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The rain is like sleet, pounding the earth and making little craters to cradle it as she sits with her back against the training post and stares blindly ahead (you think if the rain is truly supposed to be tears from heaven, they're weeping in rage tonight). The shouts of the angry men make her eyes follow their movement wearily to the bundle they are kicking and beating in the center of their wrath-filled circle. It makes no sound as it huddles there.
(It has no right to)
She's been training all day until her hands were one tremendous ache and her fingernails had cracked and bled (like the tears everyone tells you it's alright to shed but when you do they turn their faces away in disgust and discomfort). The sword feels like it's been welded to her palm, but that's okay, because she couldn't bring herself to put it down anyway. (You can almost hear Rei's snickers as she bound your hands after yet another one of your insane training regimens, and you just grinned like the fool you were and let her even though the salve stung ferociously in the blisters you acquired)
The crack of broken bone rings out, heralding the thunder. She smiles.
(Monster, you think, and even now you're not sure if you mean him or yourself)
The rain keeps coming.
(Because he's a demon, and he deserves this)
The cry of pain is almost lost in the roar of the thunder. Almost.
(Right?)
The memory of the bloodstains and the ragged scraps of flesh that were all that left of her parent's corpses seven years gone still stains the inside of her eyelids whenever she closes them.
(This is justice)
Red is staining the mud-slick ground, turning it into the undefinably disgusting color that Nakano River was when they found Shisui's corpse facedown in the grasping river weeds and his skin the color of ash.
(...right?)
A wail of heartrending pain sang out alongside the crack of the lightning, and she can't be sure if she isn't the one who uttered it because she's heard her heart make that same sound over and over again. Would it really be so surprising if it had gained a voice of its own?
(RIGHT?)
Sobs filtered into her hearing and she cringes, feeling the sounds reverbrate in her skinny chest (all angles and bones, how do you ever expect to get a boyfriend when you look like a stick, Usagi, Rei teases, and like a good friend you smile and don't tell her that sometimes you need sharp ends to survive). They're identical to the noises that tore themselves from her throat without permission and scattered to the winds when she leaned over Rei's broken porcelain body in the aftermath of the Uchiha massacre, her violet eyes staring unseeing up at the stars and dried tears on her cheeks, gray lips stained bloodred in a mockery of a bride's face paint (and won't she look pretty when Death takes her hand and makes her his own?).
The child is still crying, even though it's barely discernable.
(Demons don't cry)
Itachi's eyes glint at her through the rain, mocking her foolishness as he always did (will), and she wishes for a shuriken to fling at him and hit him directly on his cold marble forehead. Always so foolish, he whispers, and it's almost more than she can bear to hear his voice, inside her head or out of it (he was always so good at seeing what no one else did, and sometimes you wonder just how much it was he knew and if he saw all your faultlines and calculated your breaking point as he was always so meticulously thorough).
Usagi never took the time to look at the child, and there's really not that much point to it now since he's so covered with dirt and blood she can barely see his bright hair, but she does anyway (that was always your greatest weakness, not looking when you should and only when it was too late). For the life of her, she can't find the demon inside the wet, weeping bundle that curls up in a feeble attempt to protect itself from the blows (no use bothering with the words, because there's nothing you can do about them).
(You fool, you wouldn't know a demon if it ran up your chest and tore your heart out, but have it your way)
She makes her decision and stands, willing her legs not to fail her (Rei cheers uncharacteristically, urging her on) and stumbles forward, aching with every step (Good girl, Shisui whispers, smiling his crooked smile and watching her with his hooded eyes) as she positions her sword and (Itachi's eyes glint with approval, but you close that out because it doesn't belong here anymore) lunges.
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Usagi doesn't know who thought white would be a good color for a hospital to be, but she knows they were completely out of their mind (white isn't the color of purity, it's death, the absence of life, and you wish people would stop asking the variating stupid questions on why you wear white to every funeral). The child's (Naruto, you remind yourself, he has a name even if it's never been used) face stands out stark from the blank pillow, still pale but it's gained color over the hours and the moniter's annoying bips are much less erratic now.
(Always a little slow, ne Usagi, Shisui laughed before you pushed him into the pond for making fun of your terrible aim, but it's alright now because his shade guides your hand with unwavering devotion and your aim will never be anything less than true)
She touched Naruto's little tan face, running her hand over his smooth whisker scars, and feels her father frowning in disapproval over her shoulder, but she ignores him (you had to learn how, after all, because he never leaves your side and his scowl is always evident even when you're not looking). He sighs in his sleep and shifts, so she stops until he is still again. A hand settles in her hair, and she resists the urge to flinch from it (Shisui how many times have I told you not to do that!).
"I am glad someone is taking the time to look after Naruto," the Sandaime says, eyes praising her as his withered face smiles gently. She wonders what he would say if he knew she had only stood and watched at first, and turns her eyes back to the blond child, too tired to even feel shame. (You're only human, after all, and forgiving is a divine act, and you're not even supposed to be human anymore because you're a kunoichi)
"He's only seven, and he's a good boy, but he doesn't always mind me when I tell him to stay inside after dark," Sandaime admits, affectionate chagrin in his lined face as he looks down at the blond boy. (He'll mind you now, old man)
"No one... is willing to take care of him, so he has to learn these things the hard way." (You almost laugh at that, because this most certainly is the hard way, but you shouldn't be talking because YOU'RE the one who always has to fuck up at least once before you get it)
"That's not true," Usagi rasps, voice hoarse from disuse (if you mean disuse by screaming your throat raw into your pillow every night so you can't hear Itachi's whispers, then sure, whatever). Blue eyes swung up to meet the Hokage's brown.
"I want him." (You ignore your mother's cry of angry despair and the tightening around your father's eyes, protesting your decision to love their murderer's jailor)
"You do?" Sarutobi stated pensively, craggy old face showing none of his surprise. She stares up at him, showing no fear, because he can't deny her this on any grounds, insanity being the least of them. Every shinobi is insane in their own way, from Hatake-san with his porno novels and tardiness, to Gai with his green spandex and rantings about the fountain of youth, and she is no different, she with her swords and ghosts that lurk in her mind.
(It's the only way we can cope with the screams and the glazed eyes staring into ours and the blood, oh Kami, the BLOOD)
"I do," she says firmly, and as if to affirm that, Naruto smiles in his sleep. She smiles back, entranced by his glorious brightness and the way her ghosts shift away from him. (Foolish girl, don't fall into the sea like Icarus before you because you were too blinded by the sun)
"Very well," the Sandaime allows, a small smile on his face as he leaves the room. Usagi runs her hand through Naruto's blond hair and smiles again (nevermind that it cracks your lips and makes them bleed because you haven't done it in so long) because tomorrow his name will not be Uzumaki, but Tsukino (even though it's more of a curse than an honor to bear).
(You know that better than anyone)
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Short, yes, I know, and VERY weird, but I've been wanting to try this style of writing for a while now. In case you're wondering, no, Usagi is NOT sane in this fic. Not the tiniest bit.
Read and Review, please!