Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, Akatsuki or any of the characters/concepts featured. All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.
It was hideous, utterly hideous.
Its ugliness was off the scale.
And the worst part, the part that hurt Sasori more than anything, was the fact that he had created it. He was responsible for giving birth to it, for bringing it into the world. Alright, the world was pretty crappy already, but that was no excuse to add to it. Groaning, he shut his art book and pushed his chair as far from his desk as possible. He couldn't bear to look anymore; his work was a shitty monstrosity.
It deserved to burn in a fiery inferno.
He gave a shaky sigh and covered his face with his hands. Heat spread through his body as he tried to calm himself down and he clawed at his own cheeks, leaving temporary red markings. This happened every evening. From seven onwards, sometimes until midnight, he would attempt to create something worthy of praise, something he could be proud of. He would barricade himself in his bedroom and forcibly beat his creativity over and over again. He would sit alone and struggle, pushing and pushing until his mind collapsed in on itself.
It was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.
He knew he was capable of so much more, but his passion had vanished and nothing could get him in the mood, not even classical music or Yankee candles. Perhaps it was the assignment itself; he had been given the debilitating task of drawing an onion. As it was, the odd little vegetable sat next to him, shedding its skin everywhere and being a pain in the arse.
Sasori glared at it.
He was sick and tired of drawing such bland, uninspiring objects. He had taken Art on the understanding that he would enjoy the subject, that he would be able to learn and gain something from it. Instead it had drained him; he held no feeling for it anymore. It certainly didn't help that Sai excelled in this particular field; when placed next to him, Sasori felt rather amateurish.
'Fuck this,' he whispered, angrily, his voice cracking. 'Fuck this shit...'
Unlike most teenagers, he hardly ever cursed out loud; it was rude and forbidden, but right now he simply didn't care. He fell to pieces, kicking his desk and forcibly hurling the onion at his wardrobe. Art had been his one escape route! It had been his way out of life! They'd robbed him of his spark!
'Fuck you! Fuck you all!' he hissed, bitterly. Then he slumped in his chair, defeated and broken.
At least his grandmother and grand-uncle, Chiyo and Ebizō, were no longer around to hear him swear; they had left the house after their argument, probably to play Thursday's Bingo session. They always argued and they always left. Even now, at ten o'clock, they had still not returned.
Sasori ran his fingers through his hair. He had no choice; he'd have to just give up and retire for the night. Nothing was going to be accomplished in the next two hours and sleeping gave him a chance to forget his troubles.
He exited the room, avoiding his wall mirror as he did so.
He loathed mirrors and he resented Chiyo's decision to get him one. After all, why would he want to see himself? He was just as repulsive and boring as his artwork and, without his hood, his crimson hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Staring at his reflection would plunge him into an even deeper emotional turmoil, and it was because of this that he didn't bother to turn on the light in the kitchen; he didn't want to deal with the negativity.
So, enveloped by darkness, he went straight to the fridge, helping himself to a small glass of milk. He then stood at the back window, looking out into the garden and suckling like a baby lamb. Everything outside was cloaked in blackness and misery, and the trees were nothing more than giant, feathery silhouettes.
A police car could be heard in the distance, sirens wailing.
Sasori rolled his eyes.
Typical. The criminal would probably be given a year in jail. Then he or she would be released and allowed to wreak havoc again.
And the authorities would wonder where the hell they'd gone wrong...
Strangely though, the car drew nearer and nearer, until flashes of blue and red sprung over his garden fence. Sasori narrowed his eyes and set down his glass in slow-motion. He hadn't expected the vehicle to drive so close. It was no more than a few houses away from his own; dogs were barking and he could practically hear the officers shouting at one another.
It was at this point that the doorbell rang. Thinking his guardians had finally returned, he got up to answer it. They'd probably explain what was going on.
But, as he opened the door, it became apparent that this wasn't the case.
There, on the front porch, keeled over and panting, was the shadow of someone entirely different. They were leaning against the doorframe, too exhausted to stand on their own two feet, and their long hair drooped over their shoulders, a complete mess. They'd been running, and a great distance too no doubt.
Sasori found himself paralysed, rooted to the spot by fear. He stared straight ahead with wide eyes, his mind wiped blank; he had no idea how to react.
The figure, clearly male, took a deep breath and coughed twice before looking up. Their expression was dazed and pleading, and their voice was punctuated by gasps.
'Please... Please, kid, you gotta let me in, hm.'
This part was short, but I hope you enjoyed. The next will be longer, don't worry. :D
Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I love ya! :3