toes. He didn't look at me when he threw himself on the bed and screamed into the pillow. He didn't glance at me when I asked him what was wrong. He ignored me when I rested my hand on his shoulder. My dead hand. Maybe he couldn't see me anymore? Maybe he didn't want to. He cried. I did, too. His beauty cracked.

That night, I sat by the side of his bed. I couldn't fly anymore. I caressed his cheek softly, tried to awaken his mind so I could finally see again what was happening in his head. And what I saw, scared me.

The lively grass and flowers were gone, sealed beneath slabs of concrete. Trees were rotten and the figures had turned into black silhouette of men. Buildings rose everywhere I looked and they loomed over my head as if they were about to fall and crush me beneath their weight. Everything was dark, everything but the bright blue tree in the middle of the street. It lit up the dead town, banned the shadows from coming too close. But the light was threatening to go out.

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A year later, my hat had burned and my gloves were no longer the vibrant green they used to be, but a disgusting shade of brown. I couldn't speak. Had he done that on purpose? So I couldn't distract him from the path he was walking on? Maybe he just didn't want me to interfere with his choices.

The glint in his eyes was gone. They had turned duller ever since he'd started middleschool. I could no longer see the carefree child on the playground, when I looked at him. Just a broken teenager. One who wasn't beautiful anymore.

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The time to part came when he turned sixteen. It was the first time he looked at me after 3 years. And when he finally did, he just stared. Stared at my black suit. Stared at the gelled hair. Stared at the boring thing his shattered beauty had created. But he didn't see. He'd forgotten about our times together, when we used to play and ignore the others around us. He even forgot every time I comforted him after a beating or a fight with his parents. But he didn't care. Not anymore.

Or maybe he did. Because he returned my ability to speak. "I'm sorry." He said. A tear escaped his torn up face, when he stretched out a hand to grab hold of frail body. I'd lost strength. He trembled, but held me tight. "I'm so sorry. Please. Just talk to me, one last time." Ah, so he knew. I've always wondered if they knew. The children who loose their companions usually forget they have them when they grow up. I suspected he'd be the same. He wasn't like the others, though, because even after all the hardship, even after getting rules and logic beaten into him, he still asked for forgiveness. Even if he had nothing to apologize for.

"It's not your fault. It happens to everyone, even the most beautiful." He looked up at me, with a pained expression. I know it wasn't good enough. He would loose his friend. The one that was there, even if he ignored him, changed him and let him rot away in a corner. The one that remained no matter how bad he was treated, because he simply loved that kid. Yes. I love him so much it hurts far more than anything he could ever do to me. That's why I stayed all those years. I couldn't let him go without a fight. And I tried. God, I tried. And look where it got me. I'm disappearing.

"No... I'm not beautiful anymore, Naruto. I can't be. Look at yourself." He muttered in the junction between my neck and shoulder. My jacket vanished. "Look at what I've done to you- This- I can't-.." His breathing became erratic, and I started stroking his back in circles. It always used to calm him down. My hair fell into my eyes.

"It's okay. It has to be like this, you have to understand, Sasuke. You can't remain untouched by the wrongs in this world forever. It will get to you, without fail. They always find a way to change you." I whisper into his ear. My voice was getting thinner. Time was running out. I pushed him back by the shoulders, and watched as his face morphed into a grimace. "No, don't go yet. Naruto! Don't leave me yet. Please. I'll spend time with you again. I promise! So-" He chocked. "So, please. Please! Stay here." He was sobbing, clutching his arms in an attempt to stop shaking. It wasn't working. I smiled. "I don't have a choice. It's time for me to go, and I can't change that, but I'll be watching over you, I promise. I'll always be there when you need me, so... So stay strong."

Never before had I felt like this when leaving a child. They never said goodbye. It was always a process of months and I'd leave of my own accord. Not disappear right before their eyes. It was as clear a system as the school system, probably because that way, it didn't hurt. Because this did. It hurt so much.
Why did I lie to him? How am I supposed to be there for him when I belong to someone else? I just didn't want him to hurt as much as I did. Didn't want him to break any more. He didn't deserve it.

He clenched his teeth and bowed his head. Droplets hit the ground, one after another, as he brought his hands up to his face. He let out a long breath before he glanced up at me again. Water was still muddling his sight, but he looked at me with a smile, one I hadn't seen from him since he turned ten. It was strained, but so strong, so... Bright.

It made me smile, too. The corners of my mouth stretched even further, when I noticed the orange coat, vibrant green gloves and the tophat reappear all around me. Finally, after all the years I'd spent without them, I was once again engulfed in the familiar feeling of his thoughts. It was warm. I couldn't move my legs, and my arm hurt when I held my hand toward him. My palm was facing up and he just blinked at it in confusion. A short laugh escaped me, before I shrugged and spoke.

"Do you see?"

Colors danced. Dark ones, light ones, growing and shrinking, and along with it, I lost all feeling in my body. I just watched him from where I stood frozen. He was so happy, laughing with tears in his eyes, reaching out for the figures above his head. It died when he noticed the sand on the ground. Part of what my hand used to be. The rest went up into the air, skipped little hurdles and morphed into a ball of light, hovering over us. Little by little, I heard by limbs turn to sand and energy. All I had left was my head, when he returned my smile again.

"I do."

I hope you liked it :) I really like this rn : (¸¸.•´ ¯¨•.¸¸`•** (•.•) **•´ ¸¸.•¨¯`•.¸¸) It's fabulous.

Now, do me a favor and don't bug me about the characters. I'm well aware that they're OOC. -_- I had my problems and I was bested.

Leave some love? :D

DTSD aka. Ellie aka. Thegirlthathasbeenashardworkingassloth (I take pride in that.)