Dancing bears, painted wings... Things I almost remember…
What could he remember? It had been so very long ago... A... Akatsuki, it was... Had crumbled. He was one of the only ones left, though he was no longer active. Coming out of his puppets once had proven dangerous, he would not repeat such a thing. Puppets were strung up around the tiny attic room he now resided in, all once human... Hitokugutsu... Were any of them... his comrades? He could no longer remember their faces.
And the song... Someone sings... Once upon a December...
Years and years and years had passed before him. The endless wars of humanity taking its toll and turning the world they lived in into a destitute, famine-ridden land. The puppet master stood, looking around at the stringed corpses hanging from the walls and ceiling. He remembered his art. It lasted forever, just as he did. It wasn't fleeting, no, no, the brat... The brat. What had been his name again? Why... why was he remembering this now? He had never remembered any of his comrades before, as hard as he tried. The old memories had slipped away, the only thing fleeting about his existence. The brat, though... His... second partner... in Akatsuki. The first was of no importance to him; why did the second seem so familiar? So close... So... so painful.
Someone holds me safe and warm... Horses prance through a silver storm…
He began frantically looking through his puppet collection, the endless about of staring faces all the same; why were none familiar? Why couldn't he see the brat's face in his mind? Why was it so important to begin with?! There was a clatter as one was knocked to the floor, but he did not care. They were no longer used for fights; he merely kept his collection in mint condition, to spend eternity with. The only friends he had ever had or wanted... Weren't they?
Figures dancing gracefully, across my memory...
That face, that face; why couldn't he find it, why couldn't he remember? Why had the one memory that hurt so much to forget been forgotten? He remembered warm arms, a loving touch. A soft voice... "Sasori no Danna, hmm!" He suddenly felt sick. The first time in years. Why couldn't he remember?! He touched his finger tips to his lips. No, no. It was all in his head. He was a puppet, immortal, unfeeling. He couldn't be sick. Why did it bother him so?
Far away long ago…
So, so long ago... He moved through the wooden likenesses. He couldn't remember the face, the way he looked, little bits and pieces seeping in and out of his wavering memory, his eyes widening as he looked around, the marionettes's eyes all on him. Eyes. No, just an eye, though one was hidden. With what, why couldn't he remember? It seemed so important, more than life itself... He needed to remember.
Glowing dim as an ember... Things my heart used to know... Things it yearns to remember...
He found the window of the attic once he had moved through the hanging puppets, pressing close against it, away from the dolls. He watched his artificial breath smooth over the glass, causing it to fog up near his mouth. It was cold. He actually looked out into the world, their world, so unlike his own, seeing the white. Snow. He remembered what this was. Water evaporated, forming a cloud in the atmosphere and if it was cold enough it would rain frozen water. Snow. Nothing like in... Dusty, hot... Couldn't he even remember his own home village? "Sasori no Danna! Look, hmm... It's snowing! Look!" A warm blanket, some melted chocolate in a mug... He had been... he had been... held. Lovingly, by the face he desperately hoped to remember. Nothing could help him remember... What was missing? What was that feeling? Was it even a memory, or his warped state of mind playing tricks on him? Why couldn't he remember? Was he so far gone that he couldn't... "Danna! Come outside! It's nice! C'mon, hmm, I won't let you fall in the snow, hmm." It was too real, too painful, to be fake...
And the song... Someone sings... Once upon a December...
He fell to his knees, face still pressed close to the glass, and began to sob.
Owari