Tendrils of smoke slowly floated away, produced by a lone shadow in the night
I just can't stay away from the one-shots! I really, really meant to update I Spy, but the one-shot muse came calling and was all over me like a cheap suit. Sorry!
Disclaimer: I suppose I could say something witty here about how I don't own Naruto, or any of the Characters, but that would both be a waste of my time, and yours. So children, I don't own Naruto or the Naruto characters
Tendrils of smoke slowly floated away, produced by a lone shadow in the night. The man – the shadow – silently watched it slip away and dissipate into the cool night air. An army of orange leaves brusquely crunched beneath his feet catching his wondering attention, he mused as to what the leaves might say if they could speak.
Perhaps they would cry and beg for mercy. Perhaps they would be martyrs and try to sacrifice themselves for a greater cause. Perhaps, in their leafy world, they were already dead. It would make sense. The simple bio matter was already disconnected from the greater web of resources that fed them throughout spring, summer, and part of the current season.
The greater beings used them and tossed them away, leaving them scattered around to slowly dehydrate and crumple, the edges furled towards the center and the first part to die. Soon enough the rest of the leaf would end up the same: dusty and but a mere skeleton of their once glorious self.
He inhaled on his lifeline again, hastening its disintegration and his pleasure. Maybe, in a twisted way, the leaves worshiped their creator, the trees. It would make sense, if he logically continued on the same path; if they could have thoughts, they most certainly could have religion; beliefs. After all, every great human civilization has done it. The Greeks and Romans with their Gods who created them and the Jewish, Christians, and Muslim Gods created humans in their own likeness. The only people who couldn't fit into this were the Buddhists and Animists. He exhaled.
'Sacrifice.' He inhaled, 'that's what the leaves did, for the betterment of the creator. Unlike human religions, which mostly involved a tool of God – a son or prophet – sacrificing himself for the betterment of mankind so that man could be saved from eternal condemnation.
So much like her,' his musings finally delivered him to his destined, internal spot. He exhaled. The similarities were uncanny. Everyday she sacrificed. She sacrificed herself for her family, for her friends, hell, she sacrificed herself everyday to people she didn't know. Realization paused his rhythmic breathing. She was his Christ; his Savior; his Messiah.
He inhaled.
She was everything he was not; laughter came easy, smiles came free, kindness came quick. She was the light to slight his dark.
He exhaled.
They came from different backgrounds: his filled with vengeful sin, hers with cool consideration, though both from old wealth, which is perhaps their only similarity.
He inhaled.
His feet were no longer a part of him, truly adrift in his wonderings. He wasn't afraid to die; he never was. A little scared of what came after, but he imagined whatever was out there, whoever was out there, was much less frightening than what he's done.
He exhaled.
Time its-self contributed to his sins and his regrets. Time gave him the ability to capture his lies, the ability to think up stories, and the ability to deceive and pretend. Most importantly, it gave him time to think, as it was right now.
He inhaled.
His savior knew his past, and somehow, has saved him and confided in him. There was a time, she had once told him, where she felt that everything good was elsewhere. She had had her share of tragic tales as he did as well.
He exhaled. His hand ran through his hair.
She was his home. His harbor. His safe house. He sought her out for all her good in a chance that perhaps he could absorb it.
He inhaled.
She was his religion. He never had one before her.
He exhaled.
She who saved him from certain condemnation.
He inhaled.
The ground changed from beneath his feet, concrete sidewalk turned to stone as he approached a brown door. A garden surrounded him on both sides, flowers still flourishing beneath a radiant moon. Golden lights cascaded upon delicate lilies swathed in the night air. How she continued to persuade the flowers to bloom was a miracle.
He exhaled.
The glowing tip of his cigarette stomped out as the last wisp of smoke rose before dissipation.
He inhaled.
He slowly ascended the steps and opened the door. Light immediately flooded his vision creating temporary blindness.
He exhaled.
"Tadaima," he called out, uncertain of the reply when she popped her head around the corner, confused. Her hair matched the sky outside and her eyes the moon.
Inhale.
"Ah. Okaeri, Sasuke-kun."
Exhale.