This is a NaruSaku Oneshot it's set in our world, so there are guns etc...
I'll have to warn you that it's pretty tragic and probably sad...
Oh and there is a small hidden message, I think it's quite obvious but I'm the writer so I don't count XD
English is not my native language so some feed back would be greatly appreciated :)
I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know!
POKER PAIR
I drop my machine gun in exhaustion.
Arms falling at my sides like heavy logs.
My body is covered in bruises and is shaking uncontrollably from the pain.
Crusted blood cracks every time I move a facial muscle.
I must be mess.
I descend the small hill with wobbly legs.
The sundown is bathing the view before me in red.
I sneer tiredly.
As if there isn't enough of that awfully vivid color at the moment.
I stop.
My heart falls to my stomach, leaving my chest empty.
I'm in pain. It's almost unbearable, but I don't have any deadly wounds.
But even if I did I, as good soldier should, do not fear death.
It's not that I don't fear death because I find it impossible. I am not like most of those measly soldiers that are used from the higher ups like pawns on the battlefield. Higher ups that have no qualms in sending young, exuberant soldiers to certain death; even though I'm sure there's as a need for these kind of people, I still find it sickening. Does the end truly justify the means? Right now I'm compelled to say no.
I've read many strategic war books and in one in particular, it explicitly states that the youngsters are to be placed in front line for the simple fact that they do not fear death.
Although, generally, nobody really believes that they are really going to die. Even when death is knocking at their door, they always think that they're going to somehow survive.
In a sense one never knows that they're actually dead, so I can understand how one can think that they're going to survive until the very end. I don't know if that's supposed to be sad or… I don't know.
In any case it's not that I don't fear death because I think that I'm not going to die, that would be preposterous. On the contrary I'm painfully aware that, someday, I'll be gone. Not even my memory will remain; after all I don't even know my great grandfather's name! Not that it would really matter though; he's gone and I doubt he feels remorse at my disinterest.
To be truthful there are instances during which I am scared shitless of dying. After years and years of building your character, perfectioning it, obtaining certain skills, achieving goals, obtaining some semblance of stability, everything ends in just mere milliseconds.
It's just gone.
It doesn't matter if there's an after life; us living creatures are made up of physical matter. Even if we had a "soul", part of us would die along with our body; I doubt we'd be the same.
I find it terrible to think about but, as I said, I don't always think that way.
Like now, as I look upon your corpse among many others, I don't feel anything.
Sure I feel grief, but not as much as I'm suppose to; compared to the feelings I have for you.
Maybe it's the shock that is blocking me from truly understanding the gravity of the view in front of me. The view of your ashen face, of your wide-open eyes; I can still see the shock in your last gaze. You, like many others, didn't expect to die did you? Fool.
I stare at your bruised cheekbones, of your unnaturally angled nose, … at those fluids leaking from the hole on the side of your forehead. I am no doctor but I'm pretty sure that it's blood mixed with some gray matter.
I smile as I remember how many times I called you brainless for losing at poker so many times. I often asked you why you would even play if you always lost so miserably. Though, to be truthful, you weren't that bad: you weren't among those who lost all of their money.
I let myself fall to my knees, bruising them further. It hurts but it's nothing compared to-
I pinch my lips together arresting my thoughts.
I think back to the times we've spent together. They say that you don't truly understand what you had until you've lost it; and you know what? I believe that that's utter bullshit. The truth is that people are just plain stupid, idiots with a lot of imagination.
Most of the time it's not that you didn't know what you had; what people fear is making a mistake that they cannot amend. They're afraid of taking a wrong turn and being unable to go back; they even forget why they walked down that path in the first place!
I think that most of the time, when you lose someone, you just forget their bad sides and enhance their good qualities.
Well, I'm not going to do that, I refuse to soil your memory in such a way. You weren't perfect – no one is – to be frank you were a down right idiot and I often hated you for that. Your biggest flaw was your recklessness; that's probably the reason why you got killed.
