A/N: Takes place during the fight between Sasuke and Naruto when Sasuke leaves to join Orochimaru. Some details may be off because it's been a while since I read that part.

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It seems, sometimes, that people are beautiful.

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The first blow was like a kiss--soft and tender as a breath as it whistled past him. The second was hard and desperate as he doubled over, gasping.

Then they came, like a soft summer rain, one after another and as sharp as hail.

That was when the metaphors ended, because he wanted to kill.

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In the world there is a strange fascination with the art of warfare. That is caused by man's predilection to consider an art--because, like a painting, it is fascinating, enticing, and creates power.

Man is fascinated with power.

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He had thought Itachi was beautiful.

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The pursuit of power.

It is one of man's favorite pastimes, in any form. It is what sets man apart from other creatures, that universal willingness to strive endlessly for it, for that single, fleeting taste. That willingness to cross any boundary. The willingness to kill.

Anyone.

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It seemed to him, that nothing had ever shone with as much clarity as it did at that time. The outlines of the world were sharper, more defined, and the contrast of the colors was sharp and strong. He was the blur, a shapeless mass that soiled the landscape with his shapelessness. He wanted to stop, to be still, but Naruto would not cease, like a gnat, an irritation that would not be deterred.

And it hurt inside his head, because Naruto was screaming like a child and he wasn't sure if it was out loud. He wanted to sink into the water and dissolve and stream away.

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He thought Sakura was beautiful.

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The pursuit of power is not limited to the male sex; the female is often fiercer than her mate. But she will stay home, make that sacrifice, because of what she chooses to fight for. The pursuit of power is not limited to acts of violence. It is surprising the lengths of sacrifice to which one will go for that brief taste of power, of strength.

The power to make choices.

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Yes.

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He pulled himself towards Naruto, raised himself up and stared, past the sweat-matted hair and the blood and bruises. In the dead air his breathing was the scrape of sandpaper, loud and grating.

beautiful?

The breath between them, that gentle kiss of air, that tender promise, could have stretched miles.

People aren't beautiful. People are ugly.

Life is beautiful.