…

ROTTEN TOMATOES

…

Summary:

The moment his teeth bit into the succulent red fruit, Sasuke knew it was something out of the world; a divine gift to the taste buds. Later, as he consumed the pungent delicacy, he was jolted by a profound epiphany: that tomatoes were not just food, they were a symbol; of life, of death, of the Uchiha, and of him.

I have a sinking suspicion that this will turn into utter nonsense, but well, I won't know until I try!

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, though I do own a vividly theatrical and oftentimes eccentric imagination, and a particularly eloquent subconscious that fixates on crazy random ideas such as this fic.

Introductions completed; here begins my first foray into Naruto fanfiction. Wish me luck! (I'll need it)

…

Sasuke's first introduction to the miracle food named tomato was at the age of two. The raven-haired toddler sat quietly in a corner of the kitchen, listlessly picking at a sandwich to sniff at the vegetables inside. The mid-day snack was innocent enough, each ingredient selected with careful consideration of his favorite food. His mother, the Uchiha matriarch, had painstakingly prepared it, waking up earlier than other family members to put together a simple home-cooked meal for her youngest son.

Yet, while the sandwich was full of good intentions and mother's love, it was sadly lacking in taste and flavor. The vegetables were hard and shriveled up, the bread moist and soggy (a result of being kept out for the entire morning); and little Sasuke wrinkled his nose at the less-than-satisfactory lunch. He was no longer hungry (the unsavory meal had robbed him of appetite), so for a bit of informal self-training (more to kill time than to improve his already highly advanced skills), he methodically pulled the double-decker apart, cautiously inspecting for unusual aromas.

At two, Uchiha Sasuke already knew not to accept food from strangers, as poison was just as integral to village politics as polite persuasion, especially in the delicate peace following the Third Shinobi War. The silence was stifling, the air brittle; as if a single raised voice, a small teenage scuffle, the least expression of dissent, the most trivial incident would shatter the temporary illusion of happiness and safety.

Sasuke did not know what poison was, but his parents had deeply ingrained into him one important rule- if food smelt funny, he was not to touch it, no matter who gave it to him. The Uchiha had many enemies, after all, and the henge was the simplest of shinobi techniques.

A particularly vibrant red vegetable slice caught Sasuke's eye, large and round, with a thick outer skin, tapering delicately into a finely-veined inside. Curious, he paused in perusal of his afternoon meal, lifting up the strange item and discreetly sniffing it. Satisfied of its harmlessness, the child bit gustily into the slice, stilling wide-eyed at the sudden tangy taste permeating his mouth.

Immediately, Sasuke decided this distinctive red vegetable was his new favorite food. He savored the juicy goodness, licking his lips and hands and eagerly dissecting the remaining sandwiches for more.

Hunger temporarily sated, the boy decided that he needed to more about this unknown ambrosia, so he could demand some for dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast, and lunch, and perhaps dinner as well. It was a hundred times better than flaccid sandwiches, anyway.

Mother was away for a Clan meeting, but fortunately Itachi was home to address the grievous shortcoming in his education. Holding out his delicious discovery, Sasuke waited patiently for his aniki to supply much-needed information about the extraordinary vegetable.

"That? Oh, that's a tomato." Poking Sasuke's forehead in his customary gesture of brotherly affection, the prodigy and future Clan-killer chuckled. "And it's a fruit, not a vegetable."

…

Sasuke's love affair with tomatoes continued well into his early Academy days. Many a fangirl would observe the second child of the illustrious Uchiha Clan Head reposing under a tree during break, with nothing in his bento but half a dozen fine, ripe tomatoes.

Admiring his scrumptious lunch, the sunlight glinting off the tomatoes' red skin, Sasuke mused that the vegetable, no fruit (as he was constantly reminded) was quite fitting for an Uchiha like himself. The fiery color was aggressive and assertive, its acerbic flavor and intensity evoking mental comparison with the Uchiha trademark katon. The bold, vibrant fruit frequently occupied a place of prominence in salads and dressings; just like the Uchiha's distinctive eyes and strong bloodline traits made them stand out in the crowd.

