Till death do us no part


1. Subject

It was such a strange sight to behold, the way his blond hair and orange clothes (which I have yet to enquire as to where he received the offending piece of apparel) stood out like a beam amongst the dreary grey washed walls of the room. Another interesting factor of this subject is that his hands are stretched across the table, in a manner as if he was actually clasping something three-dimensional, it was strange- how the way his hands were cupped and positioned… how I could immediately envision another hand holding him back. It's as if, in that curious mind of his, the brain is actually sensing something. That, or he is one damn talented mime artist, which I highly doubt to the point of not a chance. I see his lips moving, and his head cocking from side to side, even jerking backwards as if surprised from time to time. His eyes shone, with a twinkle of utter… devotion? And he seemed consumed about whatever topic he was discussing. "Ms. Ino, audio." I mumbled, and the hay-haired nurse pressed a button or two mounted on a box on the wall, and the sound of an annoying yet disgustingly sincere voice wafted through the air in the form of quivering sound-waves and flowed into my ears.

"Gaara-san, I honestly don't get why you don't like your brother and sister! Seriously, Kankurou is funny and Temari is such a cool chick! I would kill for siblings like yours… or, family." The sentence started off with a miffed edge to it and ended in a somber tone… right. I took&opened the manila folder labeled Naruto Uzumaki and wrote down the names Kankurou, Temari and Gaara emphasized through underlines and a large circle. I also wrote family. In that time, silence filled the void of Naruto's voice, the range of emotions coming and going, etching onto his face and changing in a snap astounded me- he must have alarmingly strong and well-trained facial muscles. Each expression defined exactly what Naruto felt about what… this Gaara was saying. Annoyance, frustration, impatience a hint of understanding and then… a sad, yet accepting face. The face you would see one wipe on like a mask at funerals, the face that clearly exhumed the fact that I know I have to move on, I don't want to, but I will or the it's just the ways things are, we can't change it look. It was heartbreaking, Ino's self-proclaimed 'cute-radar' spiked. "But you knew, I knew, we both knew it wouldn't have been easy for us, it's still isn't. Your family forbidding you, me having to stay here for god-knows-what reason. We both knew, the world would be against us, our love, but it's not your family's fault. It's just that… society's perception of acceptable love is different to ours, that's all." The subject sighed, and nervously scratched the back of his head, moving down to his nape before crossing his arms and leaning back into the chair. Scratching back of head and nape- nervous habit? That thought was quickly etched into the notepad.

Suddenly, the subject's attention was diverted to the small wristwatch adorning his surprisingly tan arm. I looked at my own, almost translucent hand in disdain; I could go outdoors into the sunlight for as long as a week straight and wouldn't have a tan as spectacular as the subject's. "Oh look, Gaara, it's time for lunch." A wide grin slipped instantaneously on scarred cheeks, before melting into a playful pout, "But ramen is the best food there ever is and ever will be! Nothing can compare…" the subject's voice stopped there, as if another entity was interrupting his tirade, "Ramen is so nutritionally adequate!" He seemed to use words that the other person he was talking to had, yet he didn't understand their meaning. Amusing, was the first thought that ran through my mind. I scribbled on my notepad once again.

Subject likes ramen to an obsessive extent.


