Author's Note: Hello everyone, I know this story is completely different from my first one-shot. Where that one was for the smut, this is more emotional. It's something I had to get off my chest. The point of this story is for you to feel something. Anything. If I can accomplish that, then I can begin writing a real story. If not, then I guess I'll have to keep working on it with more one-shots.

I warn you, this will not end happily, and that is the point. If you are easily moved and/or emotional, and if you still want to read this, then proceed with caution.

Edit: After much persuasion-the fact that I'm sporting a black eye having absolutely nothing to do with it-I have decided to create an alternate ending for those of you who like happy endings. You know who you are. The new ending is dedicated to all you pervs out there who I know would not read this story otherwise (guilty~).

That is all. Enjoy.

Have you ever felt like reality is moving too fast for you to follow? Something gone in an instant before you had the chance to grasp it? That is my life now, and it is the loneliest existence on the planet. It is my personal Hell, and I deserve every fucking second.

Screaming. An explosion of fire, screeching metal, and searing pain. I capture the face of my mother as the car flips, glass flying, and blood hanging in midair. Her expression was the picture of horror. Eyes wide in fear, face deathly pale, and mouth stretched open in a silent scream. It's what I see before the door on my left side is crushed against me. Agony hits me just as my head slams into the side window with a sickening crunch. The world is dark.

Blaring lights and a piercing wail. A siren. Shouting, then the sound of the door on my right being ripped from its hinges. Hands are on me, pulling me from my crumpled position on the carpeted ceiling of the car. I risk a hazy glance to the passenger's seat and immediately wish I hadn't. She had twisted around in an attempt to reach me, I can see her broken form resting against the seat. I feel something in me die. Her long black hair is soaked in red, her eyes dull and lifeless. I snap, and suddenly I'm screaming over and over again. My throat is raw, burning, and still I continue.

"He's going into shock, we need to sedate him, now!" I hear before registering the sting of a needle in my thigh. My head swims and I black out once more, an image of my mother shoots through my mind.

I'm pushed through the swinging doors of the Emergency Room and I feel myself flash in and out of consciousness, whether through my own stubbornness or lack of sedatives, I do not know. Every strained blink from swollen eyes is like the click of a camera, a panorama of memories frozen in time.

I'm five, I see myself reaching for gentle arms before being enveloped in a warm embrace.

I'm fourteen. I flush in indignation as my brother jabs at my forehead, a barely concealed smile lighting his features.

I'm twenty-three, the youngest S. Medicine Specialist to graduate from JHU. My father's eyes are glowing with pride as he nods his head in quiet approval.

Twenty-four, only three months after my birthday, and I'm standing at the foot of a grave, a silent tear streaking my otherwise impassive face.

Now, two years later. The final memory fades into darkness, the last expression I'll ever see on my mother's face. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.

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My eye snaps open, retina dilating under glaring white lights. I hiss in pain when I try to curl myself away from them. I lay still for a couple seconds, the gears in my brain slowly coming to life, then opt to assess the damage. I notice that my left side must have taken the brunt of the impact, both left limps immobilized by heavy casts. I lift my good hand, two fingers in splints, to the bindings around my face. I run my fingers over the heavy gauze applied around my eye and slowly work my way down. I feel my neck in a brace, more bandages and gauze around my torso, then I glance at the IV sticking out of my arm, skin cold from the fluids flowing in.

I sigh mournfully and regret it instantly. My lungs flaring and bruised muscles tensing painfully, I gasp and clutch at my chest, equally damaged face contorting in agony. I hear alarms start going off, heart monitor beeping erratically. I hear a door to my left slam open, footsteps rushing to my side of the room. The disgustingly green curtain around me was yanked aside, revealing a panicked nurse rushing to my side.

"Oh my goodness!" She fluttered about, delicate hands rubbing small, soothing circles on my back and chest. After a small coughing fit, she laid me back down gently, a hand reaching toward the bedside table for a glass of water. She brought the cup to my lips, comments of "you should be more careful, Mr. Uchiha" and "try not to strain yourself too much", flying from her mouth as I sipped the water.

The last of the liquid sliding down my throat, I lay back on the pillows with a grimace. I watched the nurse fiddle with the machines for a bit before she stood up, hands neatly folded in front of her. "Now that you're awake, Mr. Uchiha, the doctor will be coming in to check on you to make sure the surgery was successful. After you are considered safe to move, you will be transported to the nursing floor." Her polite expression melted away, a mix of pity and sympathy etching her features. "We will be placing you in a semi-private room for your safety."