Idly, little Sasuke mused that the upper half of his Clan symbol was suspiciously similar to an upturned tomato. That, to his young mind, was concrete proof of his favored vegetable's royal pedigree.

Harsh voices distracted him from his musings, making him look up from his lovely lunch, hand already inching towards the kunai hidden in his sleeve.

Che. It was just a couple of older students, big and bulky, ganging up on a younger boy curled into a shuddering ball at their feet. The dark-skinned leader was laughing loudly, his guttural voice punctuated by soft whimpers from the unfortunate victim he was kicking mercilessly. The huddled form was dressed in garishly bright colors; Sasuke suppressed a grimace as he identified the prone individual as the class mischief-maker Uzumaki Naruto.

Now, Sasuke did not particularly like the blond, having decided at first sight that the overly-loud brat was nothing more than a menace; but only cowards to pick on those weaker than themselves. Pride and honor were rigorous teachings of his Clan, conditioned from infancy, and the vexing morals prohibited him from overlooking the insignificant but cumbersome matter.

He stood up to interfere (a thankless chore, in his opinion), but in his indecision the bullies had grown bored of the mindless assault. In a burst of ingenuity (goodness, this gorilla actually had a brain), one burly boy whipped up a bamboo vegetable basket, stolen from a nearby vendor, (much to the old man's consternation, but who was he to stand against a ninja, even if said ninja was only an academy student?), and began to throw foul-smelling projectiles at the village's least favorite orphan.

The makeshift missiles were a suspicious shade of puce, and emitted a most awful smell. Curious despite himself, Sasuke stalked closer, breathed deeply, and nearly gagged. Definitely rotten vegetables, spoilt beyond hope, but the perfectly spherical shape was oddly reminiscent of…. tomatoes?

Either the bullies had a poor aim, or they were not very interested in their current activity; for most of the decayed matter missed the target. Nevertheless, Naruto was heavily decorated with glaring splotches that clashed horribly with his bright attire.

Sasuke stepped purposefully beside the useless dobe, mindful to keep a safe distance from the decaying apocalypse. It was a clear challenge, and a silent declaration of his intention to retaliate if the bullies did not back off now.

The elder vagrants considered him with narrowed eyes, but did not rise to the challenge. Sasuke was famous, even if he wasn't the Uchiha prodigy; and no one wanted to get on the Police Clan's bad side. With a disparaging snort, the attackers withdrew, tossing the basket back to its spluttering owner.

Emboldened by the silent support (even though Sasuke did next to nothing), Naruto rose to his feet and loudly declared to their receding backs, "Hell, yeah! It's gonna take much more than rotten tomatoes to take me down!"

So they were indeed tomatoes. Rotten tomatoes. How curious.

Satisfied at having the last word, Naruto turned his attention to the reluctant savior. He eyed Sasuke hesitantly, unsure whether to be grateful or contentious. Settling on guarded politeness, the ramen-worshipper straightened himself and offered a small smile. Commendable, given his disheveled and faintly pathetic appearance.

"Tch. Can't even dodge a couple of rotten vegetables, how pitiful is that, dobe?"

The uncertain smile morphed into a look of outrage, but Sasuke was already walking away from the asphyxiating moron, blocking out most of the shocking insults that soon came tumbling from his lips.

With an elegant farewell of "Just wait, you insufferable jerk!" Naruto turned his back to the privileged Uchiha, probably returning home to wash off the grime and regain a bit of his bruised dignity.

Peeking out of the corner of his not-yet-Sharingan eye, Sasuke critically appraised the blonds' ruined outfit (good riddance), and wisely concluded that while sodden garden waste was of negligible use as a weapon, it was a particularly eloquent expression of displeasure.

…

Sasuke sat numbly in the Hokage's office; faint from the metallic scent of his Clan's spilt blood, Itachi's parting words ringing loudly in his head. Whispers floated around him, but he remained almost comatose, only registering tiny snippets of hushed conversation.

