Drip. Drip. D r i p.
He heard dripping.
Drip. Drip. D r i p.
Oh, it ran down his head, along with his brain, with his eyes and teeth... drip, drip, d r i p... He was so stupid he thought that taking a ride with an unknown man was a good idea! He didn't want to get here, but he showed him... yeah, he showed drip him, the goddamn driver who wasn't there...
Why the hell he drip wasn't there?... He remembered him being d r i p knocked out... bleeding... Drip, drip...Ohhh... so chilly... chatter, clatter, pitter-patter, what was with this mist around here? It was a freaking Summer! Like if he wasn't in bad mood alreadddrrrippppyy... Drip...
Drip... D r i p... It didn't stop. The friggin' dripping didn't stop. He hated it.
'Shut up!... ' he said, but in vain. So he rolled down from the seat he was holding onto and crawled to his backpack, laying out there, lonely, drip, fuck, oh gods... wallleett, he had it... cell phone, he had it! Oh, shut up!
'Mary had a little lamb... ' he started singing, trying to shut the sound out while he searched through his backpack blindly 'His fur white as snow... 'Snow? Was it snow? Or maybe it was pearl? Pearls were white too... He didn't like pearls. they looked just like his white pills. And his pills were laughing at him, Because there as only a few left. 'We're at the eeend, Gaara, at the freaking end!' they screeched. He grimaced and took one to his mouth, slowly chewing on it as it screamed for help. Drip.
'Shut up' he said more calmly. It was starting to work already 'We're not at the end. We're in...' He looked around, still trembling from cold. A lonely writing on a lonely plate. '...Silent Hill.' Right. Just where he wanted to be. His hometown. Drip. Drip. D r i p. But the sound didn't stop. It even was so loud it evened the alarm that suddenly went off somewhere for no logical reason. Drip.
He searched for the source. Left - mist. Right - mist. And there...
What. The. Fuck. A bloody body of someone who looked just like his driver was hanged standing proudly on the wall of a normal house. Dripping bright red on a cracked street. 'What the hell is that?' he howled, not really feeling too good yet 'Stop with the freaking dripping!' The head moved. Everything fucking moved. It was always like that when he had a headache. Gods.
The answer his scream got probably wasn't what Gaara had been expecting, much less something anyone (even Gaara) might have wanted. A high pitched, deranged shriek of laughter, the mist distorting it's source until it was impossible to know where it came from.
It was nothing. It was just a side effect. A freaking side effect of him banging his head on the car's front glass. It always had to be like that when he was on pills. So he groaned involuntary and glared at whatever was before him.
'I'm not afraid of you.' he said, feeling that he was being watched, like if voices in his head weren't enough 'I have a knife.'
More laughter. The voice was male, but the pitch was something that could make ears bleed if heard for too long. 'A knife!' the voice mocked, heavy sounds of movement coming from some point beyond the Mist. 'And what do you plan on doing with it, little teapot?'
'I-' he said and then stopped, unsure. Something wasn't right. He didn't hear the dripping. And the mist had a normal, white color. He regained his senses already. He held tightly in a backpack and glanced around. 'Is this a trick?' he asked, feeling how his hair stood on his neck 'Is that how you greet every new foreigner?' he asked. ' Because I'd rather go and drink something hot now instead of playing with little kids in the chilly mist, thank you!'
But he held on his knife a little tighter and looked around. Maybe those weren't kids. Maybe it was some stupid teenager who liked to bully people. Those weren't exactly the nicest people on the earth. But it was nice to know that this town was habited, despite the rumors of it being deserted like the driest place on earth. And he didn't need troubles now.
'Cleaver teapot,' the voice mocked. 'Let me show you an... example.'
'I'm not a teapot! I don't do pot! I'm not taking drugs!' he said outloud, looking frantically left and right 'Stop hiding! Show yourse-' He moved and he almost fell face down on the street. What the- '...the hell?'
