Dust
Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Insert witty joke here.
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
The earth rushes towards her at a frightening rate, the dust barely even rising before she leaps to her feet, pain forgotten.
She is kunoichi, emptiness leaves no room for pain.
A glint of metal shines in her hand and an arc of silver pierces the sky, reflecting the sky and her porcelain-white face.
She is kunoichi, she must leave no traces.
Blood has settled like dew on the grass and the bodies have become ash, littering the dusty eathern patches. She thinks that all massacres should only happen at night, in a dark forest and a heavy downpour.
For then she could pretend that some of these dark shapes are tree trunks.
Kunoichi must be empty. Calm. Clinical. Precise. And above all, without love.
She will go home tonight, to the empty house she cannot call home. She will cross off the days she has missed and perhaps eat, if she can bear to. She can see blood on her hands, some many years old. Dry, old blood.
The dust has settled on the photoframes and she cannot bear to remove it.
For the dust is how she knows she is alive.
.
.
.
.
AN: Hiya guys just a one shot!
Hope you enjoy it!