What ever happened to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain as he slowly fell apart.
Have
you ever been hit by a freight train?
Or thought about it at
least? Toyed with the
idea in the back of your mind? In lieu of
the
tangled mess your life has spun itself into. A
web made
out of chains. But with no lock, and
no key either for that
matter . You have to
have thought about it once or twice. What
if.
you chanced to tip toe across that track at the
crack of
dawn in the shadow of the night thats
been hanging over you for
some time now. What if
you danced down that metal line, feet
toeing
pebbles and cigarette butts offered up to the
soil to
be discarded, heard the shriek of the
train in the distance, felt
the Earth underneath
you shake like Armageddon was rolling in, saw
the body of that huge mechanic beast rumbling
towards
you...and decided not to move out of the
way?
I
promised myself that no matter how hard it got
I'd never do it. I
tell myself I've worked too
hard. That there are plenty of people
I can't
disappoint, and even one person I want to forget
One I
don't ever want to be compared to. I
promised myself I'd never
take my own life. But
sometimes like now, I think about some
promises
made to me over the years of my life, and how
most
of them were made and then broken.
This is where I end up
most nights. On my knees
in my bathroom. The tile floor is hard
and
unrelenting, even though I
AM
unstable and need something to be soft and
gentle for me. Somehow
I ended up shirtless.
Somehow the toilet bowl has become the only
shoulder I can lean on. My hands are shaking
gripping it's
porcelain curves, but I'm too
afraid to let go. Too afraid of
falling down
into the black of unconsciousness. Too afraid
of
losing myself to it. My stomach heaves and I
hear myself roar like
a monster. My chin kisses
the cool white of toilet seat and the
couple
bottles too many of sake I had, along with
every other
thing I've ever taken down in my
life comes streaming out of my
mouth. Dripping
down into the emotionless toilet bowl water.
Blurred now with my impurities. Staining my
chin. I'm
gasping. Dying. My stomach does
another 360. Even though I
thought there was no
more left in me, hot juices bubble up,
pressing
their want for freedom against the backs of my
teeth,
and force themselves out between my lips.
Down into the toilet
bowl. A few strings of
crimson mixed in. Well, what do you
know?
I want to get up, but the world is moving too
fast.
My whole body shakes, now. Like my skin is
full of bugs, flapping
their mutilated wings
with futile hopes of taking flight. I feel
like
someone cut me open and scraped out all my
insides. The
back of my throat is on fire.
The ghosts of bile and stomach
acids staining
my tongue. My vision is blurring, and I think
for
a minute that I really am going to fall out.
I sway, then grab the
toilet bowl again and
steady myself. Proving to some invisible
enemy
just how tough I am. Yeah, real tough.
I wipe my lips
with the back of my hand as best
I can, because its shaking like a
wet dog, and
it doesn't really feel like my hand anymore. It
has
a mind of its own, just keeps shaking,
doesn't listen to what I
say. Colors dance and
blend in front of my eyes. I want to cry.
But
shinobi don't do that. Instead I close the
toilet lid and
rest my throbbing head on the
white porcelain. Cold like cement
snow against
my face. My skin is on fire. I almost sob.
Gulp
instead. Pull in the ragged breaths of air that
try to
escape me. An oxygenated game of cat and
mouse.
I think
the waves of nausea are gone. For now.
The pain's not. But what
else is new? I try to
stand too fast and slip on my nonexistent
sobriety. My hand slams down into an empty
bottle of sake.
The one I downed(before it came
back up) and set by the toilet to
keep me
company. The bottle shatters all over my
hands,
toothpicks of glass popping blood vessels. I
feel the
pain, but only slightly. The buzz from
that faithful liquid hasn't
completely left me
yet. I'm careful though anyway when I push the
pile of crushed glass behind the trashcan like
I'm trying to
hide a stash of cocaine. I stand
up again. Slowly. Successfully.
And feel like a
child who's accomplished its first steps. I'm
to
afraid to look in the mirror. Sure that my
eyes are bloodshot.
Red and puffy. Not pretty.
