Eternity is like the never-ending flow of a great river. If you don't have something to hold onto, it will pull you under with all its sorrows.
A gentle breeze blew through the air, softly stirring the humid atmosphere that clung stubbornly to the peaceful village below. The branches of the trees that encircled it swayed softly in the light of the setting sun, creating a soothing rustling noise in the otherwise quiet evening.
Standing atop of a giant carved head of a man just on the outskirts, a sole figure stands, the wind gently tousling his long spiky blonde hair almost like a lovers caress. He gazed down upon the village, his expression unreadable in the dying light, his bangs shadowing his gaze, hiding his cold, piercing blue eyes from the world around him.
For several minutes he stands, unmoving, almost as though he was an extension of the mountain he stood on, flesh made into stone, a sculpture made real by some divine hand.
Ironic.
The man was tall, reaching just over 6'0", and young looking, barely out of his teens, with a lithe but well-muscled frame. His attire was simple, but seemingly fitting for his character by clashing with it so. Long dark blue pants made of a sturdy material flowed down to a pair of dark, worn leather boots. A skin-tight, sleeveless black shirt followed the contours of a chiseled chest. Under that was a long sleeved white shirt, contrasting sharply with his other clothes. Finally covering that was a long grey trench coat free of embellishments of any kind.
His face, too, fit his persona, cold and austere, angular and harsh, lacking any baby fat despite his youthful visage. Most who have seen him would describe his face as noble, unmarred by any physical imperfections or detractions, yet removed as though disdainful of the world around him, or possibly himself.
As the wind stirred again, his long coat flared out slightly waking him from his meditations of the population below. The villagers were slowly ending their dealings of the day, closing shops, leaving work, and making their ways home. Eating, sleeping, working, then repeat, day after day until, in the flicker of a moment, they're gone.
His eyes narrowed slightly. It was all so meaningless, so pointless, and so small. All their efforts and all their works would be reduced to dust in a mere blink, their names and lives forgotten in the sands of time. He had seen it happen too many times to count.
Once more he glanced down at the village, his eyes flashing with a myriad of emotions: contempt, anger, frustration, longing? Frowning at his thoughts he abruptly turns around and begins to walk off the mountain.
He didn't know why he did this to himself. Why he seemed to cling to them, to hold to any connections he once had. Perhaps it was punishment.
He sighed, she was right, he no longer belonged with them, couldn't belong with them. After all, he hadn't truly been human for a long, long time. Sparing one last look at Konoha, Naruto Namikaze set off into the woods before disappearing into the darkening trees.
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There are tales of a legend who walks these lands, a man who is not man, the lonely wanderer.
No one truly knows who he is, or where he came from, nor his true purpose, if indeed he has one.
History mentions him as both a savior and a destroyer, a being of great compassion and great malice.
Some claim he is the balance, the expression of both yin and yang made manifest in the world, saving those who are worthy and ending those whose time has come, neither good nor evil, simply being.
Others say he is a fallen god, a deity whose name has long since been lost to the winds of time, but still clings to mankind in some desperate last attempt to save himself from oblivion.
Still others believe this wanderer does not truly exist, that he is merely the collected folk tales and hearsay of various clans and peoples merging together in unforeseen ways to create an original entity, a symbol of both hope and destruction poorly meshed together.
Each belief holds a grain of truth, but none are completely true, as is the way of these things.
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Mortals speak of forever so lightly, without truly comprehending the meaning of the word. To have something last forever, to be eternal, it is not something the human mind is structured to grasp or comprehend.
This is the way the world ends . . .
Man is meant to be fleeting, to stand upon the earth for a brief period of time, and then leave for the next generation to take his place.
Perhaps this is why they are fascinated with immortality. To be able to live beyond their allotted time and keep experiencing new things, to never end. To always be.
Foolishness.
This is the way the world ends . . .
They do not understand the wear eternity has on a soul. To see everyone around them grow old and die, leaving you alone. To watch as the works mankind has built up over lifetimes, slowly crumble to dust. To have the world leave you in its wake as it keeps marching forward to some unheard beat, leaving you further and further behind, as you drown in the accumulated sorrows and pains of eons.
This is the way the world ends . . .
Eventually you just become tired, tired of the pain, tired of the trials, and tired of existing. Humans never can understand that their brevity is not a curse or something to struggle against, but a blessing. It is the sweet release of death, the peace of the grave.
How I long for such an end.
Not with a bang but a whimper.
A/N: Yeah, truth be told, I have no idea where I'm going with this. I was in a thoughtful mood and this is the result. It seemed pretty good so I decided to post it. Just don't expect too much from it.