It was the heir apparent…killed them all….no reason…so sudden…Itachi…traitor…escaped… why didn't he kill this one?... poor boy…only one alive…orphan… what do we do with him?...

Sasuke heard, but he didn't hear; his mind was still reeling with shock, unable to accept that his family was dead, that they were gone, mother and father and all the others, every single one of them; except his brother, his beloved Itachi, Itachi who was no longer the aniki he knew, who murdered his entire Clan in cold blood and fled the village, Itachi the traitor, Itachi the murderer…

He remembered his parents' bodies, pale and clammy; his father, still breathing his last breaths when the youngest son found him; his mother, her petite body already encompassed with the coldness of death.

Collapsed on the blood-splattered floor, they bore a surprising resemblance to the victimized Uzumaki all those months back, lying motionless with large red stains on their expensive clothes; only, unlike Uzumaki, they would never get back to their feet and brush it off and offer sad, hesitant smiles.

…

Now being an orphan himself, Sasuke felt he understood a little bit of what the blond had to go through all these years. It was not his nature to be kind; but perhaps he treated the blond with a little less coldness. A bit of gruffness, yes; and a few well-timed insults here and there, but overall, Sasuke's interactions conveyed a distinct lack of hostility.

They were subtle signs, but the fox brat was more perceptive than he appeared. Though how the blond mistook the hints of friendship as declarations of everlasting rivalry, Sasuke had no idea.

…

Being teammates gave Sasuke the opportunity to find several parallels between himself and Naruto (minus the stupidity, of course). It was this sudden understanding and empathy that prompted Sasuke to offer his precious tomato-only lunch to the boisterous blond.

Unfortunately, Naruto didn't like tomatoes, or any vegetables (or fruits) for that matter, and he was justifiably shocked to find that Sasuke's diet comprised solely of tomatoes, carrots (orange, being almost-red, was declared acceptable) and rice. Courtesy of one blond dobe, the irritated Uchiha Avenger was dragged off to the God of good food, savior of the starving, man of miracles, the great honorable Ichiraku-sama.

A purely-tomato diet is considered equivalent to blasphemy, but HIS ramen-only diet is perfectly fine? Baka dobe.

The ramen was heavy and salty, but the company was not half-bad, though Sasuke would never, ever admit it out loud. Just for a while, he could pretend he had a brother again; albeit a loud, blond, arrogant one.

…

(Large time skip – to the Fourth Shinobi War)

…

How things have changed…

Sasuke felt a brief stab of regret as stood impassively behind the greatest Uchiha of all time, warily watching his former teammates stand tall and defiant in the face of the ultimate genjutsu. The dobe never knew when to give up, but this time there was no one to come to his rescue.

The five kages flanked the blond on either side, adopting defensive positions while eyeing the ancient Uchiha warily. However, Naruto wasn't even looking at the main threat. His sharp blue eyes were fixed solely on the man he considered his brother, despite numerous betrayals and stinging disappointments.

Naruto always smiled when he saw Sasuke (after he was done with the customary "bastard" and "I'm gonna beat the crap outta you!"), regardless of the circumstances behind their meeting. The cheerful grin had been firmly in place, even when Sasuke stood deferentially behind the traitor Orochimaru; the smile had not faltered for a minute, even when Itachi was killed and Sasuke defected to Madara.

So many things had happened, but Naruto had always been full of faith. He had fought and begged and bullied and blackmailed, doing everything possible to reform the boy who saved him from being pelted with decomposing garbage so many years ago.

But now Naruto's smile was hesitant, just like his uncertain gratitude after the very same tomato incident; and they were strangers once more, as if their brief but special comradeship had never existed.

No, surely their bond was worth more than that.

His revived ancestor screamed a blood-thirsty battle-cry, flourishing his giant fan in preparation for the final battle. Answering the call, Sasuke drew out his shining blade, mentally preparing himself. The steel glinted in the light, deadly in its tapering elegance. Sprinting up to take his place beside his only family, Sasuke turned at the last moment, activating Ameterasu and running the black-flamed blade through Madara's gut.

