Disclaimer: Naruto and the Naruto characters belong to Kishimoto
A/N: This fanfiction is written for a Gaara fanfiction contest on Facebook. I must say it was hard to come up with anything since Gaara is not the character I prefer to write about.
Umm... if any warnings are needed it must be for blood, death, slight insanity and other things associated with the young Gaara and his tendencies to kill people for the mere reason of feeling alive.
Gaara looked up from the bed he was lying on. In his hands held over his head, he was holding a photo of his mother. Pain and hatred overtook him and the sand soon enveloped the framed photo to protect the young boy from the hurtful view of the woman who gave life to him, with the wish of letting him be hated, letting him suffer and carry on the grudge she held, against those who sacrificed her for experiments.
I'm not wanted.
A sharp noise was heard, together with a scream of agony from the red haired boy, when the frame together with the photo was crushed into a thousand small pieces and sent fractions of glass in all directions. The sand had protected Gaara against the dangerous small shards and the pieces of paper from the destroyed photo were slowly falling to the floor.
I'm not wanted.
A pain gathered in the little boy's chest. It felt like a knot that was tied way too tight around his heart, and the more he struggled to forget it, the more he struggled to free his heart from the tightening knot, the more the knot tightened around it. He grabbed the hurting spot tightly in his fist and squeezed it hard to make the pain go away.
I'm not wanted.
Gaara sat up in the bed, as the memory of the death of the only person he had thought loved him, replayed itself in his mind. The things he had been told. These things that that person had seemed to protect him against. Hatred. He was never loved. Not by Yashamaru, not by his mother, and not by his father, or any of his elder siblings. He would forever be hated and feared by everyone. He was the jinchuuriki, the human vessel for the monster, Shukaku, and that was a fact he was unable to change. Just like the hate was unchangeable.
The pain in his chest grew stronger and stronger for each moment that passed, for each breath he took, for each beat his heart made.
I'm not wanted.
Numbness started to spread throughout the body of the young jinchuuriki, as the feeling of worthlessness came to his mind. Nobody wanted him, nobody cared about him. If he ceased to exist, would his own father, the Kazekage, even notice? Wouldn't he just be doing everyone a favor by disappearing? He had seen how everyone sent hateful glances after him, he had felt their piercing glares that accused him, personally, for all the sins committed by the ichibi sealed within him.
Guilt was the next feeling to consume him. He was a murderer. A monster that could not control itself. He had attacked the other kids, only because he wanted to play with them. It had been an accident caused by his need to be acknowledged. He had killed an unfortunate passer-by, who happened to cross roads with him at a bad time. And even worse, he had killed the man who, despite his hate for him, had been the only one who took care of him, protected him, acted like a friend to him, taught him about love. The love Gaara no longer was oblivious to his lack of. His pain could only be cured by the love received from another person. That love, he would never receive from anyone, thus he would never be cured.
I'm not wanted.
He needed to feel alive. He needed to acknowledge his own existence. He needed to know he was not powerless against the hate aimed at him. He would show everyone that he did not deserve their hate, that they were not worthy of hating him. Gaara got up from the bed and attempted to walk slowly to the door of his room. He would not allow any of the feelings raging in his interior to affect him. But slowly, as he moved down the hallway, everything started to overwhelm him, and as the pace of his heart increased, his steps did as well, until the point where he was almost running down the hallway. He needed to get away, needed to flee. From what, he did not know, but escape was the only thing he could think of as he made it out of his home and into the street. He did not stop here though. His feet kept him going, and carried him a few more streets away, before they decided he had gone far enough, and let the young boy rest. Gaara looked around in the almost ghostly streets, lit up by the moon. He backed into one of the alleyways, and let himself dump to the ground, and comfortably leaned against the cold stone wall.
Some time passed before a man walked by the alleyway. As he passed by Gaara, he sent a cold glare down at the young jinchuursiki boy, who returned the glare just as coldly. With a swift movement of his hand, the sand, that covered the ground everywhere in Suna, had enclosed the passer-by completely, and carried him into the alleyway, where Gaara slowly tightened his fist. He could feel how the sand tightened around his prey as he did so, and he enjoyed it. This is reality, he thought to himself. This is my power. He could feel the man struggle from within his coffin of sand, as if Gaara was actually holding him in his own palm. The red haired boy squeezed his hand carefully, watching the sand follow the movement of his hand, an evil grin playing on his lips. This is my pain. This is the pain you put me through, let me live through every second of my life. "Feel it!" Gaara whispered aloud, as he clenched his fist hard around his prey, watching his blood slowly seep out from within his sand coffin, before it splashed all over the walls in the alleyway and himself. A certain satisfaction spread throughout Gaara's body as he leaned his head back against the wall, not caring about the bloodbath he had left around him and on his body.
I'm not wanted.
The thought had a whole new meaning to it now. If he was not wanted, then he certainly did not want them either. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone but himself. With his mind settled, he got up from his seat on the ground, and, satisfied, walked home. An inner peace had filled him, if not lasting, then at least for a couple of days.
He had barely entered the house before he saw his elder sister, Temari, only a few meters ahead of him. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she turned around. All the blood left her face, she turned completely pale and a horror-stricken expression took over her features.
"What have you done?" The young girl's voice was barely more than a trembling whisper, as she saw her little brother soaked in blood.
"I have simply felt my existence," the younger of the two answered her, in a calm, almost cheerful, voice, as he passed close by her, and continued to his room.
This is my existence.
A/N: So what do you think? Please review, it's the only way I can improve c:
Thanks for reading.