Disclaimer: Cannot prove that I own Naruto, so I shall not claim that I do.
A sigh, a breath, one and the same?
Shadows came, grew and shrank, but really they stayed the same. It was perspective that changed, the wobbling from a man whose life he now gave to the bottle, or at least this small portion he gave. An uninteresting target, an easy mark. No skills to fear, no guards to dodge, not even an awareness of the death that floated past him.
A turn, small and silent, a shift of but halve the body.
A click, the sound of a life now finished.
A bang, unmuffled. A life, now unfinished. A corpse, now cooling on the ground.
Gun now in holster, face to the empty street, back to the unshifting shadows birthed by the night. Two steps back and now I have become the shadows, back to my ever present home.
Rain, ever slight, hits all around me. I wonder if it hits me as well? If it does I cannot feel it. It is dark, in this empty park I choose to inhabit. Dark and quiet as the death I always bring. Light comes from the moon above, and the glow not two inches in front of me.
Inhale, breath deep. The smoke flows quickly, my natures welcome the movement. Inside me I feel the slight changes, the small movements toward not a better existence, one simply more misleading. The traces of foreign chemicals bond inside my lungs, taken by my blood and given to where they work their shifting magic. Eyes dilate slightly, world alters only marginally but with each breath, new death comes.
If only I was so easy to kill.
One bullet. That is all that is ever asked, all it ever takes. Stalk the target, let not him know he is now prey. Find his weakness, his moment of solitude and introspection. End him when he is most comfortable.
Why? Why bother? So much more blood is granted to those who finish quickly. A life need not end at the owner's whim, but yours. Because that is how I would wish to die. Not in glory and fire, but in a quiet I cannot find. I end them in the happiness I can see, but never find.
The smoke is finished, the chemicals surrendered, and a breath is released. My nature that is not mine holds it, longs to feel the caress of the heated smoke and ash. My nature, the one belonging to me, relishes the movement from my lungs and seeks to remove all that attempts to stay. At the moment I am stronger then my false self and the smoke leaves, flying with the wind I have just created. A small breeze of hazy dream drifting and dissipating on the wind. I tilt my head, observe the pattern as if it can tell me something about myself.
Nothing comes to mind.
A buzzing, yet no noise. Simply a feeling that I cannot remember when I learned, just like all the others. A feeling to know when I was watched. A feeling to know when anger or ill intent falls upon me. A feeling to know I have been summoned.
By the time my introspection is over my phone is in my hand and open. The text is read, then understood, and by the time another breath is released the phone is in my pocket, in its place, and I am moving towards mine. Another life has been called, another bullet to deliver.
Is this all I am?
It was an easy kill. The man found solace with his daughter, true peace attained moments after she left. It was quick, he was in the yard when she came home from school. A quick hello, she brushed him off. As she went in the house he smiled thinking, possibly, of all the right he has done by making her, even if she chooses not to acknowledge him for these few years.
A click and his smile is now sad. He does not turn around, he knows I am but feet from him, and the whisper of his death has come.
"Watch over her please."
A bang. I have never used a silencer, it is the last gift to those I kill, to hear their deaths come.
He falls smiling. Two steps back and I am in my shadows, or perhaps they are in me. The girl runs out of the door she just entered. She looks and screams. She falls to the side of what was her father, screams, begs, pleads, but mostly just apologizes.
So you did love your father, you just forgot to tell him before my whisper came.
There is nothing more here, nothing left for one such as me.
Why am I here? This is too close. Perhaps I wish to see more of what my existence brings, the worlds my death tears apart. I sit in the shadow granted by these branches, a large tree in the back of his house. A bench is below me, but white has never been my color. Apparently it is hers. The girl, the one with pink hair, who loved the man with pink hair, comes to cry. She sits not on the bench, odd I thought that is how they were normally used, she falls to the ground, head in hands, and hands on bench. Sobs rack her body, also strange.
It has been a few days since my whisper. She never cried past those first few fleeting moments. Held strong for all the investigators, official or those who came to "console". Apparently she had yet more tears that needed to reach the ground, more sorrow not yet crystallized into the tears that would show the world her pain. I watched and moved.
Why was I here? "Watch over her please."
It could not be that simple, not that complex. Nonetheless I stood over her now, unsure as to what to do. A fleeting memory of a parent grabbing a child, yet inflicting no harm came to mind. I do not know what the action is called, but I remember the child quieted. Somehow the pain from his fall lessened by the arms of his guardian. I kneel, my arms spread and set upon the shoulders of this grieving child, one the world calls an adult. She stiffens.
