Title: Finally Alive
Rating: K+
Type: Canon-esque (During Gaara's childhood)
Status: Complete
Word Count: 675
Disclaimer: I own the plot, nothing more
Summary: Their unabashed disdain created what they feared the most. Gaara.
...
The children had run away from him. They called him a monster. But he couldn't understand.
Why?
Why was he a monster?
Trembling he put his fist to his mouth and bit down.
Everyone avoided him. They stared at him. They mocked him.
Sitting beneath the playground slide, Gaara choked on a sob as he remembered the rocks thrown at him.
Why did they hate him?
His breathing hitched again as his throat constricted. It was getting so hard to breathe. It hurt. His throat, his chest, and his eyes they all burned.
No one would help him. Not even Temari.
When he saw her and cried out for her help she just turned away. She didn't care. Why didn't she care?
A strangled noise came out of his throat.
He just…
He just…
He needed someone! He wanted to hold onto someone. He wanted to feel safe, feel loved.
He had to hold onto himself as he rocked himself in a poor semblance of comfort. He needed to feel and hold onto something otherwise he'd just fall apart. He could feel it, as if he was being ripped apart piece by piece from the inside out.
Evil they cried.
Monster they whispered.
Demon they spat.
The tears started to form and his eyes stung. Breathing became even harder. It felt like someone was trying to choke him.
He should just be killed.
His arms shook as he tried to hold his knees in tight.
Just DIE.
And his tears were scorching his cheeks. It was too much. Coughing and wheezing were the only way to get air. His lungs were being squeezed too tightly. His head hurt so much. He was seeing splotches of black as the world swam before his eyes.
They hated him.
But he never did anything.
They want him dead.
But he didn't know why.
He pulled harshly on his hair. It helped a little. The pain distracted him a bit. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He was never enough.
Wet from sweat he began to shiver. The wind was blowing and his skin became goose flesh.
He had to hold onto his hair. He needed… something to ground him.
If he didn't, he'd waste away.
…And no one would care.
If he died …those people would be happy. He did not want them to be happy.
If he was in pain so should they.
If he couldn't be happy then neither could they.
Yes.
He would use his sand.
And he would hurt them. Make them feel the blinding pain he was in. He wanted their tears, their screams.
No one would be safe. No one would be happy.
No one.
A noise in a bush nearby mandated his sand to seek and destroy. And it did. He heard the screams. He could feel the bones crunching and splintering through his sand.
He smiled as he was splattered by blood.
The warmth that thickly slipped down his brow was so warm.
So comforting.
This must be what touch felt like.
This was what it meant to feel alive.
If he killed them, he would feel the comfort of their blood.
It was almost as if…
As if…
He sucked in a deep alarming breath as his eyes widened in wonder.
As if they were meant to die so he could live.
Yes.
It was obvious.
Why else would they be so frail? Why else would they have feared him from the beginning? They had known! It's just that he hadn't realized until now.
It was so simple!
Breathing deeply he could feel the pressure leave him as bliss set in.
Yes.
OH YES! A new voice confirmed.
He felt so light and yet he was bursting, so entirely overwhelmed by delight. The air was fresh and crisp and decadent as he breathed in anew and he couldn't stop the fanatic laughter that exuded his elation and overtook him entirely.
It was the most delicious feeling.
Smiling with blood splattered teeth Gaara realized he was finally alive.
…