The soothing aroma of rich, roasted coffee beans wafted in my nostrils and I let the scent wash away all pressures, just for a second. Gloria Jeans was strange, like that. However, the time being only three o'clock in the afternoon meant there was still work to be done, inwardly sighing, I flipped the cover of yet another folder which was the case file of my current subject. Naruto Uzumaki was the subject's birth name, apparently he was nineteen years of age, though I thought, based upon his looks and rather immature attitude and tone, he would be seventeen- at most. I skipped through the basic file heads such as date of birth, nationality… those weren't important, just impersonal details that were pinned to every medical record. I scanned the rest of the subjects, rather boring life story until the age of seven years old, where things took a drastic change. Apparently, before the age of seven, the subject lead a boring life, expected of that of a young child. He went to school, had less than average grades, made some friends- not an exceptional lot, played in the park after school and on Saturdays, and had a mother and father. Until the age of seen where his life turned at an unfortunate corner. Not much specifics were detailed except the fact that the Uzumaki's disowned Naruto and sent him to an orphanage. I personally did not know that this was even legal. The orphanage on seventh took him in, and then, that name suddenly pops up, yet again. Gaara. As soon as the subject is disowned and arrives at the orphanage, a boy called Gaara of the Desert was suddenly the main focus of the seven years, seven months, seven days old subject. It was a strange date to have your life be flipped unceremoniously. But life was always a bipolar bitch. The subject then spouted off about this Gaara of the Desert twenty-four-seven, showing signs of admiration and love for the boy… strangely enough, no one else ever saw Gaara.

I scanned some other boring information, yet of course, I noted the unanimous amount of times the name Gaara was printed on the page. Gaara, he must be a very significant component of this subject's life. Then, by the time the subject was fifteen years and five months old, he suddenly went into a massive decline and suffered severe clinical depression, he self-mutilated through the forms of cutting and once, as recorded, he even tried to claw his own stomach out? I shook my head. He was seen crying twenty-four seven and was reported to be always mumbling or whispering and occasionally even shouting pleads of sorry and asking for forgiveness… from his so called Gaara, by this time, Naruto was transferred out of his orphanage, where he stayed since no family could stand their foster son and his precious Gaara, and plopped into a holding cell for his own safety. His major depression apparently continued until a day after he turned sixteen, where he was as jovial and cheerful before he was fifteen years, and five months old. He then, started to smile, the self-mutilations ceased to an absolute immediate and then, he started to talk to Gaara. So he wasn't discharged as planned, he was kept in, even to this day- not a singly day pass outside the Clinic, because the subject talks to someone, that isn't there.

He talks to someone that doesn't exist. The subject acts ad if he was there, his arm sometimes hanging stiffly yet strangely seeming comfortable in the air, as if said offending arm was draped along someone's… most probably, Gaara's shoulder. He would hug thin air, making a hole between his arms, his fingertips barely brushing against each other, as if he was grasping someone with a lean yet wiry frame. He would ruffle imaginary hair, he would stumble slightly as if somebody punched him playfully on the shoulder… it was as if Gaara actually existed, but only the subject could see him and no one else. The idea gave me the shivers, and for a moment I thought it possible… but no one was invisible, magic didn't exist, it was just some sort of mental disease similar to schizophrenia only elevated to a more intense, almost physical, three dimensional level.

I calmly closed the file and got up from my chair, grabbed my blazer and swiftly slid into it before grasping my large cardboard glass of decaf. Opening the door, greeting the blushing nurses and the smug old coots called doctors with my usual indifferent if not sarcastic air, I stepped out to the courtyard where the bitter, crisp yet mildly harsh winds of the season slammed my frame and slapped my face into a cold chill, my hand wrapped around the quickly refrigerating, half consumed decaf as I tried to suck the last ounce of warmth from the beverage. I sighed, blowing a small puff of cloud in front of my face and walked to the train station, five blocks away. The decaying brown leaves crumpling and falling apart at my every step, setting my gaze onto the picturesque lane of almost barren trees- is focused on the few leaves left attached on to the clammy grey fingers of the tree trunks, and watched as yet another fell slowly, onto the ground in front of me. It was almost the end of the vibrant, fiery colours of autumn, signaling the unwelcome arrival of the hard, grey snow- similar to gravel, that winter took with it.

For these leaves, every year, death was imminent, yet every six months, they come back, as fresh and lively as ever. I feel sorry, that they have to relive the sad cycle of life that often.


"Wow, Gaara… look at that guy, over there, walking in the lane of trees. He looks so sad, so beat down and alone. Gaara, he reminds me of you, the first time we met!"


Quick update for you guys. This is just me running with the flow.

Hope Nothing disturbs said inspirational stream.

cx

Second chapter half way done

Hope you like