Perhaps this is not what was required? Perhaps there is some requirement to be completed before this is a comfort? Perhaps I have done the action wrong? She stills.
My thoughts race hard and fast, so much so that I can no longer understand myself. Yet despite my wish for time to stop, to give myself the moments needed to figure out what I have done, what to do next, the clock ticks on its invisible, inaudible path, and she is not frozen as I. She turns.
She has grabbed me now, and the tears returned, perhaps even harder than they were before. Her hold is not painful, but perhaps that is because I am sturdier then average. She holds tight, and her arms slowly turn white. She hurts herself to hold me, perhaps that pain helps her forget the pain insider her for the moment? Or perhaps it enhances it, I know not. Regardless she holds me and lets loose the sorrow she has held for so long.
Now I am even less certain why I am here. She invited me in and in I have come. She did not seem surprised that I was a stranger, perhaps embarrassed at best. I would not know, I do not understand most emotions, or do not sympathize is perhaps a better way to say it. I do categorize them, and try to understand them, but I cannot feel them so perhaps I truly do not understand them.
I am rambling again, as is she, but hers is with words, mine with thoughts. She asks what kind of tea I would like, and perhaps if I had an opinion I would try to communicate with her. As is I have forgotten what it is to talk, how to make words, and how to communicate to others what I desire. She holds my blank stare for a moment, then she seems to understand. Perhaps she thinks I am now imaginary, a figment of her fractured psyche. Regardless she makes two cups of tea (the same kind, and by her rambling her favorite) and sets one before me. I drink as I have observed.
Bring the cup to your lips, blow twice, sip. I look past my cup to see her set hers down, halve empty. She is looking out the window to the garden her father was in when she last saw him, sorrow on her face. I can tell she does not realize that she has burnt herself on the hot tea, and I begin to wonder if she will care later? Perhaps, perhaps not. As she turns back to me with a sad smile I realize that it matters not in the grand scheme of things, just like my sitting here now will likely mean nothing.
The buzzing returns, my awareness that I have been summoned to whisper death to another. I leave the message unread. I am always late on my kills anyway, a little more time with the message unseen will do no harm.
She talks more, little I understand, but we both know her speech is not for me. She seems better now, not whole, but not so many pieces on the ground. She realizes it is late, past one in the morning. She offers to let me stay the night, then tells me where I am to sleep. Odd that she would give me a choice only to take it away? I lay in bed, the first time I have done so to my knowledge, and remember you are not to do so in the cloths you wear during the day. I have nothing to wear but what I have, but remember that certain people sleep with nothing and so assume I am one of them. As I take of my cloths, first time for this as well to my knowledge, I remove my phone and read the message.
I leave after laying for a while, knowing no sleep will come. She has not yet awoken. I cannot help but think this is good.
I had never before left the town of my whisper until I got another mark. Never before had I returned to the scene of my whisper. But also never before had I made contact with another human. I find myself back in the yard, standing in front of the door that she had walked into, and ran out of.
What now?
I do not know why I returned, and I certainly do not know what to do at this point.
Something falls to the ground behind me, many somethings in paper bags if I hear correctly. A gasps sounds, and I believe that this is a sign I should turn around. As I do so I hear rushing footsteps, a charge towards me, yet I feel no threat. I complete my turn only in time to be sent against the door, she has grabbed me and holds as tightly as she did the first time we met. She is crying again as well, yet I do not know why. She is babbling, I do not understand. She says she thought I left, never to come back. She is right, yet why then am I here?
I feel the need to help her, make her stop the tears. I put my hand on her shoulder, harder to accomplish then expected as she has my arms pinned, and she looks up. I am showing her my phone, though so long ago I still remember my number, though as with so many other things I do not remember when nor how I learned it. She sees the typed number and looks into my eyes. "I can call you?" she asks. My stare is blank as always. She smiles and understands "I can text you."
She leads me inside, but I pull back. She stares, almost hurt, till she sees the groceries left on the sidewalk. Her smile returns, perhaps brighter than before, as we walk back, pick them up, then walk through the doorway once more.
Another message, another bullet, another whisper, another death. Something changes this time though. The buzz returns, yet I have not finished my task. I have never received a message unless my whisper complete, my bullet delivered. I take out my phone and read the message, and the phone is back in my pocket before I realize it was not a call to kill. I take it out once more and read again, much slower this time. She has sent me a message, a useless ramble but communication nonetheless. I am at a loss, what to do now? I have promised something I do not know if I can deliver. I try anyway.
The message takes over halve an hour to make, another three minutes to learn how to send. I must find my target again, I have lost him during my confusion. It matters not. And as I set out, one thought stops me dead.