A shocked silence; an enraged cry from the betrayed ancient, and the kages were jolted out of their reverie. Exhalted, Naruto charged, once more taking his place beside his brother in all but blood.

They fought, together, against the most formidable shinobi of all time; and at last, with a bellow of victory, the blond idiot, village orphan, the world hero, dealt the finishing blow to the enemy from a bygone era.

Without warning, it began to rain, as if the sky itself was crying for the ones who lost their life in the bloody war, purging the sins of those remaining in this wretched world. The purifying shower soaked their hair and clothes, washing away blood and grime, mingling with the tears of relief and joy and sorrow.

He looked at his companions, his allies, searching for signs of mistrust or fear. Naruto was grinning widely from ear to ear, a sign that whatever rift had come between them was now gone.

Perhaps things will finally go back to normal.

Sasuke hadn't the faintest idea what 'normal' was in their convoluted circumstances, but perhaps a shared meal of ramen and tomatoes would be a start.

…

The village council, suspicious (not without reason) and generally mistrusting, had wanted him imprisoned; but Naruto was having none of it. Frustrated, the Godaime had settled for a compromise: Sasuke was not to leave the hospital till he was declared 'not a threat'.

He didn't particularly mind; he had nowhere to go, and he had secretly missed his old village. Besides, his 'friends' made sure to visit regularly.

Team 7 (or rather Naruto) had arbitrarily decided that daily visits were essential to cure Sasuke of his loneliness and unpredictable 'bastard-ishness'. Kakashi was unperturbed by the flow of events between his little students, taking Sasuke's defection, return and subsequent sullen attitude in stride, content to sit in a corner with his orange book and calmly observe proceedings. Sakura, on the other hand, was unsure of how to react around him; she had taken his departure badly. She would tiptoe around him, uncertain of herself, afraid to offend, but nonetheless relieved he was back.

Over time, she began to accept, relaxing in his company, back to normal except for a lack of fangirl tendencies (for which Sasuke was extremely relieved). And then, she began to bring him tomatoes.

The gesture was sincerely appreciated, more as a symbol of forgiveness than for the actual food; for now, Sasuke found that he no longer enjoyed tomatoes as he once did.

Tomatoes were red…red like the hair of Sabaku no Gaara. He had always associated the crimson hue with pride and passion, but the incarnadine shade could just as easily lend itself to the extremes, to cruelty and insanity and blood-thirst.

Sasuke did not like Gaara, and the feeling was mutual. The Kagekaze was extremely protective of Naruto, and had made it perfectly clear that he would rather kill Sasuke than let him betray Gaara's first and closest friend.

…

Sasuke's health was slowly improving, despite the severe injuries of the war. But while his body was stronger, his mind was weaker; the loss of purpose and will to live was taking its toll.

He was forced to consult a psychiatrist, on threat of death by Sakura punches. The Godaime had been surprisingly kind, but singularly unhelpful. What kind of advice was 'think happy memories'?

Well, he supposed there was no harm in trying. Sleep eluded him anyway.

He tried to remember his parents; but years of shelving his grief and focusing on revenge had rendered his memories blurry and indistinct. He could hazily recall pale skin and long hair, but their features and expressions were forever lost to him. He was secretly grateful; if he could no longer remember, maybe it would help him move on.

While racking his brain for happy memories, the infamous 'tomato' incident struck out in particular. It wasn't happy, per se, but it was something. It was the start of their friendship, a symbol of hope and courage and love, so Sasuke relived the incident, perhaps taking unnecessary and rather malicious satisfaction in recalling the nauseating smell of rot, the revolting wet splats, the ridiculous impromptu artwork on the dobe's favorite orange.