Safety? The thought swirled in my head, confusing me. The nurse averted her eyes at the blank look I gave her. When I said nothing, she cleared her throat gently saying, "If you need anything, please press the call button located on your right, by your hand. The doctor will be here momentarily." With that, she turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the door, quietly opening and closing it behind her.

I lay in silence, staring at the ceiling, the soft sounds of the monitor and drip of the IV my only company. I don't know how long I lay there, trying not to think, trying not to remember. I thought of everything and nothing. A bitter smile has the muscles in my face aching, but I do not let it fade. I deserve this pain. Just as I feel my expression darken, the door slams open once more, the bang pulling me from my stupor.

My eye falls on an ample woman with strawberry blond hair pulled in a tight bun, loose strands framing her face. Red lips purse as she takes in my appearance as perfectly manicured nails reach for the file attached at the end of my bed. She licks a finger and opens the folder, silently flipping the papers, only sparing a brief glance at each new page. Looking back at me, she clicks her tongue, closes the file, and places it back in its holder.

"I can only imagine how you're feeling right now, Mr. Uchiha." I said nothing. "I'll explain everything you need to know, so spare yourself the pain of speaking aloud." She walked around to my right side, pulling away the rest of the curtains. When she was done, she sat herself on a chair by my feet, facing me, legs crossed and hands on her lap. "When I ask a question, a slight nod or shake of your head is fine. Can you do that?"

I nod stiffly in understanding.

"Very good. Now, do you have any recollection of what happened to you?" I lift my good hand and make a 'so-so' gesture. "Hm slight memory loss, but that's normal. Give it some time and your memory should restore itself." There was a slight rustling of fabric as she shifted in her seat. "It may not seem like it, but you've been in surgery for 28 hours, we almost lost you a couple times, but you pulled through."

I see her hesitate, choosing her words carefully. Then, her back straightens as her gaze locks with my own. "Let's get the worst out of the way. With every good news, there is bad, but I won't take pity on you. I have a feeling that you would prefer to know everything, even if it may hurt you." There was a slight pause as she studied my reaction. My head hung in resignation, but I stayed silent. She continued.

"The people in both the driver's and passenger's seat, your parents, were not so lucky. Your father died on impact, his side was hit by the speeding car, crushing him against the door. Your mother died minutes after the collusion. She slammed her head against the dashboard while the car was flipping and bled out." She signed. "If the paramedics had not arrived when they did, it would have been too late to save you."

I feel cold and weightless, like my soul was no longer a part of my physical form. Its own swirling entity, watching the scene before me with indifference. I swallow thickly and raise my head, face emotionless yet my eyes burn with unshed tears. I once again lift my hand, signaling her to continue.

Again, she adjusts her position in the chair after reaching for my medical documents. She rifles through some papers, finally finding what she's looking for as she places a finger on a page. "I find it in your best interest to know the extent of your injuries so that you may avoid any movements that may cause you discomfort." She eyed the list before returning her gaze to me.

"As I'm sure you noticed, you have a small skull fracture, which is why your memory is a little fuzzy. Your right eye sustained minimal damage, but we had it bandaged to speed up the healing process. You sprained your neck when your head landed on the car's ceiling, which is also what caused a dislocation of the jaw. Give it about a week and you'll be able to speak for short intervals with minor aches. You also received a few broken bones, such as your arm, leg, and two of your ribs. Luckily, most injuries were dislocations that have already been properly realigned. The only internal damage that we could visibly identify was a punctured lung caused by a broken rib. There are, of course, a couple of other damages to your body that may only appear after a couple of days. Such as back and muscle pain and sensitive organs. Lastly, there might also be soft tissue damage, but we won't be able to do much about it until you are completely recovered. At that time, you will be given scheduled physical therapy to help put strength back into your limbs. Ironic, I know. For now, we will keep you on painkillers along with anti-flammatory medication via IV every four hours."

Having finished her report, the doctor stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles from her pristine white coat. She was still speaking as she went around checking various machines and giving my body a checkup; poking, prodding, and adjusting my position. "I recommend trying to be as still as possible, lay on your back and only on your left if absolutely necessary. You are well on your way to making a full recovery, so you'll be moved momentarily. I trust the nurse informed you of this?" A subtle nod. "Good. After you have been settled into your new room, a nurse will inform you of any further procedures."

Returning my file, she started for the door. Turning the knob, standing halfway out, she looked at me with an expression I could not identify. "I'm sorry for your loss, but know this: You are not alone. Things may not seem worth fighting for right now, but in the end, you will realize that you are alive for a reason. One you may not know of yet. Survive. You will not regret it. I promise you that." The door slid shut behind her.

