Grieve for Me
He was bloodied, battered, broken.
His face was ruined. His body was barely a body. It was a mess of jutting bones, collapsed organs, torn flesh, strewn muscle and ligament and blood: such a detestable thing. It was grief. It was heartache. Always. He was cursed, bound and broken. He would not escape it for as long as he lived. That did not seem to be long now.
He blinked slowly up at the overcast sky. There was no rain. There was no sun. No tears, no joy. It was fitting. No one would celebrate his death openly. Too many had died trying to stop him, trying to bring him back. They would be celebrating on the graves of those most naïve of people.
He could barely feel the pain. He regretted that in his own way, but not particularly. Death had travelled with him for too long. Perhaps that was because he chose vengeance. Perhaps that was because of fate or destiny. Perhaps it was the fault of those at the very top of Konoha.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
He wanted to know. Despite his betrayals, despite his abandonment, despite his attempts to kill, despite those that he did kill… Would he be mourned? He had committed the most atrocious of acts. It would be perfectly acceptable for the blond bomb to despise him now. It would be all right for them all to.
He supposed that there might have been one… Maybe… A person from his past… He could barely remember. He could barely do anything. It was futile. She was gone… He paused, stiffened and regretted it at once. She? Was it a woman? Was it a child? Was it a friend?
His mother was gone. She could mourn no one. Perhaps it was her. Perhaps, perhaps…
No, it was impossible.
No one would mourn for him.
Did it even matter?