His foot was stuck in the sand. Ankle deep. On asphalt road. He tried tugging it out, but it didn't budge. He slashed it with knife and it MOVED. Like a living being.
'What the hell is going on?' he screamed angrily, trying to step backward and failing at it 'That's not freaking funny! Who is doing this!'
More shrieky laughter.
'Here's an example of what I can do!' the voice howled, and the sand around Gaara's foot suddenly tightened and hoisted him up, but not high enough. The back of the redhead's head met the asphalt with a sickening thud. 'I can tip you over and pour you out!'
He banged his head on a hard ground and yelled - more from being startled than from pain. Then he looked at his leg being pushed up by a simple dirt and gawked. For a moment, that's it. He felt his knuckles going white over the knife's handle. 'Who think up dumb tricks like that?' he hissed, trying get his leg out of the tight grip. 'Whoever you are, you're pretty stupid!'
The sound of something massive moving was back, and soon the form was close enough to make two eyes, diamond-shaped pupils surrounded by gold, gold surrounded by black, each the size of soccer balls. Bulging blue veins stood out harshly from sand-colored hide as the creature moved closer. 'When you get all steamed up I`ll hear you shout…' the thing cooed rising a clawed hand. Sand came out in high pressure, carving out pieces of Gaara's skin, almost all the way to his skull 'Here's your handle, here your spout~'
Eeenie, meeenie, mini, moo. Where the kid is going to? Wounded flesh makes skin looks fun When you know how to run... Eeenie, meenie, mini moo. Scared shitless, aren't you? I can see you run away But I only want to play! Eenie meenie mini moo. One for me and one for you I will hide the second too Eenie meenie mini moo!...
Mist was alive. It breathed, pulsed and hummed the song of a dimension. His dimension. He was closer to home than he was before, since... Closer than ever (since). He inhaled it greedily, knowing he was the one who set rules here, knowing he was the king of the silence he produced. His bloody, hungry silence, that drank up every piece of blood he didn't lick. Every piece of meat he didn't eat. Every bone he didn't swallow...
Food. There was new piece of food, of a toy, of a humanish world from the other side running around there. Only this time it wasn't an ordinary piece of meat. It was IT. It was blond. It was just perfect. Eeenie meeenieee miniii mooo!... He lunged for it, lashed, fell onto it. It screamed, it ran away it cried it feared him. But it thought it got away. He laughed. Laughed like always, like usually he did, like he wanted and like he never did in his life before. He was glad. Glad he met the little shit. It was IT.
He lashed and got a hold on a plump cheek. A second, a half of it and blue eyes looked at him, startled, terrified and then it was a sharp pain and blood run down freely... Three markings on left cheek. The blood was sour, aghast, full of fear and rejection. He couldn't swallow it.
'Why are you running away?' he cooed, running after it, his tails trailing behind him 'Don't run away, I want to be you friend!...' And he laughed. He had white fangs and he showed them off. He had red eyes and he showed them off. Shrill cry penetrated the mist as it ran, ran, ran!... 'Why are you running away?' blue eyes looked at him. His cheek was so meaty 'I want to be you friend!...' This time the blood's taste was much sweeter. It was working.
He screamed. He screamed bloody murder and brute savageness, screamed for help and for mercy, screamed with his mouth, his voice, his eyes, his body and his soul. His eyes went white, while he screamed, he saw the back of his skull. His fingers clawed at the asphalt while he screamed. The pain. The fucking pain! It got through his skull and brain and burned, it burned through his howling, crying soul, cutting through it and screwing up with everything that was inside. He didn't know what it was. But it was screwed.
He howled, while trying to break the sand with his knife. He yelled trying to scrape the sand with his fingers. He screamed when it didn't stop. And only this eyes, those savage eyes... It was laughing, but his eyes were not. It didn't understand. Its brain was not there.
