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He was watching as flames tore through the house, destroying each room with the ferocity of a rampaging lion. He watched the bright oranges and reds in the middle of the night, a lovely juxtaposition against the inky black and the white of the stars. He watched the house slowly crumple, the supports failing as fire licked each one, like the knee buckling foreplay in a heated bedroom. He watched the smoke billow from the roof in clouds of grey, engulfing the sky above. All he could hear was the crackle that accompanied the burning. Beautiful he thought, beautiful.
He was only eight. He watched the bodies being wheeled out, black and charred, never knowing what had truly happened. Sleeping beauties, not aware of the fire that had destroyed them both. He saw their eyes closed, peaceful, yet the state of the rest of them shattered the idyllic dream that they were just dozing, napping, and would wake up slowly, telling him it was late, and he needed to go back to bed, because he had school tomorrow. He watched the medic-nins trying their best to… repair something so broken, like a mirror smashed into too many pieces that a faded memory of face is all that comes into view. He heard the medic-nin telling him "they were gone by the time we arrived, I'm so sorry." He heard the words "they were drugged, you're lucky you weren't. It's surprising you escaped" and saw the shocked expression on the man's face, as the bodies were carried away. I'm all alone now, he thought, all alone.
It was a blur really, between his learning of the circumstances of the murder, and him being shown a new house, told to "take care of it, and someone will be assigned to check up on you every day." Why was he being left alone? Did they not seem to care anymore? Were they not afraid that he, too, would be targeted? Such a young mind could not comprehend such ideas, and so pushed them away, instead finding a new fascination in the small bursts of power an explosion contained. Amazing, he thought, and nothing else.
A cackle was heard through the air as he swooped on his clay bird, somersaulting to show off. He watched the sky be illuminated with clouds of pink, blue and white, as explosions wracked the Tsuchikage's office. His plot complete, Deidara through out some clay spiders for good measure, hoping to completely flatten his village. He finally felt recognised under the name of Deidara, and wanted to leave a lasting impression on the place that had abandoned him. He felt alive, and the colourful blasts told him so. He watched houses burst into flames, just like his had, and watched bodies struggling to escape, just like his had. Breath taking, he thought, and he didn't regret a thing.
Freedom. He relished it. The power to do what your heart desired, whenever it desired. To not be tied down by the restraints of a "civil" society. To be able to be like the flame, free, powerful, destructive. There was no taming wind to blow him down. No, there was only Deidara and art.