Sasuke glared. At the window.
He didn't glare at the window out of anger. He didn't glare at the window in hopes of catching a secret glimpse of himself. Sasuke didn't need an excuse to indulge in a, subsequently rare, moment of vanity. Come to think of it, he didn't need much of an excuse for anything.
No. Sasuke glared at the window simply for the sake of glaring. He glared because he enjoyed glaring. Because the window was placed a convenient one and a half feet away. Because Sasuke was placed a convenient one and a half feet away. Because the street a young girl created chalk masterpieces on screamed "welcome" louder than his room and his house and his family. Because when he was younger, he would watch his mother's daytime soap operas, and the saddest characters would always glare at a window stained with rain, melodrama, and neon street lights.
Those crappy daytime soap operas are no longer on air. Sasuke tried to find them on Amazon. He was unsuccessful. For once. Though this was the time it really seemed to count. Even after recruiting Sakura, the undisputed mistress of online shopping, he was unsuccessful. Sakura drove herself to the home of her lowly apartment later that night only to fall onto the ground sobbing.
Now when Sasuke comes home after school, the television is silent and the house no longer smells of jade and happiness. Though he could open the cupboard to find the infamous English breakfast tea his mother used to sip in secrecy, so as not to insult his proud Japanese father, the tea never smells quite as delicious. At least, not as delicious as he remembers.
Now when Sasuke comes home, there is no mother. There is simply no one. Not that it mattered. Except it did. It did matter. More than anything. And sometimes, when he's feeling especially rebellious and enjoying a small Japanese cup of English breakfast tea, it still matters.
Sometimes Sasuke abandons his constraints and hopes for a new life, a new family, and a new window. He knows his attempts are in vain, but at times the act of praying brings him a security he otherwise wouldn't have. And he thanks goodness for that. As well as ignorance.
He's still glaring at the window. His reflection is beautiful and marred with desires unfulfilled. And in that respect, he's just like everyone else. Some fool wanting what he doesn't have, what he doesn't have any more. Another person who took what they had for granted and is regretting it.
But Sasuke got gypped.
Because Sasuke would have appreciated his mother, would have appreciated those crappy daytime soap operas that flickered provocatively in the warm autumn afternoon if he was given more fucking time. But the universe appeals to no living thing, and that is why Sasuke is without parents at the ripe age of seventeen and regretting. Why can't he forgive himself for having been a child and not knowing better? Why can't he be enlightened, like Gandhi and Mother Teresa and Alanis Morissette? Why can't he stop being angry at the world and himself? Why can't he stop being petrified? Why can't he stop being human?
Sasuke glared at the window. And, for once, he forgave himself.