Memories
Memories, memories, memories
Sasuke's first childhood memory is of Itachi—the strong hands that picked him up off the dirt and brushed the dust off his knees and lifted him up onto that firm back, the bony neck that he had wrapped his tiny arms around and the bump each vertebrae on the back of his brother's neck. Sasuke remembers how his brother's hair would softly brush against his cheek with each step his brother took. He distinctly remembers his two-year-old self screwing his eyes up tightly, burning this experience into his mind forever, promising himself never to forget this feeling of joy, happiness, safety.
As Sasuke grew older, he collected each memory with Itachi, each and every treasured feeling he felt around his brother—holding and hiding them forever, creating a scrapbook of sensations he promised never to forget.
Alone, whenever he was by himself, Sasuke would open the book of memories and gently turn the pages—Itachi's small smile when Sasuke proudly proclaimed that he, not Mother, had made the tea today—Itachi's gentle, constant heartbeat that drowned out the fury of the storm outside as Itachi held him against his chest—how Itachi had poked his forehead when Sasuke had asked him what his hair smelled like—each detail so carefully memorized by Sasuke's mind, he could close his eyes and relive them.
And with this treasure—this pastime he could lose himself in—Sasuke found he could endure any misery, any jealousy, distraction, anger he felt. Some far-off relative would inquire why he wasn't as exceptional as his brother, and Sasuke would disappear into his room for the rest of the evening, until his mother found him sound asleep, but smiling. His mother would scold him for crying, but Itachi would come down the hall and ask what why it was so noisy, and suddenly Sasuke would remember and the tears would stop.
The memories ease the pain inside
Now I know why
And then that one fateful morning, Sasuke wakes up in a hospital room, shivering from a nightmare that was too real, a faint stinging in his left forearm.
Everything is a blur, except the nurse's lips moving—"The entire clan, slaughtered—!"—the boy behind him in class –"—That's him, his whole family was killed, did you know—?"—and above the din of voices and movement and sound and fear and chaos –
Foolish little brother, run, run, run and cling to life—
The memories flip open, of their own accord, pages turning—Itachi's lips, Itachi's hair, his every perfection, Itachi, Itachi, Itachi—Sasuke clutches his hair, his face, vaguely aware of the wetness that is not from the rain streaming down his cheeks, vaguely aware that he's sobbing, crying, wailing, his voice echoing across the Uchiha lake.
With a yell, Sasuke throws himself and those beloved—hated—memories into the icy water. The cold water swallows him up, chilling him to the bone, and Sasuke can distinctly feel the book of memories sinking, deeper, deeper, into the dark depths, hitting the lake bottom softly and being buried by the mud at the bottom.
Sasuke emerges and avenger, a man with a new duty to fill the throbbing hole in his heart.
He never looks back.
All of my memories keep you near
In silent moments, imagine you'd be here
Eighteen years old, Sasuke walks once more through the deserted halls, past the dusty rooms, past a stray black cat loitering around the compound—déja-vu, he thinks—to the lake where he had jumped in, ten years ago. He realizes, for the first time, in bitter irony, that it was the same day exactly ten years ago.
And as he stands in the very spot he once tossed himself—and much more—into the water, Sasuke feels strange—as if floating, floating up and up to the surface—and the cover opens and the pages, still crisp and new, even after ten years, begin to turn; slowly at first, and then faster, faster, as if being blown by a strong breeze.
He watches again as each tiny snowflake lands around them, giggling—"It's snowing, aniki!"—and wraps his tiny arms around the legs of an eleven-year-old chuunin, back from his first solo mission—"I missed you too, Sasuke" and another one of his rare smiles—and grins as Itachi's lips press against his forehead for a good-night kiss—"You really are getting to old for this, otouto"—and Sasuke opens his eyes and remembers that he's eighteen, and he is gone.
The book closes, and Sasuke cries for the first time in ten years.
All of my memories keep you near
Silent whispers, silent tears
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