The Red
By: BlackDragonDiva
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: psychopathic thoughts
Timeline: Episode 131
Disclaimer: I only own Itachi-san's psychopathic thoughts. Everything else Kishimoto-sama owns . One day though, Sasuke-kun might be tattooed to my ass, then I will own him forever!
The night was cool and dark, like smooth round stones under moonlight. Everything was still, but throbbing, like a rabbit shaking in fear, inside so cold and frozen, but outside pulsing with terror-induced heat. The air was ragged, as though torn from a raw throat to hover uncertainly, lazily and uncaring as to where it was placed. Everything settled down in a huff that was not unlike butterflies that fluttered in the stomach right before slaughtering a prey that had run and run and finally run out of places to run. The chase was ending, a bit disappointing, but still exciting.
The air tasted of blood, sweet and bitter and thick like smoke and sour honey. It rippled, and as it did, a river of scarlet silk crept fingers over the ground, over smooth, shiny wood and rough sewn, soft clothing. Over pale, cooling skin that twitched in a remembrance of life into a frown. The body radiated firmness and arrogance even as the soul that manifested it fled.
Crimson smiled in delight, yet remained dispassionate and unmoved, flecked and flickering over smooth floors and walls, over steel and flesh. Thin caresses of moonlight drained it black or enriched it white and silver. Even now the blood, the Red, the moon, hung curiously, seriously, dispassionate; waiting. It continued to smile as It did this, an internal grin that glinted only when a shaft of light trickled into Its depths.
This eye, this Red, was the eye of Arrogance, Sadism, of Deception and Death. Most of all there was Death. The face that came with these eyes was shielded, betraying nothing, showing nothing that personified the Red. The body was a shell to harbor all this evil, all of the bloodlust that had passed from one Red to the next, through generations and generations until it came here, glinting in the moonlight with something akin to the look a rabid wolf might have; green eyes glinting a savage gold, but the beast still noble and refined with deadly poise and grace. But somewhere within that body, the soul watched, suppressed by the Red, but not fighting it.
The moon sat hugely above the large estate, seeing all, speaking nothing.
The earth was soft and moist under the cooling flesh. A sword flicked free of blood. The rubbery-leather texture on the bottom of sticky feet left something dark and gross in their wake. There was a sick, vomit-like sound as they made their way down a waxed floor. There was a rustle, a squirmish, a yelp, a muffled scream, and the satisfaction. There was a grimace from the Soul, so much so that it turned away. Those lumps of flesh had been closer than most of the others. They lie in a heap now, one on top of the other in a vain attempt to protect, to shield.
There was the pounding of immature footsteps, not yet steady and graceful like those of the elite, but they held an undertone of just that. It was that undertone that rippled all around that small body that flickered at times outside of the immaturity by pure instinct. The Red shifted, curious, as doors came open; the pause before the entrance creaked open was amusing. And there, in that solemn, silvery-outline of a doorway, stood that child, the one that was destined for Something, that Something screaming in his very stance, even as it quivered with fear. Oh the potential!
The Red glittered with a veiled smile. The Soul brightened, curious, weary, and something akin to affectionate. The Red's non-existent expression shifted to something delighted at this emotion, and the body moved slowly forward. The child stepped back, fear in his stance, then that fear contorting into confusion as he realized who stood before him.
The impassive face turned, letting the moonlight erase the Red's subtle glint of malice. The young boy, dressed in blue, blackand white, barefoot, hands dirty and sore from the handling of kunai and falling down to the earth, spoke. Something about their parents, probing questions. A sharp weapon drew across the soft flesh of a small shoulder before embedding itself into strong wood. Blood spit into the air.
The boy himself smelled of something sweet and shallow, like a small, fleeting stream that only exists in the heavy rains. It held something like the smell of white, the color of air and sky, deep, blue and rolling. White, all colors mixed together. So much potential.
This one he would spare. The others had shown their full worth, but this one could still grow, develop, challenge him. The Red liked the thought of it. The Soul approved with almost giddy eagerness; whether that eagerness was for the sparing of the child's life or for the threat he might one day pose, the Red did not care.
"Why…" The voice gasped, denied, screamed in a whisper like cigarette smoke through a rapidly spinning fan. So fleeting, sickly dull and dying. Dying. The Red was pleased with it. Of course, the Red did not answer. Not really.
The Soul wanted to cry at the voice, its tone, its pain as the Red induced Pain on the small body. So much pain. The Red spoke words the Soul could not find, even as it induced the Soul's darker appearance. Black eyes stared, barely shielding the Red.
There was a sob. The Red could smell the fear, tart and delicious on its nose and eyes and ears and tongue.
"Aniki… brother… don't kill me… Itachi…"
The Sharingan laughed as he ran. He followed and explained to the small shaking body how to extract his beautiful potential.The ice-likeexpression adorninghis face was be-lying the glee the Red felt at the terror he induced in the child.
"If you wish to kill me, then despise me, hate me, and live a pitiful life. Run and run and cling to life. Then, some day, when you have the same eyes I do, come before me."
The pale boy fell to the ground in a dead faint. The Red grinned and vanished in the darkness, the moon carefully turning a blind eye. All the potential.
A/N: ahh, senseless drabble! I dunno if this is understandable, but I was reading a fic with B-E-A-U-tiful sensory to it, lots of taste and smell things, and I wanted to try out the style. Lol, unfortunately, towards the middle, I started moving back into my own style again. Not to mention this is incredibly short compared to what I usually write. Not even 5 pages! Oh well, I hope someone likes it.
PS: if you can't tell, the Red is the Mangekyo Sharingan.
J+
10-17-05