I flush the last remnants of my
drunkenness down
the toilets, then turn on the sink. Want the
tap
to take my mind off things. Set the rhythm for
something
else. I wash the blood from my injured
hand, then pick all the
glass from my palm. Like
pulling teeth. Some shards are in deeper
than
others. But sake is the best anesthesia. Its
weird how I
don't feel a thing even as I slide
the tiny shards of glass out
of skin that
seperates to make way for it, and clingy cells
of
plasma. I feel nothing, but the woodpecker
thats thumping out a
merry tune between my eyes.
Prelude to a hangover. The wound isn't
really
serious. Once the glass is all gone its just a
labyrinth
of little white zig zags of
interrupted flesh. Those kinds of
wounds heal. I
wash my face, trying to wake me up some. Dip
my
hands down in the running tap water and bring it
up to my
skin. As if it could make me clean.
"Pull yourself
together, Hatake." The man who
speaks sounds nothing like
me. My eyes catch
sight reluctantly of the mirror, and I know
before I dare a glance that the face looking back
at me isn't
mine. Its Sukomu Hatake instead. The
sight of him should make me
jump out of my skin.
Nothing scares me much anymore. He comes
around
alot, though only when I'm like this. Half-sober.
HURTING
He smiles at me, though kind of sadly like a
yellowed photograph.
"You're just like me, son."
Nope. I put my injured palm
across his brow and
smear fog across the mirror. When I move my
hand
away he's gone. And so is most of the buzz. Now
I'm just
empty. Flat. I feel the sunlight behind
the curtains in the
bathroom window. Young and
just beginning.
I take a
shower. Closing my eyes. Dreaming.
Thinking. 'Copy-cat ninja.'
'Great Jonin.'
'Kakashi's something special.' 'He's really
something else.' I wonder what they'd think if
they could see
me now. 'He's going to turn out
just like his father, Konoha's
legendary white
fang'. Thats my darkest nightmare. If only
they
knew how much I think about it. Think about there
ever
being one thing that could drive me to the
edge of a blade pressed
against my stomach.
Therapeutic. And final.
If I could,
I'd be someone different. Very
different. With different thoughts
and different
actions. Not someone who has to hide behind
an
apathetic mask. Lazy eyed and smooth mannered,
because
inside I'm disheveled and falling apart.
Yeah who would've
thought?
I get dressed. I'm all the way sober, now.
Feeling
like I fell off Cloud 9 and hit the
ground way too hard. My
hand's starting to burn.
I wrap it up, put my glove over the wound
and
ignore the pain. Showtime. I grab some toast out
of my
fridge on the way out, and shovel it in my
mouth. Even though my
gums feel like clumps of
sand molded around dry bone teeth, and my
tongue
feels like thick alligator skin. Like I'm going
kneel
down and start upchucking again, any minute
now.
A picture
of me, Obito, Ren, and Yondaime
Namikaze, sitting on my living
room table gawks
at me as I make my way out the door. I turn
it
facedown when I pass by, because I don't want
Obito looking
at me and what I am, now.
He's waiting for me when I get
to the Memorial
Monument though. They all are. I can't tell
just
how disappointed in me they are. I talk to them,
but they
don't have a lot to say back. May'be
a few years ago I was someone
Obito could've been
proud of. But yesterday is a kid in a corner.
Alone and abandoned and that likeable innocent
Kakashi Hatake
was buried the same day as Obito.
I'm someone much different, now.
I feel like we
should switch places. Me and Obito. If the best
I
can ever do is live up to the shreds of a
legacy my father left
behind, then it'd be better
off that way.
"There you
are, Kakashi-sensai! We've been waiting
around for you for hours!
What are you doing
here?!" One quick glance over my shoulder
tells
me that my team has discovered my sanctuary. I
curse
underneath my breath and can almost hear
Obito's disappointed
tsk-tsk in the way the wind
whips the leaves off the trees. Life's
too
complex to really complain about I guess.
"Kakashi-sensai?!"
They're right next to me now,
but its fine. I turn around to greet
them,
because I have my mask up now. And not just the
one that
I wear.
THE END
I had a blast putting this together! Hoped that everybody liked it. Please rate and message me about it! I just thought there should be something more to Kakashi considering his past. And I thought it'd be interesting to...illustrate the person behind the mask this way. Well tell me what you think! More one shots coming up! .