Title: Withering
Rating: T, for themes
Summary: It is winter and spring will never come
It is winter and she speaks in metaphors.
His eyes are cold and icy- black diamonds that glitter beneath the too pale sky. The world is awash with more diamonds.
How can a sun that offers so little warmth make everything so bright, shiny, fake?
The world is a talking doll with a plastic, painted smile still in its protective covering. Someone has spilled red nail polish across the box it hides in.
She breaks the glass frame that stupid once upon a time never again picture is in, and burns it in the flames he once controlled.
Sakura gets a sick pleasure out of the way the corners curl and their faces turn to grey ash. It is a picture of long agos and spring, and it will never happen again.
There is no return to a time when she might have been happy.
The Prince of Ice returns in his season, laying waste to what used to be, could have been, his home. They lie in the not so white snow, every one she used to love, lifeless shells that should have had more.
It is only a matter of time until she herself is a wax figure, frozen in the ice until the far off spring arrives, if it ever will.
Konoha is inside a child's snow globe, the glass dome filtering the sun, which can no longer sustain life. After he comes, there is no life to sustain.
She sees the river of blood tracing its way down the street, joined by a thousand tributaries, each from a civilian, still in the positions they landed in after being cut down.
It is he, of course, that slices her abdomen open. Her pale, red stained hands automatically cover the wound, but she is a medic- she knows when there is no more that can be done.
No hope in her, no hope for her. None for her town, her people, her friends, her love.
It is fitting, she muses, not quite gone yet. He killed her spirit long ago, when he left, broke the bonds. It is appropriate that he is the one who kills her body now, who stops her heart's beats. And they slowing, nearly gone as he returns, carrying the head of her, and once his, best friend. She cannot care, cannot bring up the misery she should. She will be with him in a few seconds.
"It's over." Sasuke tells her, viciously, triumphantly.
It's never over, she wants to say, but it is. There is nothing left, fire eating up the snow globe town, burning ashes looking almost like the snow the mingled with.
And so she agrees with him.
He has won, and it does not matter. She is a rose withering away from the coldness of hatred.
It is winter, and spring will never come.
Admittedly this was a bit odd, especially considering the season, but angst happens. So make it a good Christmas/whatever other holdiays people celebrate, and leave me a review.
Next up is a oneshot Christmas piece for Greek