The stars looked strange, he saw that.
Usually, they just looked silver, but that night, they looked different. They were a pale yellow instead, sickly looking against the deep indigo sky. A few wispy clouds floated aimlessly, occasionally obscuring the perfectly round moon from view. The silvery blue moonlight cast shadows across the city below him, little bits of darkness trying to escape the city. He'd been told once that they were the dark sides of people, trying to escape from the burning light, hiding. He often thought he could hear them singing in eerie voices, calling out to him.
He smiled at the thought. Perhaps that meant that someone out there in the world cared for him just a little bit, even if they were only in his imagination.
A warm breeze blew through his unruly hair, brushing it away from his face. He smiled softly. It was a genuine smile, rare as it was. It felt nice, this wind, like gentle fingers stroking his head kindly. It was the first loving touch he'd felt in awhile, he liked it, even if it wasn't made by a real person. He could still…still pretend…
He closed his eyes sadly as the smile faded away, flitting out into the night. He wished briefly that he could cry then, let his emotions spill out and onto the warm stone that sat dead beneath him. But he knew, he knew he couldn't. He was foolish to even hope that he could. There were no more tears to cry, they had dried up inside him long ago. He was all cried out.
But then, there were many things he wished, many, many things, but they rarely came true. When they did though, he usually wished they hadn't. His wishes always brought such pain and heartache to himself and those around him. Though now, there was no one around him, they were so far away, and he doubted he still had a heart.
His life had become an empty one, cold and meaningless. He was lonely, without anyone who truly cared. Slowly though, slowly, he too had become just as empty as that life. His eyes wandered over the city below him, over the warm houses with loving parents and happy children sleeping quietly within them. He averted his eyes sharply after a few seconds, turning his gaze back upon the night sky. He knew he would not be returning to such a home that night.
He remembered the way the spoke to him, and the way they ignored him. How they whispered when he moved past them and how they turned away when he walked towards them. How they slammed the door in his face and snarled cruel words at him. He remembered how hard he had tried to make them see him, how he had smiled and opened his arms to them. And he remembered how they had run past him and pretended he was not here. He remembered their hate.
He felt cold as an unexpected chill of cold air raked over his skin and tugged at his hair. His teammates, that was what it reminded him of, the icy wind. They had stared at him with fearful eyes and pleading voices. But he had not listened, the pain they had caused him, his pain, it was too great, it was their own fault. He soothed himself with that thought. It was their fault he had killed them. They had not cared for him.
He could still hear their screams now.
With a silent sigh, he rose from is spot looking over the village. He would have to leave now, or they'd come after him, and he didn't feel like more killing that night. They would find his teammates bodies and attempt to stop him from leaving. This he knew, it was obvious.
Slowly, calmly, sadly, he left, leaving a trail of crimson blood that dripped slowly from his hands behind him. Just outside the village, he glanced back, thinking of what he could have had if only…if only…
And with that, he turned away, and Gaara of the Desert was gone.
The stars looked strange, he saw that.
Usually, they just looked silver, but that night, they looked different. They were a pale yellow instead, sickly looking against the deep indigo sky. A few wispy clouds floated aimlessly, occasionally obscuring the perfectly round moon from view. The silvery blue moonlight cast shadows across the city below him, little bits of darkness trying to escape the city. He'd been told once that they were the dark sides of people, trying to escape from the burning light, hiding. He often thought he could hear them singing in eerie voices, calling out to him.
He smiled at the thought. Perhaps that meant that someone out there in the world cared for him just a little bit, even if they were only in his imagination.
A warm breeze blew through his unruly hair, brushing it away from his face. He smiled softly. It was a genuine smile, rare as it was. It felt nice, this wind, like gentle fingers stroking his head kindly. It was the first loving touch he'd felt in awhile, he liked it, even if it wasn't made by a real person. He could still…still pretend…
He closed his eyes sadly as the smile faded away, flitting out into the night. He wished briefly that he could cry then, let his emotions spill out and onto the warm stone that sat dead beneath him. But he knew, he knew he couldn't. He was foolish to even hope that he could. There were no more tears to cry, they had dried up inside him long ago. He was all cried out.
But then, there were many things he wished, many, many things, but they rarely came true. When they did though, he usually wished they hadn't. His wishes always brought such pain and heartache to himself and those around him. Though now, there was no one around him, they were so far away, and he doubted he still had a heart.
His life had become an empty one, cold and meaningless. He was lonely, without anyone who truly cared. Slowly though, slowly, he too had become just as empty as that life. His eyes wandered over the city below him, over the warm houses with loving parents and happy children sleeping quietly within them. He averted his eyes sharply after a few seconds, turning his gaze back upon the night sky. He knew he would not be returning to such a home that night.
He remembered the way the spoke to him, and the way they ignored him. How they whispered when he moved past them and how they turned away when he walked towards them. How they slammed the door in his face and snarled cruel words at him. He remembered how hard he had tried to make them see him, how he had smiled and opened his arms to them. And he remembered how they had run past him and pretended he was not here. He remembered their hate.
He felt cold as an unexpected chill of cold air raked over his skin and tugged at his hair. His teammates, that was what it reminded him of, the icy wind. They had stared at him with fearful eyes and pleading voices. But he had not listened, the pain they had caused him, his pain, it was too great, it was their own fault. He soothed himself with that thought. It was their fault he had killed them. They had not cared for him.
He could still hear their screams now.
With a silent sigh, he rose from is spot looking over the village. He would have to leave now, or they'd come after him, and he didn't feel like more killing that night. They would find his teammates bodies and attempt to stop him from leaving. This he knew, it was obvious.
Slowly, calmly, sadly, he left, leaving a trail of crimson blood that dripped slowly from his hands behind him. Just outside the village, he glanced back, thinking of what he could have had if only…if only…
And with that, he turned away, and Uzamaki Naruto was gone.