I feel empty.

Though I may be beheld as an artist, I can be discerned as a genius. After all, it takes a special kind of person to master my technique. Someone with a perpetual mind stuck in the bliss of nowhere. A mind that is not withheld by any boundaries, whose owner allows for it to concoct any miniscule idea and magnify it once it is birthed in the world of the living.

Maybe he didn't recognize that.

Why should he?

He never recognized true art anyway.

And now here I am. Slumped in near defeat at the lustful revenge of this Uchiha child's hands. He tried to get me to talk-about Itachi-for the duration of the battle. Hunh. His thick-headedness does not peeve me as much as his unappreciacion for my art. He's just like him-no, worse. I shouldn't blemish my dear danna's name with this worthless piece of rubbish. He does not appreciate lest know about art, weather it be true art or not.

Foolish child. You will die before your time.

He did not care about my art. The though drives me to the edge of my mind, and the camouflaged calculation to win this alive becomes mutilated. He does not deserve to live. He does not deserve to fight Itachi-sama. If his low-brow inferior mind can't contemplate my blatant artistic genius, then maybe I ought to explain it a little clearer.

The concealed mouth on my chest fidgets in anticipation. Confusion and a dull awareness sets into his eyes as I rip the strings from my chest. I glance at him, and being to laugh. He thinks that he knows what is about to happen. He know I am up to something. Something big. Something shocking. Something explosive.

A little hint to him wouldn't hurt, but that would ruin the fun. I can not stop laughing because of him. Sealed lines filled with the most unstable and reactive powder known in all of the five great nations surface onto my skin, still connected deep within. They consume my body at a rapid pace, swallowing my being whole. By now, my hair and teeth are the only visiblepart of me, being flagrant in contrast to the apparent darkness of my demise.

His eyes are wide as the sun, and I swear I saw him twitch. His fate awaits him. His fate to die seeing the most spectacular work of art that is ever created. I think he will understand then, the dawning of realization bringing regret and tears the moment before he is obliterated, graced to be apart of the phenomenal spectacle and being punished through it for his insolence.

Atleast I hope.

The moments tick closer and closer. Too slow. The realization is starting to slip.

I can see the cringe of fear and destruction to come behind Tobi's mask. He must've called out my name, it seems like something he would do. But I would not have been able to hear it through the roar of my own laughter and the calling of the death gods in my ears. I have one foot in each world.

Is there a way to save a soul before it is banished?

A burning sensation.

Those eyes…

Those eyes that look down upon me.

Those eyes that do not appreciate my art.

Those eyes that reject my art.

Those eyes that ignore my creations.

I'm sick of them.

I'm sick of those eyes.

Those unworthy eyes.

…

Those eyes shall see no more.

I lower my head slightly, eyes close, chuckling to the little inside joke. I raise my head suddenly, a ring of laugher. "This blast will cover over 10 kilometers, YOU WILL NEVER SURVIVE, UN!" I crow with my insanity-stricken face. My mind is wandering wherever it wants to now. It can do what it pleases. I am entering the other world now, death taking me before the impact. Death knows well. He must have known too.

Like true art

"NOW SHOW ME YOUR FEAR!"

I will die

"Drown yourself in awe…and despair!"

with no regret

"Cry like a lost child!"

in a masterpiece of death

"Because my art…"

fleeing this world

"IS A BANG!"

just as Sasori-danna did.

This is my second serious fanfiction. I hoped that I did well with Deidara's point of view. I would love to hear what people think of this.

Deidara is owned by Masashi Kishimoto.

Owari.