Clarity
My mother was beautiful.
I picked her a flower once, covered with sprays of dew. She took it from me, tenderly, giving that gentle "I'm here and it's okay" smile. It was the kind of smile that every mother had, the kind that, years later, I still miss seeing. It used to bother me that she pretended everything was all right, that she couldn't at least wear a different expression than the other mothers who pretended. Now I only wish she was here to offer that smile again, that same pitiful apology. I'd give anything to see her fade into a row of moms just one more time.
When I was five years old, she spoke to me and all I heard was "Blah blah blah, Sasuke". Even in her smile, I couldn't find any words that made sense. On my fifth birthday I stopped being able to understand her; by the time I'd turned six, I stopped trying to.
Where my father was concerned, I made a little more effort. I held onto him until Itachi let go. I obeyed his orders, acted like a dog at his feet. I bent over backwards trying to make him happy, trying to earn that smirk of his that had always said, "You are my son indeed". …Yet even after I'd earned top marks in school, the only face he ever showed me was a straight one. I could only hear him when I was doing something wrong and he yelled, "Blah blah, Sasuke, stop that, blah!"
It was horrible.
Itachi was the one who received all of the praise. Itachi was the one who my mother gave a unique smile. Itachi was the one who my father pined after. It was always him…and for a long time, I hung onto his every word. I wanted to be just like him.
The only time that I ever managed to convince him to help me train, he nodded at me instead of flicking me in the forehead. Happiness surged through me like a fever, like a drug.
But when he opened his mouth to say "Let's go, Sasuke", all I heard was "Blah blah blah."
Fin.