Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto. Go look for Kishimoto.
This is a little fanfiction I wrote late last night. It's going to be the first of a twelve chapter fanfiction, one for each of the Akatsuki members and one after that. It's pretty drabbleish (if I know what drabble is, as its never been explained to me).
Humanity.
Did such a thing exist? Sasori had wondered that for many sleepless nights, when he was too young to know what the word that stood for the pain and the hopelessness meant.
When other boys his age were playing ball, or being tucked in by their parents, he was forced to accept that he had none. Only his grandmother, Chiyo, who did not show affection but only how to toy with those unmoving toys that held so much power over Sasori.
Puppets.
They were his only friends, the only ones he could rely on to hold him at night in place of his parents. With his chakra, with his own fingers, he could use his fingers to try to alleviate the suffering inside.
War.
It had taken everything from him, everything that should have mattered to him but didn't because he could not remember them. A man, Chiyo had told him, a man with silver hair and a silver blade had taken his parents from him, a man named White Fang. Those two words, White Fang, became cursed by him and his grandmother, the thing they had in common: hatred of the one who ruined their and their loved ones lives, for to him they were just two among the countless he'd killed.
Love.
Sasori was not sure he knew what it meant. Did Chiyo love him? She never told him so, she seemed to think he knew it already. But love is not ingrained in your soul: love is learned, and Sasori had lost those he loved. Maybe he had never had that love: he would never know.
Childhood.
He did not know what that meant either. When it came to things of lightheartedness, he did not know much. To be fair, ninja did not often have a childhood. The one he hated, White Fang, did not. White Fang's child did not. His grandmother did not. But he tried: he really tried. He used his puppets to tell to be loved, to be normal, but found that wooden arms could not replace a real embrace.
Loneliness.
He learned that. He learned that well. Chiyo tried to raise him, but left him far too alone far too often. He ignored the pangs for a long while before giving in and crying. Crying for the sadness of being alone.
Finding Peace.
He found peace, eventually. Over two decades later and hundreds of bodies later he found it as he watched his grandmother try to kill him. Tried to kill him as she had tried to protect him so long ago. And despite what he had said, that people who cared were idiots and that people with humanity did stupid things, he couldn't relinquish his ties to the human world that he'd tried to give up when he was younger.
People did horrible things. He knew that from the pain he'd suffered at the hands of others, and from the pain he'd inflicted.
So why didn't he kill the old woman?
He couldn't. As her attack came towards him, and his eyes widened, he knew he could attack or defend before it hit him. But he didn't.
Because, as he accepted as he died, he did have some vestige of humanity. His grudge against the long dead White Fang did not matter, his puppets held no warmth, and Sasori knew the real way to prove he was human was to accept death.
I rather like this. It's short, but not too short. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you read more. :)