Author's Note: {So... my first attempt at a non-one-shot Naruto fanfic. And hopefully to be my first completed non-one-shot. :D One can only hope. XD That being said, I hope you all enjoy it. And that it's not too over-used a plot, or too OOC, or too poorly written. x.x Yeah, I have doubts about my abilities sometimes. XD I'm always afraid I'll end up being OOC or something. So please, if I am, tell me. I'll do my best to fix it. Or if there's any other problem you have, then don't be afraid to tell me. I'm an extremely inexperienced fanfic writer, it'd benefit me greatly if I had some constructive criticism. :3 And you won't be hated at all for your opinion. So, feel free to flame, worship, whatever! Just as long as it's your true opinion about my writing, ect, and not just based on the fact that it's about Gaara and/or Lee. So yeah. End mini rant thing now. XD
Oh! And if you get any plot ideas while reading, don't be afraid to share! If I think it's a good one, and I use it, I'll credit you! :3 YAY~
Read, Favorite, Review, Critique. Whichever you want. :3 Just as long as you ENJOY~}
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Gaara remembered those years up to the chunin exams as nothing more then a blur of agonized faces and a sea of spilled blood. That had been his purpose then: to kill, to soak his sand in the crimson life's liquid of his victims in order to prove his existence. It was nothing personal against those he murdered. Oh no, it was merely his reason for living, his answer to the question of why he still breathed and his mother did not. It was how he survived each day, and night, alone. Without the love of friends, without the love of family. Without a mother...
That is, until him...
It had begun just like any other fight. Confidence had emitted from the green-clad ninja almost like it were a sort of cologne he wore. Despite this, his attacks had fallen ineffectively against Gaara's sand barrier. Yet, this one didn't give up, nor did he seem very fazed by his failure. Instead, he continued to persist, with growing fervor, until the impossible happened.
Gaara had been hit. Gaara, who had never suffered an injury before, not even by his own hands, had been hit.
It had been a monumental moment. One that had snapped the redhead out of his almost mindless routine and caused a spark of passion in his chest. This weird looking boy would be a challenge; one which he may, for once, truly enjoy crushing. Along with anticipation came a slight slip of control. As his sand armor was cracked, and began to crumble and fall off onto the ground, he let all those watching see beneath the surface. His normally static face was twisted into a rare reflection of his inner thoughts-- for once his outer appearance mirrored the insanity within. He could feel all the spectators shiver in fear; the air was tense with it.
He had to actually fight, actually struggle to win. It was... delightful. A strange sort of glee filled him, and the feeling was alien to him, yet, in a way, refreshing. He had never felt so alive. His mouth was watering as the fight finally drew to a close and his sand wrapped itself around his opponent's worn out limbs. Something within him growled in satisfaction as the Konoha ninja's blood flowed. A wicked sneer stretched his face as he clawed the air in a final move that would end it all.
But it was a move that never came...
His eyes widened in shock. For a moment, he had thought that the defeated leaf ninja had rose up and deflected his attack... But, no. It was his sensei; the two were so alike in mannerisms and style that Gaara's eyes had mistaken them. A hand shot up to his head as a flood of memories, emotion, and confusion slammed into his mind.
Back then, he hadn't understood why Gai had stood in his way. Relationships, like so many other things involving emotions, were foreign and confusing to him. He just couldn't understand. It wasn't until his Naruto-induced wake up call that he could even begin to comprehend the reasons behind Gai's actions. But even with the partial understanding that he had now, he knew the result back then wouldn't have changed.
A feeling of possession had crept into Gaara's mind after his victory, his kill, had been taken from him. Though he had officially won the match, it wasn't enough for him. His sand had been fed a taste of blood, but then denied the full meal. And it annoyed him. The large browed boy began to plague his thoughts, infect his mind. It had become so bad that the redhead had actually gone out of his way to try to kill him.
It had become an obsession. One that should have perhaps faded with his possession of a new perspective on life.