I don't know how long I continued to stare after her as her words slowly sank in. All at once, I feel a low burning in my gut, emotions that are slowly eating me up from the inside. Anger, hurt, remorse, self-pity, betrayal, and most of all, pure unadulterated anguish. Although not a sound makes it past my lips, my mind is screaming inside, pounding against its restraints. Chaotic thoughts whirl through my head, cursing the doctor, the world, fate, myself. How could anyone possibly understand? The suffering I have lived through, the suffering I'm caged in now?

I feel my breathing come faster, my pulse quickening. Then, just as abruptly as my emotions flared, they vanish. I'm calm once more. The seconds tick by and I begin to feel light headed and drowsy. My eyes feel heavy. A vague memory of a syringe and the IV breaks through the fog in my brain. I realize with bitter amusement that the woman had injected sedatives into my IV bag, slowly letting the medication work through my system. My mouth twists in a nasty smile. She knew, I think to myself as the light begins to fade, obnoxious woman. Darkness enfolds her cloak around me, dragging me into her cold embrace.

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"You need to stop this unhealthy obsession, Sasuke. It's been over two years now, you need to let him go." My father is standing by my mother, who is seated on the plush leather recliner. Her tear stained face is buried in her hands, unable to look at me.

"Let go?" I take on a dangerous tone. "You mean forget?"

"W-what?" My mother sobs out. "No! Of course not, sweetheart. We only have your best interests at heart-"

A violent swing of my arm across the coffee table has the delicate China tea set crashing to the floor, the now cold brew soaking into the carpet. My mother flinches away, a small whimper of surprise falling from her lips. I don't care, I pay her no heed, solely focusing on venting my hurt, disguising it in anger. "Best interests at heart?" I repeat sarcastically. "Did you have the 'best interests at heart' when you sent him to do your dirty work? Wasn't that all for the 'good of the company' rather than 'best interests'?"

I'm hysterical now, eyes wild as I look between the broken expression of my mother and strained appearance of my father. "Where were your precious values then? Why couldn't you save him, why weren't you there when he needed you most? Why? Why? Why?! Answer me!"

The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh echoes throughout the now silent room. Face frozen in shock, I bring a trembling hand to my stinging cheek.

"That is enough, Sasuke." I hear my father's voice shake ever so slightly. "He chose his fate, and if you cannot realize why, then you have no right in calling yourself his brother."

My heart goes cold, like whatever fire I had left in me was suddenly dosed by freezing rain. Icy sneer in place, I fix a steely gaze on my father. So prim, so proper, and all it makes me want to do is smash his face in. "Is that so? Then who are you to call yourself his father? His fucking parents?" A gasp from the direction of my mother.

Jaw stiff, lips set in a thin line, my father barks out, "We are discussing your psychological state of mind, not us. I'm warning you. Stop your pathetic attempt at finding those responsible for his death. You are a medical practitioner, not the detective your delusional mind wishes to be. You're driving yourself to dangerous territory, and I don't mean that in the mental perspective."

"You are endangering yourself and those around you, son." My mother adds tentatively, mascara staining her face. "We only want to protect you...like we always have..." She trails off, stifling another sob.

I laugh hollowly, head thrown back, with fingers aggressively running across dark locks. "Protect me. How I wish you could see the irony in that. It really should not have been me you were protecting. Who is the one six feet under?"

I let my hands fall limply to my sides, face devoid of emotion. "The only benefit we got from being born into this house, was the goddamn money." As I turn on my heel, the soft thud of my mother sliding to the floor reaches my ears. A heavy hand grips my shoulder tightly.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Don't fucking touch me." My father removes his hold as if burned. "I'm going home and I will continue searching, with or without your help." I make it as far as the door before I hear my mother shout my name, begging me to stop. I cease my movements, but I do not look back.

"P-please just don't go alone." She stammers out. "At least let us go with you...I need that reassurance. Just this once, for me. Please, Sasuke." Time seems to drag on as I stand there, silent, mulling it over.

"Fine." I snap out, slamming the door behind me.

Doors shut, the purr of an engine, then the flashing of lights as they wiz by. I'm staring out the window as I whisper harsh words, loud enough to be heard in the silence of the car, tension so thick I could taste it. Without warning, there is the sound of shrieking brakes, blinding headlights, then the deafening crash of the car being knocked off course, sending us flying...

