Every one knew they would die. Eventually.
Death is fate. Fate is inevitable.
But he, he was a performer. He couldn't just die. No. Performers were immutable; they lived on in peoples memories. A strange, un-godly immortality that assured him what he wished for. Kankuro knew no prestigious stage, no applauding crowd; a mouse wouldn't even take a second to drop his cheese and pity the little boy who looked so much like his god-damned father. He needed that immortality. He had to have it.
His brother was guaranteed it; the boy always came home without a single scratch. The Devil himself, Kankuro mused as the sand encased the enemy-nin, crushing their bones, blood spooling from their wounds. Watching their eyes widen with realization.
He looked so happy, it was sickening.
His sister scrunched to her nose to death, and many things vile. This bemused Kankuro, especially when her fan sliced through bodies; without a wince. Her eyes dancing with malice as she mingled with the deadly wind, letting it destroy all in her path.
She looked like a mix of Father and Mother when she did that.
But Kankuro, he hid in the shadows. Stayed behind and surveyed his stage from the backdrop. He might have been a performer, but he wasn't stupid. Pupeteering was an art made for the puppets. Not the puppeteer. That was his first lesson. So, he would sit in the trees, hands raised, paint making his smirk as carnivorous as it had ever been.
And he would listen. Listen to the bellows and the clacking of his toys.
He looked like no one. Just a phantom in the curtains. All the immortality he'll ever need. His mind slips into its own dark recesses; listening to the screams and the cries for mercy that had adorned his ears from when his brother was younger, the time the satanic killings began. The day Yashamaru died-it was the worst of them all.
He hadn't known their uncle like the other two had- and being the naïve boy he was at that time- so he paid no mind to another ruthless murder. They happened every day in Suna. Usual. A part of daily life.
Except for the people being killed. A man rules his own death.
Kankuro grins this time. He starts to realize it. By him having his mortality, he also has immortality.
He is the performer.
And life and fate will not be his puppeteer.
He knew he would die, though. Eventually.