Am I … smiling?
This time is different as well. It is time for bed, I know this as does she. Rather than wishing me goodnight and leaving me to find the room that is now mine, though I have done naught but sleep in it, she holds my hand and leads me to hers. Her smile is soft as she prepares for bed, while I am left standing in a daze. I finally understand that if she is getting ready, so too must I. My cloths shed I stand awkwardly for a moment more before remembering that I am to get into the bed. I lay there facing the wall, I suppose this is what nervous feels like. I have observed what two do inside a bed, but I have also observed emotions are necessary for the interaction. I do not have enough experience for this interaction, of this I am sure. She is now in behind me, I do not know how I missed her entrance into the bed, but I can feel her gripping me now.
Her arms hold me with strength, but not as much as she has in the past. I am certain she is holding me just strong enough to ensure that I will be there when she wakes. She falls asleep peacefully with this knowledge. She was correct.
I run around a corner, jump using some obstructions, and as I fall to land behind a fence I hear another shot ring out. The pain is in my leg this time, but I still land well. With only a slight stumble I am running again.
She holds me like that every night now, every night I am there at least. She has learned that no matter how tightly she holds me, I can always escape. She was frustrated, perhaps angry the first few times, but now she knows I will always return and finds peace in this.
As I turn the corner to leave this alley into another I run into his partner. The black on red cloak swirls with motion as his hand is placed on my chest and my back hits a wall, then goes through the wall. I slide for a bit on the floor before crawling to a crouch. Blood leaks from my mouth as well as several other places on my body, none of which are supposed to be bleeding, of this I am sure.
I was betrayed. My mission was a hoax. The man I was sent to kill has instead come to gather the other inside me, and I shall perish in the process. Perhaps I could escape if there was but one, but alas there is not. Two more skillful then me have me pinned down now. I cannot escape this building. One stands in front of me, blocking the hole made with my body, toothy smile reflecting the dim light. Another sends his glare seemingly through my back. I regret that I shall not return to her this time.
This though fills me with sadness, and my other screams.
It is right, I should not give up. Just because they are better than me now, does not mean I cannot beat them. I simply must become stronger than them. My presence changes, and they know, can feel it. My eyes harden. His smile dims, the other's glare prickles my back more, but now I have decided that I am the hunter.
It hurts. I bleed from many places, more than I thought I would, but I will survive. I have returned as always and perhaps both my false target and his partner are dead, and perhaps they both live, I care not. I slowly open the door and close the door, stumbling my way to the kitchen. It is late, she will not be up much longer, but I can smell the food, I know she is still eating dinner. I land hard against the kitchen wall, a red stain where my body presses against the wall, my blood running down it. She turns quickly, alarmed as I never make noise, yet somehow she knows it is me. She gasps, holds back a scream, and rushes to my side. My phone buzzes, inaudible as always yet I know that traitorous device is calling to me once again. I pull it out, flick it open, then pass out into the arms of the only one I have ever touched, ever allowed to touch me.
An alarm goes off in my head. Danger approaches, and my pistol is now aimed at its head. Aimed yet not fired? Why is this? My eyes open and it is dark. I am in her room, and it is late. I smile as I understand why I have not yet pulled the trigger. My nose smells a kind smell, one I never thought I would ever find. Friend.
She stands a mere pace away from the bed, tears down her face, knife in hand. My head tilts to look into her eyes and see the pain there. My eyes flicker to the floor and my open phone there. I see the date on the message and my final suspicion is proven correct. She knows I have killed her father, she has come for revenge. I look to her eyes once more, and I am in peace. I lower my gun.
This is the death I always wanted.
We stare at each other for moments, perhaps hours, and I wonder if I am capable of speech? I try and it comes out, though I know not what I sound like. I know she understood me though.
"Thank you … my friend."
My eyes are closed and I hear the whisper of death meant for me. The quiet shuffling step, the last one needed for her to reach me. I smile and wait for the pain that will lead me to my silent, peaceful end.
AN: Just an experiment to see how this writing style works out. You can notice I left several things up to the reader to decide. Naruto's gender for one, male or female whichever you like the best. The ending is also up to you, does Sakura give Naruto the death wished for, or drop the knife at the end, holding on to what comfort it present? Their relationship is also ambiguous. Naruto does not understand human interactions, so Sakura is the one who decides what they are. Are they siblings? Is Naruto a substitute for her father? Something akin to a security blanket? Does Sakura even know Naruto truly exists or does she think that she is about to kill a figment of her imagination? And if they are "going out" how far does their relationship go?
Well anyway, enjoy and make up what you will, the first published story of Arch Mminion is now complete.