But the memory changed; and suddenly Naruto was him, and the rotten tomatoes were explosive clay, throw by the blond art freak of the Akatsuki. Loud and brash just like Naruto, refusing to give up even when his death was inevitable. Pitch-black cloak with blood-red clouds, red like tomato stains, red like his mother's lifeless corpse, red like his hands stained with Orochimaru's blood, Orochimaru the snake sannin, Orochimaru his mentor, Kohona traitor, demented psychopath, Orochimaru, who wanted Sasuke's body for his own, who provided food and a roof over his head for two long years, the one whose gratitude he had repaid with death…

Sasuke's moist eyes and parched throat attested the fact that he had been crying, or screaming, or some combination of both, a jumbled mixture of strangled sounds just like his confused feelings. Shaking his head, he got up to wash his face, stopping still at his reflection in the mirror. The scarlet Sharingan, gleaming evilly in the moonlight, dark liquid flowingly steadily down his cheeks, staining his collar; starved, haunted, mad eyes, Itachi's eyes…

When the rest of Team 7 called at Sasuke's home to enquire why he missed practice, they found their comrade curled into a shuddering ball on the floor, the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, small scratches and cuts on his face and arms.

…

Some days were better than others. On those days, he could think back to the past and not be overwhelmed by regret and helplessness. On those days, he remembered and mourned Itachi, his brother; Itachi, once clan prodigy, then rogue nin; Itachi, the unacknowledged village savior, Itachi, the loving elder brother.

…

Sasuke paced in his modest kitchen, waiting for his tea to boil, quite lost in his thoughts. The lack of missions had left him restless, his former teammates were away from the village, and there was nothing to do with his abundant time.

Initially, he had been enthusiastic to be reinstated into active duty, embracing even the most demeaning D-rank missions with a zeal that even the old fools of the village council could not dismiss. He rose steadily through the ranks, finally earning a position as the right-hand man of the soon-to-be Hokage. Naruto was delighted for him, as were Sakura and Kakashi, but Sasuke could not find it in him to celebrate his promotion.

He chose Naruto over Madara, the future over the past….yet why do he not feel happy that the war was won and peace had returned? Perhaps, subconsciously, had he sided with the underdogs, the ones he thought were doomed, in a reckless attempt to end his misery, to die a honorable death, to finally depart the world, be free of his cursed existence?

Think happy memories, think happy memories…

Out of habit, he returned to Naruto's bullying, finding solace in the oft-recollected past, even though the memory was not particularly cheerful. Back then, he had been so naïve and proud, but Naruto had already been jaded, the victim of scorn and ridicule; his smile had been that of one familiar with the cruel realities of life. Focusing on the non-traumatic details of his innocent childish encounter, he imagined the farmer's undignified squawk, the freckles on the largest bully's face, the mottled purple of the rotten tomatoes, so similar to the face of the jounin he had strangled with bare arms when escaping from Kiri…

He grimaced at the morbid direction his thoughts had taken, but was otherwise thoroughly unsurprised. His mind regularly wandered into vivid memories of death and destruction, his inner cruelty and blood-lust coming close to the surface till he could almost taste his victims' fear, no matter how long gone.

Shaking his head, he searched around for something that could distract him, absently pulling a tomato from the vegetable basket to quench his suddenly parched throat.

They were a lush, ripe red, the finest cherry tomatoes money could buy; a gift from Naruto, most likely the courtesy of the abundant Hyuuga coffers (really, was there anything the Hinata girl wouldn't do for the blond idiot?).

Starving, he bit into the fleshy fruit, but the tangy juice never reached his throat. He could taste only raw meat, Karin's skin under his teeth; Karin, with flaming red hair so like a tomato, that when he first met her, he could not stop staring. Karin, his loyal subordinate, so madly in love with him, who he had allowed to tag along only because of her chakra-sensing and healing abilities. Karin, so eager to please, so devoted, who he had run through with the sword of Kusanagi the moment she had outlived her use…

He retched, the stink of puke mingling with familiar scent of blood and tears, partly real and partly imagined.

