dislcaimer: I don't own Naruto.
prologue; i'm on standby
My eyes map out the ceiling above my head, stark white against the contrast of the mahogany walls that line your office.
It smells clean and sterile in this place, sort of like a hospital--with it's too white ceilings and walls (just like yours) and ugly, squeaky linoleum floors. That is, before someone who's just been nearly gutted by some psycho on the street gets wheeled in. Then there's so much blood all over that squeaky clean linoleum floor and those immaculate white walls and ceilings, as a place of healing becomes infected with the repugnant stench of death.
That's what this place feels like to me. I feel trapped, confined, like I can't breathe and and I don't like it and I want out.
My gaze steadily travels down the polished mahogany walls, down to the gray carpet beneath my worn (comfortable, really), scuffed up and beaten up black chucks which are tucked underneath the couch I'm sitting on. Even it's perfect.
As plain and as gray as it is, it has no stray threads sticking out from anywhere, you know the little ones you get after you've had that cheap carpet for too long and it starts getting all beat up from people walking all over it? Not only that, but there's no dirt or trash littering it's surface. It's like no one ever uses this office.
I understand that nothing is out of place in this office. It's perfect. So damn perfect.
Except me, of course, but you would probably say otherwise. It's like I'm in one of those stupid, "which of these things are unlike the other" puzzles or whatever the hell those things are.
It's obvious what the answer is.
You call my name, and I don't bother looking at you.
You try again a few more times, but I won't look at you, I don't want to, and I won't. Call me stubborn, childish, a brat. I don't care. I didn't asked to be put here. I didn't want to be put here.
There's nothing wrong with me, and yet--as far as everyone else is concerned, there's always been something wrong with me, but that doesn't mean that I necessarily belong in a place like this. I mean, as far as I'm considered, this is normal, right? Doesn't everyone do stuff like this?
Everyone stops eating for a few days at a time, right? People fast for religious reasons and no one gives them shit about it. No one says their starving themselves.
Everyone's thrown up something they've eaten once or twice in their life, right?
Everyone exercises to the point where they feel their going to break, right? When people are motivated enough to achieve something, they never stop.
Everyone has something they want to achieve so they feel better about themselves. What's so wrong with what I'm doing?
Everyone says I'm so sick, but I know I'm fine.
I'm just fine.
...Right? Right?