I lay in a room of midnight, devoid of light. Voices echo around me, happy, worried, angry, disappointed. I pull myself to my feet, whirling this way and that, reaching blindly for an exit. I try and shout, nothing but silence leaves my lips. The slam of a door resonates around the room, drawing my attention. I squint my eyes at the harsh glare, making out blurry silhouettes. Vision clearing, horror-filled recognition dawns on my face. My family as I last saw them, bloody, broken, and bruised, are standing at the opening. Their red-soaked mouths are moving, whispering indistinctly.

Despite the fear and guilt gnawing at my insides, I make my way towards them on legs heavy as molten lead. I push, almost shoving my way through what feels like glue as I try to reach them. I scream their names but they turn away from me, the door slowly sliding shut. No matter how fast my legs go, I can't get any closer, the glimmer of white fading as it stretches further and further away.

Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone!

The beacon is no more. There is no way out.

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I awake with a start, gasping. The crinkle of paper and the sweet scent of chocolate invading my senses. It takes me a minute to remember where I am, the effects of my drug induced sleep slowly fading away.

It's been two weeks since the accident, the surgery. The police have come and gone, asking me things that put me on edge, leaving little to no questions answered. I place a trembling hand over my face, breathing harshly.

"That was some dream you were having." The voice floats from across the room, warm and sultry. "Was it that same one?"

I shift my gaze to stare at the mysterious roommate I was placed with. I hear his voice, but I never see his form aside from the shadow against those hideous curtains. Ever since the first day in this room, he's always been the first to initiate a conversation. I was unable to respond the first week, not that I wanted to, but he more than made up for my lack of speech. Despite my annoyance, I have grown accustomed to his incessant ramblings, sometimes just allowing myself to lay there and listen. It was only recently- after getting the okay- that I started to speak, confiding in him the barest amount. His name is Naruto.

"No," I croak out, pushing myself into a seating position, "This one was a little different. It was...the worst by far."

I hear the snap of teeth breaking chocolate as he listens. It's always the same thing with him, the consumption of large amounts of cocoa and the crumbling of paper. "Wanna talk about it?"

I frown in remembrance. "No, I'd rather not think about it."

"Suit yourself." I see his outline shrug, then reach for another piece of paper. "Whatever tickles your pickle, brah."

I swear I felt a vein pop somewhere in my forehead. The shit he says really makes me want to slap my forehead sometimes. I decide to let it slide and instead satisfy my nagging curiosity. "What's with the paper?"

He chuckles. "You know, I thought you'd never ask." Despite his words, he stays silent, but I probe no further. I hear him shifting around and take a deep breath. "Have you ever heard the legend about the thousand paper cranes?"

"I don't believe I have."

"Well, it goes like this. In Japan, it's believed that folding a thousand paper cranes pleases the gods, so they grant you one wish. Anything you want...just for folding paper." He sighs heavily, dejectedly. The crinkle of parchment resumes. "I know it's silly, but it's something I really want to believe in."

The story sinks into the deep recesses of my mind, repeating it over and over. The thought of having just one wish giving me the things my life has been Hell without...to redeem myself...to be happy again. No. I shut down my racing thoughts. What a ridiculous notion, no matter how much I wish the legend was true, that just wasn't reality. "What do you wish for?" My question is strained and I know he could hear it.

"A lot of things. The thing I wish for the most, though? I haven't decided yet." I can sense the smile in his voice. "You? What would you wish for?"

I say nothing for the longest time, then, "I'll tell you about it another time." I see the shape of his head nod in acceptance. "I have another question though."

"Shoot."

"Where do you get all the paper?"

"Ah, well it's the nurses who bring them to me. They're kind enough to cut the paper for me and have even given me a box to put the finished ones in. Not that you can see it, mind you."

"What number are you on?"

I see Naruto's frame shake in silent laughter. "I'm gonna keep that one a secret. I'm not nearly far enough for me to boast about a number."

"Hm."

"Always the man with a million words, I see." He chuckles out. " Want to hear a story?"

I shrug. "You're gonna tell me anyway."

I know he's grinning. "Damn straight. Alright, well it goes like this..."

I lay back on my pillows, listening to the melodic sound of his voice, like swimming in warm honey. I close my eyes and let myself fall into the imagery his tale provides, escaping my waking nightmares. The worst was yet to come and how I wish I had known. I would have given up the world.

Time waits for no one,
So do you want to waste some time,
Alone tonight?
Don't be afraid of tomorrow,
Just take my hand, I'll make it feel so much better tonight...

Author's Note: Yes, I ended it there on purpose. I decided to cut this bitch of a story in half (thirds now). See what kind of response I get. Meh.

Constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks. :)