A/N: I do not own Naruto. :/ Kind of stupid to make someone put this because, obviously, Masashi Kishimoto would've made a short filler or something with his ideas if they were so important. That's why this is the ONLY chapter that's gonna have a disclaimer. Go fuck yourselves. (If you're being a pirck. If not, continue on ^^)
I have been researching Psychopathy and Sociopathy especially for this fic. I have researched other things, but since this is just a prologue, I won't reveal those yet so I don't give anything away just yet. Let me know if you want me to continue this or if it's crap. Enjoy my twisted fic and review X)
/3 I hate you, Detective /3
His hair fell in a veil around his face and shoulders, the strands fraying out like a fire that was singed the color of its ashes. His creamy, pallid skin matched the snow cascading down upon the slender figure. Amazing was so negative towards him that it couldn't be synonymous to anything this boy was. It would be an insult. The way his slim body curved just at the base of his hips was a mouth-watering sight to say the least given the fact that he was half naked in the glacial twilight. Cloaked in only "boy shorts" and an open, see-through blouse, his luscious abdomen and legs were clearly visible. His body wasn't masculine; nor was it bound by gender. To say he was ravishing was an understatement.
You couldn't deny it.
No light showed through the stretch of trees that adorned the clearing, but it didn't matter. His skin was glowing ever so brightly that it radiated its beams across the icy covers layered on the ground. He could've put the sun to shame. Delicate pale fingers ran their way through his long bangs, brushing them out of his face. This boy was noxious. The world hath yet to be exposed to such vivid and raw beauty. Plump, colorless lips, blazing obsidian eyes, and a small button nose made up his gentle features. Everything about him screamed, "Take me!"
But everything changed.
Thunder sounded in a rage around the boy, the wind wrenching the blouse from his bony shoulders and dragging it into the abyss. The deep color pallets of violet and purple bruises and lacerations that painted his neck, back, and shoulders were almost lurid. Pink handprints made their way to the surface of the skin of his legs like a dead body to the water, his skin looking teased and marred. His hair was suddenly matted by blood, desperately clinging to his shoulders and cheeks. And his eyes. Dear God, his eyes... His eyelashes were crusted in the frost, his cheeks tear-stricken. His lips lightly parted as if to whisper softly before blood trickled like a faucet down his lip and chin, staining his skin.
And he collapsed.
Right into the snow. The sickeningly loud sound of flesh meeting the suddenly stiff ground could make your blood curdle, a sharp gasp being ripped from deep within his chest cavity. It was enough to make a person sick to their stomach with the sound of blood bubbling in his throat. Cold tears dripped down his face, his body stationary as the world went silent. The only noise was the symphony of beats his heart conducted as he grinned sadistically and whispered, "I hate you, Detective..."
And it stopped.