It was a stupid, big ugly beast which didn't understand what it was doing. It did because it was curious. It did, because he wanted to do it. it did, because it thought it will be good. Empty eyes. He screamed at them, saw himself screaming in them and didn't dare to wish for death. Because if hell existed, he probably just went through it. Because it couldn't be a dream. It was not. His voice gave out.
FOUND! a panicky voice screamed somewhere in his brain. Stupid, weak, it tasted like prey. Loud, so loud and didn't let him think of anything else but the fact that- You can't run, you can't hide anymore, it FOUND YOU!
He thought he'd gotten away? He wasn't very good at his classes, but he was good at sports! Running at least, and he'd run so much the muscles on his knees and elbows felt hot and watery, and the thing had found him— It had knocked him over, slammed its hands (paws? Claws? What the hell *was* it?) onto him from the side, the impact feeling like a bag of bricks covered by warm, furry flesh. It knocked the air out of him, made the wound on his head throb angrily and the world shift in and out of blue again, and when he came back he saw red and white. Oh, God, it`s happy to see me…?
He stared at it, another `please eat me` squeak coming from his mouth as wet warmth spilled thickly down the side of his face. He absently brushed it away and let out a little cry as he felt his skin fucking *gape open*. The warmth instantly shifted to acidic pain, as the thing laughed at him and he scrambled up, crawled away, ran. Why me? Why always me? And the thing was speaking at him! It said—It was saying—
Mad. This time you really, really are- FOUND YOU! YOU LET IT FIND YOU! Something soft on his cheek, the one that didn't feel like if the flesh could flap open and closed if he worked his mouth. Felt nice. Could be nice, if he let it. It cut you with that hand. With those nails. Yes, but if he let it, if he-
It HURT YOU and it`ll HURT YOU again if you LET IT! He ripped himself away and it hurt, his cheek got caught on the claws and ripped open, more marks on his cheek, more blood, and God, he had liked this shirt and it was covered in blood now. His blood.
He turned around and ran away, blood falling like tears down his face.
#+#+#+#
He thought he'd lost it in the Mist. Sound carried poorly in the mist as for scent— Ah, he reeked of blood. He would be found. Maybe he should just stop. Maybe he should just let it find him and… and let all of this be over with. If he just waited a bit and let it- What are you thinking? cried the stubbornly rational part of his mind in defiance. What do you think it will do with you if it gets you?
'I don't know…' he cried softly, a finger reaching to shakily trace the deep cuts on both his cheeks, sickened by the metallic smell and the way red had extended all the way to his pants. The wounds weren't deep enough that they'd gone all the way through the skin, but the time he'd dare to run his tongue from the inside, and felt the way the skin it pushed gaped open obscenely made him gap and think of vomiting, only if he vomited, he was afraid his skin *would* tear till the end. Why was he here? What had he been doing here...? Where was here, and why was all of this happening to him anyway?
He staggered back to his feet when he heard something. Thought he did, at least –it was so hard to hear anything in the damp bubble the mist created-and when had he sat down…? He rubbed at his hands absently, having rubbed them the wrong way against things in the asphalt, making a face at the grainy feeling. Sand…?
Why was there sand in here? He looked down, seeing that effectively, there was a trail of sand… it would be difficult to say where it lead, but maybe there was a beach somewhere… if there was a beach— Well, what? What if there was a beach? That didn't mean he'd be safe there, it didn't mean he wouldn't be found. But he honestly didn't know where else to go or what else to do, so he set for following it.
The blood was sweet, but the meat was sweeter. And nothing tasted better than sweet meat dripping with blood. It ran, it tumbled, it cried and ran some more and he felt it fear, felt it skin against his paws, felt his BREATH, almost there, almost here, against his mouth, like if he was kissing it, like if he was kissing IT, like HE was KISSING IT, like if HE WAS eating IT and...
...it was gone.
He shuffled, beating the ground, feeling disturbed. He was there, he wasn't there, there was no him, was there he not? His skin tingled, cracked, prickled and smoothed, swooning over the known scent as his fingers slowly fingered the ground. He moved like a fluid, like an oil over a water and now he met a grain of sand. It tripled it crunched and it smelt of a living creature. It was close. THE he was close.
