A/N:???? I was walking home from school… things popped into my mind… I've been having recurring dreams about blood… fun shit eh?
This is stupid… it's sort of… a… half… character analysis… thing? This is so insanely stupid… NaruGaa if you squint… which is how stupid this is… I HATE that pairing… ack… slaps head for even writing this
… I have no idea… JUST FREAKIN' REVIEW!!!
Paint it red
When Gaara was a toddler, he found his sand particularly entertaining- as most toddlers would- if they were him. He used to play in his little fortress of imagination- alone, of course. Nobody else saw fit to play with him…
We could have so much fun with the others… don't you want to have friends?
Occasionally, when he was old enough to understand, he would hear the whispers of a voice that didn't belong to him. When he was old enough to be sceptical, he wondered if it was Yashamaru pulling some silly trick on him. When he was old enough to realize that he was the only person who could hear it, he began to feel afraid- and, as a result, began to ignore the little whispers, began to ignore what he thought was his imagination.
But didn't we have fun? Don't you miss our little world? Don't you miss me?
He found these whispers thoroughly confusing:
'Didn't you want to play with others?'
We do want to play with others!
When Gaara was a small child, not long after Yashamaru…
But let's not talk about him; you don't want to remember that, do you?
When Gaara was a small child, not long after his sixth year, he began to take an interest in art; abstract, in particular. He once saw a piece made entirely of red sand… he remembered thinking: 'art? Really?' at the mere age of seven he had giggled at the irony… red was for blood.
Red sand. What a lovely colour! Oh, paint it red, Gaara, paint it red!
'But- red means blood! I don't want there to be any more blood…'
Red means love! Don't you want to be loved? Oh, paint me red, Gaara, paint me red!
He made the connection with red- with blood- with love.
And oh, there was so much love!
A demon's mind or child's logic, he did not know; but from then; the connection was there, ingrained in his memory for years to come. His idealistic view of the connection wore away soon enough; he no longer was fond of red…
But the sand looks so much prettier when it's red! Don't you want to be pretty?
'And pretty people are loved, aren't they?'
-and I love you! I always will. With eyes like jade stone, with hair like blood- like red! And you make others pretty, too!
He saw others that he thought were ugly.
'Why were they loved?'
Why do you care? We made them so pretty! We made them deserve! Oh, paint them red, Gaara, paint them red!
'And then- and then I was bleeding too…'
Look who's made us pretty! We're so pretty now!
'He made me understand…'
Oh, paint us red, friend, paint us red!
'Did I ever really get better?'