The wish of a dying man
Remaining guilt
He stood there, on the top of the Shodaime statue, overlooking the destroyed area. One of the greatest fights had occurred here not long ago. The shattered walls related a war between two boys; two friends; two brothers in harms. Only the waterfall subsisted, untouched by the events. Rain had washed away the blood, the memories, the dust of a broken friendship, but not the guilt.
The guilt remained in his heart, a gaping hole in his soul. He had been brought here by selfish desires. He had run here to fulfill his promises. He hadn't thought about others, about himself, about death. Reality had slapped him hard. Life was a bitch!
So many people could have died on this retrieval mission. So many had really lost their lives for an avenger depraved of remorse.
He had succeeded, but at what cost! Three promising genins nearly died. One did. The body was walking; yes, the body had retrieved that kicking and screaming bastard; yes, he had been treated for severe injuries, but no, he hadn't survived. A soulless shell, a walking corpse was the memento of a mission which would have never occurred if only stupid dreams hadn't kicked in the decision.
The wind ruffled his trench coat. For the first time in his life, he was glad to be alone. Turning his back to the civilization, he allowed himself to cry. Tears rolled on his swollen cheeks, calming his soul. However, it didn't wash away the culpability.
The Valley of the End, ironic, wasn't it? It had been his end; no dreams; no friends; no future; no home; no one to care for him; no identity. He didn't feel angry; it had been his choice to do so, to cut the bonds he had created.
Bonds. He should have listened to the teme when he had said that were bonds that created pain. We suffered because of our bonds. In a sense it was true, but that was only half of it; for each pain there was joy. He had forgotten about that in his power lust. Bonds brought strength, sentiments and home. Where your bonds laid you would find a home.
Home. For some it's only a roof. For others it's a place where someone greeted you, a place that when you returned maid you say taidama. For him, home was everywhere where someone would warmly smile at him.
He bitterly laughed. He had thrown aside everything to bring HOME a deserter. Now it was him the coward. He had failed everything. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be the greatest, the bearer of the will of fire. Yet he had run away. "Ningen nante taishita mon ja naisa, it appears so, ne?" (Humans aren't all that great.)
He carefully led his way down the cliff. He took a kunai from his hustler and graved in the rocks the truth. "There died Uzumaki Naruto and Kyubi, the nine-tailed demon, ninja from the leaf." He cut his palm and applied his hand on the left side of the tombstone inscription. On the right he drew a fox paw.
Without turning back he walked away. He didn't know where he was leading, it didn't matter for him. What he wanted at this moment was to deal with his decision, hopping the guilt would disappear.
He clutched his side, soon deep scars would surface. He knew he had sealed his fate when he went to Danzou. He knew the gaping hole would only go wider. He knew he wouldn't pass the twenties. He knew all the consequences, yet he was peaceful.
If only he had known where the guilt came from.