He wasn't where he was anymore. He was where THE he was. Same place, different terrority... He perked around, shifting, swishing and crunching through the living sand and smelt the asphalt. It was hot as if the road was used, and yet, the freezing air was there - his vision wavered in the mist... Wave. Smell. Sweet smell of morbid murder. He found him again. It wasn't his land, THE he was an enemy and it was not where he wanted to be, but he followed, because IT was there. He found the blond hair, plump cheeks and snickered in silence, knowing he didn't see him, didn't feel him, didn't...
He lashed at him, pushed him onto the ground and laughed as it screamed in fear, laughed as IT SCREAMED in fear and he let it go, following IT, smiling, smiling, smiling... Eeenie, meenie, mini-moo. How about me eating you? I will. He smiled wider.
Naruto ran again, even if he'd been sure he wouldn't be able to do it anymore, he somehow found a way to make his legs carry him at a speed he wouldn't have believed was possible for him to achieve. That thing wanted to eat him alive. (Or maybe worse…)
In his desperate fleeing, he didn't see how much more sand he was stepping on. Didn't really notice until she slammed onto something big that up until seconds before had been laughing.
#+#+#+#
The sand colored creature let out a shrill cry of delight at that the teapot was doing. Which wasn't much, as he seemed to have gone into a half faint, but he was bleeding so deliciously over his sand…
With a deep rumble the thing leaned and slowly licked the bloodied wound with its rough, sandpaper like tongue, gold eyes narrowing at how perfect, how wonderful his mark looked— Something. Something touching him… Who'd dare? He heard harsh breathing—a human. Another human? On his territory?
#+#+#+#
Bigger than the other…. The one that had cut his cheeks looked like an emaciated rabbit dog from hell. This one was thick and looked like some weird animal that he might have recognized if it weren't for the fact the coloration and markings were totally off. Either way, the thing recognized him.
'You!' the thing screeched, turning its massive form towards him, and the body it had been playing with dropped to the ground with a flat, fleshy noise that made him want to throw up.
The marks. The medium marks. So the 9 tails had already picked up a human? He'd just found his own! Was it more recent than his own? Was the other trying to cheat on him? The Fire fox dared to send his human to his lands? With a shriek, the sand-colored creature shifted slowly. The sand shaped it's quarters backs, ending in a sharp tail made of jagged angles that immediately tried to crush the blond human.
He didn't made it. Or had he? He couldn't. It was intolerable. It was impossible to let it happen. THE he attacked IT. And IT didn't run... He knew he'd meet the fat ugly THE him, but he also had an idea of getting IT back from the trait it taken. He lunged forward and stopped the pointy tail with his teeth. He bit, he bit, he bit so deeply he felt it tear and he run forward, carrying THE him with him, tossing him. Then he showed off his fangs, showed off his eyes and showed off his claws, not liking, not approving, not being happy.
The place was the worst, the place was not his and the place breathed with anger and vengeance, threatening him and baring its fangs at him... No play, no game, no fun. Just war. MY HUMAN! He lunged at him and TORE and he BIT and YELLED (yell!) while he was bitten (yell) and scratched and beaten (YELL). MY HUMAN!
His tails lashed around, hit the ground, make it worse, crushed the asphalt, murdered the surface, waved through the mist... his breath was cold, his eyes shone and he was ready to defend MY HUMAN! because it meant a war and everything was right at war and there were no rules at war and love. Though he did not know love. Grotesque word. Was it to make it laughable, to sneer at him, to show him his lack of knowledge, a mockery? The other human (NOT HIS) was laying there, laying (meat) with his (forehead) bleeding from a mark, a sign a sign a sign LOVE He did not like being mocked. He kicked a human and smiled wider wider wider as it groaned as it yelled while rolling, being tossed, hurt, broken... LOVE is a mockery.