I'll leave it up to your imaginations to think of what happened to him. I won't beg for reveiws, but I do apreciate them.
Blood splatters on the floor, an eye widens in shock.
He can feel the breath being driven out of him. He can feel the blood rising in his throat and threatening to choke him.
He can feel himself falling, falling. He can feel his vision blur. He can feel his limbs grow heavy. He can feel his heart rate slow.
He can feel his body hit the ground. He can feel the crimson leaking out of him. He can feel life slipping out of his reach. He can feel the pain.
He knows it is real.
A haze settles in his vision, blood oozes out of his open wound.
He can hear the rasping breaths he breathes. He can hear someone crying above him, desperately trying to feed chakra into him.
He can hear the sounds of footsteps. He can hear the frantic screaming echoing in the background. He can hear his wheezing breath.
He can hear his weak coughs. He can hear himself hitting the ground. He can hear his breath catching. He can hear a voice whispering in his ear ...let go…
He can hear his life fading. He can hear death calling him.
He knows it is real.
The world slips out from under him, he is numb.
He can see the world start spinning. He can see the ground rise up to meet him. He can see the concerned face of the healer.
He can see the blood spilling out of him. He can see almost nothing. He can see the shadows. He can see his world disappear.
He can see the others. He can see them reaching for him. He can see their faces, his lover, his father, his sensei, his best friend.
He can see reality falling to pieces. He can see his life draining away. He can see the end coming.
He knows it is real.
It is harder to breath, he takes his last breaths.
He can smell the death on his breath. He can smell the metallic scent of blood over powering, over whelming, everywhere.
He can smell the fear others have of losing him. He can smell the hospital on the medic above him, trying fruitlessly to save him.
He can smell them, their comforting scents, coming to take him away. He can smell the crimson, life giving liquids, on his sensitive nose, painting itself all over him.
He can smell suffocating, hot, stuffy air start to fade.
He knows it is real.
His eyes are heavy, the world is closing in.
He can taste the blood on his lips. He can taste the stale red liquids creeping up his throat. He can taste the goodbyes frozen on his lips.
He can taste their salty tears on his face. He can taste his last words never to be said. He can taste the reassuring words relenting to be pushed into his last moments.
He can taste death taking over his mind. He can taste his control withering away.
He knows it is real.
His last memories are the concerned faces above him, the hands reaching for him, he does not feel.
He can try to smile reassuringly. He can try to tell them it will be alright. He can try to give them one last lie, one last excuse. He can try to end his suffering and just let go already.
He can try to tell them not to blame themselves. He can try to hold off death for another moment. He can try to fight the surrounding darkness.
He can try to beg his ghosts for forgiveness. He can try to accept death. He can try to leave with some last advice, something to really pull their heartstrings.
He can try to make his sorry excuse for a life something worth remembering. He can try to pass on his legacy. He can try to ignore the darkness tugging at his mind.
He can try to fight his grip loosening. He can try to pretend he is not dying.
But he knows it is real.
He surrenders to the shadows, they enclose him greedily, and it takes the pain away.
He knows they are losing him. He knows they are crying. He knows he is dying. He knows this is it. He knows the agony of death is colored in his dying eyes.
He knows the pain of parting is laboring his breath. He knows the clock of life is limiting his time in the waking world. He knows he must let go.
He knows he can fight it no longer. He knows he is out of time. He knows that this is the last he will see of the ones above him for a long time.
He knows his strength is wavering. He knows that death will wait no longer. He knows they are calling for him as they grow farther and farther away.
He knows he is gone. He knows he is lost to them forever. He knows he is finally free.
He knows it is real.
His lifeless body sags, eyes above him widen in horror. …No… They are mourning for him. He is dead.
There is nothing anymore.
He knows it is real.