Gravedigger
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There once lived a boy…in a happy, small sort of quaint castle. In this castle there had been a king who was a hollowed out man made of discipline and high expectations. Beside the king, seated in a smaller throne there had been a queen without a face of her own; washed away by too many people in the castle. Standing between the king and queen, there was a prince with a hole in his chest. Seated on the queen's lap was a boy with a smile and adoring dark eyes that darted between his brother and mother.
His mother had been beautiful, young and kind who smiled and pinched his cheeks and fed him seasoned tomatoes. She talked to his older brother quite a bit, who only nodded, answered her questions or stared at her while she spoke. She talked to his father with short small talk and walked away sometimes. She talked to him a lot though; he was her baby. To be coddled and he'd listen to her telling stories; thunder that sang like a songbird and black lace made from spiders.
He remembered things about her.
When she was thinking hard about something, or deciding something, she would look away, out a window or into a mirror into the looking glass and tuck dark hair behind her ear. When she burned her finger, she waited until she was done cooking before washing her burnt appendage under cold water. She liked to walk out in the storms, to the porch and stare out into the dark clouds with her hands clasped as though praying for something that was too high for her to reach. Her eyes were black, like the warm darkness of the night and she always looked like she was prepared to have her heart ripped out.
His father had been a strong jawed soldier with an eye for discipline and talent. He glared down at Sasuke with dark eyes, and looked past him to Itachi who wanted none of his father's attention. He talked to Itachi too much, who made his point known by ending the conversation quickly and locked himself in his room. He talked to his wife who clasped her hands in prayer when he told her to raise Sasuke better and not coddle him. He told Sasuke to improve; he told him there was no room in the Uchiha clan for weakness.
He remembered things about him.
When his father was disappointed in him, or his mother, or Itachi, his jaw would clench and twitch and he would walk away only to come back later and lecture them. When he came home wounded, he didn't order his wife to dress his wound, he went into a dark corner to dress them himself like an old injured tiger. He liked to train with Itachi and see how much of genius his son was, and to see when his wife wasn't babying Sasuke though her face always crumbled when she held herself back from doing so. His father's eyes were dark, like water on black ashes and he looked like an old tiger, always.
His brother was a mythical creature; like a black unicorn or a silver dragon because he could not be comprehended, because he was not human like other people, because…he was a legend that would never die. He smirked down at Sasuke and use his finger poking technique to nail his brother in the middle of his forehead. He never initiated conversation with his father, avoided talking to him altogether, and he talked to Sasuke even if he was as silent as a dead person. He never really talked to his mother, but sat with her in companionable silence when she went outside to watch the storms.
Sasuke never forgot things about him.
When Itachi was angry, he never showed it but his presence was this huge mammoth of a dark shadow. Had no shape, form or visibility like a phantom, like Itachi himself but was there like a poltergeist. When Itachi was hurt from his missions, his mother was there somehow, someway, and was already fussing over him. He let her. He liked dango, preferably fresh, and always ate a plate of the sweet doughy treats covered with syrup. He liked to read old texts for hours, bent over crumply scrolls. His eyes were dark, all encompassing like black water and he always looked like a shadow preparing to leave its origin.
All of what he'd known vanished beneath puddles of blood.
The last person within the frame was a boy who cried and screamed why they'd taken his family and why his brother had been the one to do it. He was angry at this person he called brother, confused why his brother had done such a thing and grief.
His mother and father's graves were side by side but not close, as they had been in life.
He didn't think of avenging them immediately.
Sasuke had thought of cleaning the dead leaves, the dirt and dust and brushing off the insects that crawled over their flat tombstones. He thought of sitting at his father's tomb with his legs folded beneath him, burning a red candle on his tomb and lighting strong incense that made his nose burn and eyes water. He promised him not revenge, but to be a better son than his eldest.
Sasuke had thought of kneeling before his mother's tombstone, setting down a delicate porcelain cup filled with chamomile tea, scattering the rose blossoms from his mother's garden on her grave. He thought of clasping his hands together like his mother had done and promising her not revenge, but to be a better son.
He remembered when he'd done that. Cared for the graves that, as the years went by, became soiled with dirt, worn down, without offerings or visits of their youngest son.
Sasuke had been nine when he stopped caring for their graves, stopped promising to be a better son than their eldest and had instead promised himself vengeance for his lost family and life.
He was now twelve, a pack on his back and a cursed seal mark on his shoulder that burned. He was going with Orochimaru to become powerful and kill his brother. He was twelve, with a pack on his back and light rain down his collar and shirt when he stood over his parents' graves. He was twelve when he brushed the wet soil from their tombstones and shooed away the dead leaves, bugs and small rocks from their graves. He was twelve when he lit a red candle on his father's grave and fired up incense that burned his nose and made his eyes water. He promised his father revenge.
He was twelve when he kneeled before his mother's grave, and set down an old fragile cup full of hot tea and scattered rose petals that he had bought at a flower shop since he'd allowed his mother's garden to shrivel and starve without love. He clasped his hands together as though in prayer and promised her revenge.
He was twelve when he left the red candle flickering in the rain and the incense that slowly snuffed out. He was twelve when he left the cup there to gather rainwater that cooled the hot tea and left the petals to be bruised and drowned on his mother's grave.
His eyes were dark, like hate and dead ashes, like warm darkness and black water. His eyes were the color of dead roses, left to starve without love. He always looked as though he was prepared to disappear like a shadow from its origin, like he was prepared to have his heart ripped out, like he was a dying tiger.
When he thought hard about something, he would gaze off, far from this place into another plane of existence. When he was disappointed, his jaw would tighten and the muscles would twitch. When he was angry, his presence was mammoth in size and a deep breathing thing that spooked others.
He liked to watch storms, watch the clouds darken and the thunder sing like a songbird. He liked to train himself to exhaustion. He liked to read old texts, scrolls of information.
His eyes once had been dark like coal before it was burned to death. He used to look as though he was a boy with dreams and hopes great in expectation. He used to smile when he was happy and laugh when he was very happy. He had always begged his mother to make him grilled seasoned tomatoes before. He used to like to help his mother garden, used to like to watch Itachi tell him about his missions and he used to like his father to tell him to improve, that he could.
He was still human too, but who he once was buried in a shallowly dug grave next to his parents.
Sasuke remembered who he once was and he always would.
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…Yeah…came out when I was listening to Dave Matthews 'Gravedigger'…-coughs- review!