I told you this would've happened sooner or later, though I always hoped in the latter; obviously.
You had plenty of bad traits but, in the long run, your good qualities over compensated your bad ones.
I grab my gun, and release it from its holster.
My hands are shaking.
I don't fear death; it's a path we all have to cross, we can't change that. Nor should we.
I take a deep breath before exhaling.
I never had an aim in life; the sole reason why I joined the army was because I didn't know what to do. I just lived little by little, never giving too much importance to the things around me.
Ever since I was little I was always reminded that I was lucky to be alive. Not because I risked death at a very young age or anything dramatic like that. But simply because the mere probability that a person like me could come to be are so slim – so impossibly slim – that my mere existence is a true miracle.
I snort.
We are all little miracles, even you, you dumbass.
It's weird but I often feel that I'm both everything and nothing; quite the paradox I'd say.
But this never made me uneasy, quite the contrary actually. It always calms my nerves and puts me in a state of ease; sometimes it's even exhilarating.
I think this way because, in a sense, I believe that we are constantly in a state of death and birth; the moments during which "we" actually live are very few. Every time something within us alters, when we change our mind on a certain subject, when we grow, the person we were before dies, and from its ashes someone new is born.
I never believed in anything.
I don't believe in God or anything of the sort. Perhaps I'm agnostic; I don't know…
But I do believe in reincarnation; more or less.
No, I don't believe that our soul escapes our body and goes hunting for another one. I believe that you'll just become something else. Our bodies will be destroyed, eaten by other creatures until there's nothing left but our bones. And, one day even those will disappear.
But the parts that made who we were will always remain in this world. After all, we'd be simply returning something that was loaned to us.
I look at your mangled body once more.
I choke on my breath.
But nothing remains of you as person. Nothing.
There's no such thing as eternity for us.
But even if there was; so what?
Life still wouldn't make sense if you weren't by my side.
Distantly my senses inform me that something wet is sliding down my cheek and, for once, it's not blood.
I stare into your eyes.
Loading the gun is natural.
Observing your lifeless features, on the other hand, isn't.
Virus, that's what you were and are. Always making me do things that are unlike me.
Enduring this pain is maddening.
You always joked that you were going to be the death me.
Odd, how you were right on one thing at least.
Unreal; everything is so unreal.
I could turn my back on you, and keep living, forgetting your existence.
But that would imply that I would become something else; and I don't know if I want to change anymore.
With your death you've condemned me to my own. Even if my body doesn't die, I'm still going to die. The person you knew will cease to be.
I don't think you'd appreciate it, but I feel that I owe you this at the very least.
When we played poker with our colleagues, even if you were winning for once, whenever I decided to leave you'd stop as well and follow me.
This time I'll be the one that is going to follow you out of this game, this cruel game.
I smile as I point my gun against my temple.
No, not the heart, women do that when they are heartbroken.
I never admitted the obvious, and I'm not going to start now.
One of my defects is that when I'm faced with important subjects I tend to dance around them, babblings things that aren't really important.
But you know what? I think that the most important things should be understood not said. Actions speak louder than words, especially the small but constant ones.
And I think that you knew me well enough to catch my fleeting feelings.
Why else would you put up with me?
I stare once more at your deathly features, it almost seems as if you're smiling that silly smile of yours.
I let out a shaky laugh.
God, I'm delirious.
I steady my grip on the gun; release its safe with a deafening click.
Things still feel unreal; I can't feel my body.
My senses are failing me and yet the agony is so acute.
Is this a dream? A nightmare?
Maybe when I'll pull the trigger I'll wake up and you'll be by my side.
I smile grimly as one of your black humor kind of phrases pop in my mind.
It's definitely worth a shot.
.
.
.
My grip on the gun tightens.
.
.
.
.
«Fold,»
.
.
.
.
.
.
Bang.