I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him so much I want to hurt him, wound him, kill him. Does he know what it's like to be alone? Does he truly know? No. He never did, even when he thought he was alone he never was. Even if he didn't notice it, there were people there who backed him up. People who never did for me. People who stomped on me whilst feeding him so he grew to full potential. Like a rose. A rose in a bed of thorns. Everyone around him got put down for him. Just for him. Only for him. Why? What was so special about him? Sure he survived. The last one to do so, but what's so great about that? I was supposed to be the hero, not him. Why was he treated so much better than someone the Yondaime proclaimed to be a hero? Did they hate him so much that they went against his dying wish? Or is this village just so full of traitors. Traitors like him.
Blood dripped down the blade of a steadily-held katana, falling to the ground in soft splashes, turning the light soil dark. Too dark. Darker from the blood of people who shouldn't have died, people who wouldn't have died had it not been for him. Traitor.
I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him so much I hurt him, I wounded him and in the end I killed him. I killed him without remorse, without a second thought, without the emotions I so claimed to have for him. Friend. Brother. False names I gave to him, clinging to a memory I thought I could retrieve. I should have known, memories do not survive the force of time, only physical beings do. Somewhere along the way he lost his vindictive streak, and I remembered him only as a sparring partner and someone I could rely on, even if I didn't wish to at the time.
Now looking at his body I realize he was never my friend, never my brother. He failed. He never killed his brother. Neither of them. Perhaps one he was only aware of, but to me he was once a brother. He called me his best friend. He was the first to acknowledge me. The first to help me. The first to turn on me.
He never achieved his eyes. Never fulfilled his 'ambition' as he so called it. Never restored his clan. Never saw the sun set bloody red over an open expanse of battle field. Never saw the people who died fighting a loosing battle to save him. Never closed his eyes. I close them for him.
He looks strange and for a second I wish I hadn't done so, for now he looks nothing like the boy I once knew. None of the hatred is in his face, it's almost as though he were sleeping, his dark locks fanned out across a pillow of bloodied rock. Red isn't his colour. Sure, his eyes are red, but the blood doesn't suit him. Doesn't look right against his pale skin. For the first time since the battle began I lower the mask from my face and drop the sword to my side. My vision unhindered, I finally see him as he is. A lying, foul mouthed man. A shell of his former self. A failure.
A disgrace to the name of Uchiha.