To Naruto's puzzlement and dismay, his lovely gift was thrown out the same evening, every tomato squashed in an unpalatable mess of pulp and seed and juice that looked so much like blood…

…

Saukra had pleaded, but even Naruto's fail-safe cure of 'beating some sense' had not persuaded him to confide in his teammates. Sasuke kept his problems to himself, preferring to cope the way he always did; alone. He had come to terms with his inner darkness, the proof of his sins, and he would not drag them down with him, no matter how desperate he was.

Sasuke battled the nightmares with work, work and more work, taking on long and arduous missions, frequently making risky journeys into foreign territories. Madara may have been defeated, but the Shinobi world was hardly short of bloodthirsty bandits or criminals seeking to make a name for themselves.

His teammates' disapproval was apparent, as was their worry. Naruto and Sakura feared that his workaholic tendencies and utter disregard for his health were merely part of a new way to kill himself.

Sasuke mentally scoffed. He wasn't suicidal in the least, but what could he do when his terrors seemed to possess a will of their own?

…

"Your body cannot handle much more of this." Tsunade stated bluntly when she summoned Sasuke into her office one evening. "Your nightmares are causing you to hurt yourself-"

"There's no need to create a fuss about a couple of tiny scratches; its nothing a simple healing can't fix." Sasuke interjected curtly, making a mental note to painfully reprimand his former teammates for making him the centre of unnecessary drama.

"If that is all, I'll be leaving now" he declared haughtily, already turning towards the door, eager to be gone from the Hokage's office, the wretched place where his kind pacifist brother's life had been thrown into turmoil, the accursed walls which hid the village council's ugly secrets, where Itachi was forced accept the cruel role of a double-agent in a secret plot against his family, against his Clan; to destroy his life and family for the sake of a village which wouldn't even realize how much he had sacrificed for them…

"I'm not talking about physical injuries, Sasuke; though they are significant in themselves." The Godaime spoke patiently but firmly. "Your body is constantly using up your chakra to battle Orochimaru's cursed seal, which has grown tremendously in the recent years, feeding off all your negative emotions even when deactivated. At this rate, you may lose all your chakra in a few years."

Sasuke accepted the truth of her words, anger diminishing slightly in the face of her obvious concern. The buxom sannin had accepted him back despite all his crimes against the village, taking him under her wing just like Naruto and Sakura.

He had realized his condition much sooner than she had; but there was really nothing Tsunade, or anybody else for that matter, could do. He had to deal with him problems himself, preferably in a secretive manner to prevent any more unnecessary worry on Naruto's part.

Decisively, he brushed off the matter in an effort to disguise how far down the road to disintegration he actually was. "Tch, stop treating me like an invalid who doesn't know how to take care of himself. The setback is temporary; I'm taking chakra-regenerating medicines and sleeping herbs to address the problem. I'll be back to full power in no time."

Tsunade's sad expression said that she did not believe him, yet she understood her helplessness and wisely stayed quiet, her wide eyes silently beseeching him to accept whatever little support she could provide.

Sasuke sighed, wishing that his problems would not cause more trouble for the ones he cared about. He had accepted his situation long ago, knowing that he was broken, defective; an empty shell of a human being fit only to strike fear in the hearts of enemies. Sasuke felt an ironic compassion for rotten vegetables. Eaten as sustenance if healthy and unspoiled, used as a weapon if fit for nothing else.

…

The Hokage seemed to view his hefty successful missions record as a signal of his diminishing capabilities (an entirely conflicting conclusion), hence prohibiting Sasuke from taking on solo missions. He was retired on indeterminate 'vacation', with the words 'house arrest' lingering forebodingly in the air.

Despite the strict instructions (or rather because of them), Sasuke left that very night for a trip to the Lightning Country, stealthily avoiding the Anbu guards patrolling the village. He wasn't running away, of course not, he had experienced enough of running and hiding to last a dozen lifetimes. He just needed a bit of space, some time away from the anxious looks and soft-spoken but useless advice; a little privacy to think and clear his brain.

