A.N.: Surprise, surprise! I have a fun..well...dramatic one-shot for you guys seeing as it's the end of the summer! Haha, this one is a bit different from my writings seeing as it's more of a morbid love factor. I actually was in the shower and the words to this one-shot just bombarded me while I was scrubbing my head clean of suds. Do enjoy. I promise to have an update for my other stories soon.
Everlasting Gaze
Art was a sophisticated maze of swirls, brush strokes, vivid colors, and modes of expression. However, to him, art was more than just a canvas or a photograph. It was life. He breathed art. He bathed in art. He ate art. All he could process in the concept of the brain between his ears and behind his eyes was art. Art was an image and a taste. He could feel it- the rough texture of clay between his fingertips. He could taste it- a sickening dullness that left his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could see it- a flash followed by debris flying in every direction. He could hear it- a load thud that encased his ears with a thumping as his eardrums began to lose themselves. He could smell it- the charred flesh, the metallic blood, the rotten earth. Art was his life and it was all he knew.
He was in the heat of battle, his art flying and destroying in flashed and bangs that left his adrenaline flooding his veins and his lips curl into a feral smirk filled with sheer pleasure, when he spotted his no good partner running from the scene. He squinted and swiftly scanned the area. Large craters and debris caked the once vivid field. What was once bountiful with life was demolished in a few hours of work. He smirked once again from his place in a large oak tree that had manage to stay standing despite the vigorous bombings.
Sweeping his blond bangs from his face, his lone blue eye swept across the destruction. He paused when he noted the small hunched form of his enemy. The kunoichi was busying herself healing her wounds- not many, just a few scratches and gashes- and he narrowed his eyes for a closer inspection. She could be considered a fine piece of art- small button nose, high cheek bones, pink hair that framed her face, pouted lips. Of course, she wasn't the art he loved so much. but he admired her nonetheless. She was art in a sense, he supposed with a tilt of his head. She was no beauty with that atrocious hair color, but the sparkling diamonds known as her eyes, livid with color and life, made up for it. His cheek muscles lifted ever so slightly. But what she may have lacked in appearance was made up with in strength and determination.
He supposed he'd do her an honor as she did her best to rip the chunks of flesh and clay from her being. Yes, he'd to her an honor. He drank in her appearance- the way her muscles moved under taunt skin, the way her hair clutched her face, the appearance of her shinning eyes and scrunched up nose, the way her clothes clung to her lithe form, the heaving of her chest, the rise and fall of her petite breasts, the milky skin flashed from under her torn clothes and wrapping, the slim neck that stretched as she tilted her head to the side to pull out a chunk of his clay.
He flashed a smile. She was art, but she just needed a tad bit of something for art was a bang. He put his hands together and swiftly made a few signs. He whispered softly under his breath as to not catch her attention. And as his senses filled with the art of destruction, the art that filtered through his world, and the art that made his life all the more, he smiled.
Yes, art was a bang.
A.N.: Well, there you go. Haha, not exactly fulfilling, but a tad bit satisfying for now.