He was quite a distance from the village when he was ambushed by a group of bandits who called themselves the 'New Seven Swordsmen of the Mist'. They were a rag-tag bunch, and Sasuke curled his lip his disgust at their crass behavior. Really, what poor naming sense.

The intruders were covered from head to toe in black cloaks, revealed no hint of their allegiances. The standard procedure was to detain such questionable characters for interrogation, but Sasuke decided to forego the rules in favor of some much-needed entertainment. Or fuel for his nightmares…

They attacked, and he pounced upon the distraction with enthusiasm. Too much thinking was also dangerous…

He took to the air on his Hawk Summons, deducing that he had the advantage in aerial combat. But he had underestimated his opponents, who quickly joined him in the sky atop giant vultures, their hungry caws grating on his sensitive ears.

Surrounded on all sides, he expertly outmaneuvered them, diving between their ranks and breaking their hasty formation. Sasuke may be nightmare-plagued and sleep-deprived, but he was still the Uchiha Avenger, whose exploits were famous in all the five great shinobi countries.

Sasuke drew his sword, the sharp blade glinting in the sunlight in a bloodthirsty call for battle, as if Kusanagi was just as annoyed by the prolonged inactivity as he was. Without warning, Sasuke veered to the side, slashing at the man before him, ripping the front of his cloak and shattering his mask. Itachi's refined features stared back at him, face smooth and unmarred by the ravages of time and the burdens of village peace, red eyes bulging out of their sockets in surprise.

It was a genjutsu, and a mediocre one at best; but Sasuke could not find it in himself to dispel the feeble illusion with his all-powerful sharingan. He leaned closer, drinking in the sight of his brother; etching every line, every wrinkle into his brain; as if to compensate for all the pleasant childhood memories he could no longer recall. Itachi, his brother, whom he had chased after for most of his short life, Itachi, whom he both loved and hated. Itachi, who had given him purpose, a will to live, no matter how twisted; Itachi, who had urged him to become brave and strong and heartless, strong enough to kill the one person who had loved him the most; Itachi, the brother who had both protected him and left him behind without showing the way to crawl back into the light…

Distracted, Sasuke did not notice the frantic hand-seals of the ninja behind him. A blast of corrosive acid struck him on the shoulder, the foul-smelling liquid eating away at his clothes and biting into his skin. Cursing, he dodged a second jet of frothing poison, weaving around the attackers as he attempted to gather his errant thoughts and get his emotions under control. Twisting in the air, he tossed two kunais in rapid succession, hitting two of his attackers, one in the heart, and the other right between the eyes.

The Swordsmen's next attack was pure bad luck, clipping the wing of his Summons as he incinerated a third enemy with a Katon Gōkakyū. The bird vanished in a poof of smoke, leaving Sasuke in free fall, rushing towards the harsh, unforgiving ground. His meager chakra was insufficient to perform another Hawk Summons, not that it would help; not even Manda was strong enough to cushion his fall from such a height.

The wind whipped through his ears, blocking out the bellows and jeers of the victorious bandits. Resigned, he closed his eyes, finding peace in the emptiness; rejoicing, for freedom from his twisted accursed existence was worth even the pain of a plummet to certain death.

As he fell, he wryly wondered whether he would land with a squishy splat, just like a rotten tomato.

…

…

I wanted to expand my horizons by trying my hand at a bit of angsty character introspection; and Kishimoto's Dark Avenger seemed ideal for my proposed cesspit of negativity. This is a self-challenge, intended to travel beyond my favored romcom (romantic comedy) genre. It turned out much longer than I expected…

I do not seem to have a definitive style, but I am trying to discover it. Any observations and suggestions would be deeply appreciated.

I know that tomatoes come in many colors; but Red is always the foremost color associated with this garden fruit. Also, the end was very questionable; I'm sorry if Sasuke appeared too weak.

So how did you like it? Absolute rubbish? Shameful? Somewhat salvageable? Send me your comment and suggestions through a review!

Subconscious did this! Not my fault…