Chapter 2: Tears of Apology (I'm sorry)

Pairing: Not really one. Characters aren't named on purpose.
Type: Tragedy
Warning: Character death, suicide, and short chapter. Somewhat AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, or any of the characters.
Inspiration: Naruto shippuden episode 443. I was just thinking that if Sasuke's story was to happen to me, that would probably be the way I'd react.

Note that IN NO WAY am I making an apologia of suicide. All I'm saying is that we should try to understand a person's choice before judging. Because, yes, I believe suicide is wrong and is not the answer, but I can understand some people find life more painful than death, and I respect this.
…but seriously, if you're thinking about doing it, talk to someone. I mean it.

Plus I was depressed when I wrote it, and I hesitated a while before publishing it, because I feel it's much, much darker than what I usually write. Because I always try to add some hope whenever I write, but be warned that here there is none.

Apology

"No one commits suicide because they want to die."
"Then why do they do it?"
"Because they want to stop the pain."

« I never wanted a daughter like you. A disgrace to the clan, a failure. You said you had changed, that you wanted to forge your own path…and that you would make me proud. I hoped, against my better judgement, that you could. I guess I shouldn't have trusted your words. All you succeeded in doing was jeopardizing Konoha's safety…for nothing. Stop trying to be something you will never be. You were always behind in everything…and you will always be."

The words kept repeating in her head over and over again. Failure, failure, failure…that's all I'll ever be, huh….

She wandered aimlessly through the darkened streets of the once peaceful village. The lights turned off as she walked by, plunging her in a darkness no smaller than the one growing with every passing second in her heart. People shut their windows and changed their path once they caught sight of her, hatred and disgust mixed together in their eyes.

There was no pity for her last mistake.

Enough was enough. She had messed up one time too many, had messed with something bigger than her, that she couldn't control. She had been disowned by her clan, though no one said a thing; it was obvious enough, and worse, no one bothered to tell it to her face.

She was nothing, now. Nothing to anyone. Her mistake had been corrected by the ANBU, and her punishment had been left for the clan to decide.

She wasn't even worth seeing the Hokage.

Her bangs fell in her eyes, hiding her from the outside world.

Or rather, hiding the world from her.

She did not belong there anymore.

If anyone had bothered looking in her eyes, they would have seen the endless sorrow that had chased away all the life in her. They might have felt her pain, her quiet apology to the world. But then, they would have only seen what they wanted, yet another apology for her mistake, for almost destroying everything they held dear to their hearts. That's all they would see, and they wouldn't forgive her.

Maybe, if they had bothered looking deeper in her life, they would have understood. They would have seen the burning desire for recognition, for proving she wasn't useless. They might have understood she had always been under a pressure she couldn't bear, tried to be something she could never be; something she had to be, for the sake of being useful to the world.

But she could never be. She had tried for the last time today. In her eyes didn't lay an apology to the citizens.

There laid an apology to the world.

An apology for failing, yet again, to do something so many people had succeeded in before her.

An apology for not being strong enough.

An apology for being there.

An apology for existing.

The village opening came into view. The heavy doors would soon be closed off for the night, to prevent intruders from getting in.

Or failures from getting out.

Yet the guards didn't say a word as they watched her leave, unauthorized, the limits of her beloved village. Each one secretly thinking how better it would be if she'd just leave to never return.

And, unbeknownst to them, that was exactly what she intended to do.

"..."

The Hokage called, facing away from the young man kneeling before the desk. Had the Kage turned around, the leader would have seen the deep regret etched into the youth's face.

And would have seen that their features mirrored each other perfectly.

"Follow her. She isn't an enemy to this village, but…I don't want to take any risks."

There was a soft swish of air, and the lonely leader remained alone in the cold office. If only things had turned differently…the Kage knew she wasn't responsible. She was only trying to find her place in this world. But after this…the figure in the red attire wondered if anyone would ever forgive her. Perhaps it was best for everyone if she was sent away for a while. A long-term mission…and a private sensei; someone who'd understand her strength and let it shine. Someone who could coax her out of her sorrow, and disperse the loneliness of her soul.

A forehead touched the glass.

The figure could only hope everything would turn out for the best.

Her thoughts took her to a place she knew well: the Nakano river, where it was only a small stream; where, as a child, she used to come swimming with her friends from the academy. Such memories were so distant, now. She would never go swimming here again.

She reached her hand to her forehead, and her headband protector fell into her open palm. The Konoha leaf…a symbol she had been so proud of wearing. Her first success, when she passed the genin exams…she foolishly thought then that the worst was behind her. That she would finally be a shinobi, start protecting her village, start doing things right…how wrong she was. All she had ever done led to today, to this place and nowhere else. It could never be anywhere else.

She had been a fool to think otherwise.

She turned the metal plate in her hand. She couldn't turn her back on her village, but she could do…this. Taking a kunai out from her weapon pouch, she carved a few kanjis in the metal. Kanjis only the one who'd find her would see.

She hoped someone would understand the way she felt that night. How desperate she was. Was she asking for too much? Just one thing right…that would have been enough for her. To know she was capable of doing something good for this world.

That would have been enough.

The plate still in hand, she shrugged off her vest, boring her clan's symbol. She wasn't worthy of wearing it, now.

She held it above the current. That vest had been given to her the day she had come back from the genin exams. The day she had become worthy of being called a true member of her clan. Her father had given it to her…and now she was taking it off.

She wouldn't need it, anyway. Not where she was going.

She wouldn't take anything with her, except her cursed existence.

It would be better this way.

The vest fell in the river, disappearing in the darkness. Maybe some child would find it, a thousand miles from here, and take it. It would probably be more useful to someone else.

She smiled bitterly. A piece of cloth would be more useful than her.

It had always been this way. She was always the burden they had to bear. The one nobody wanted on his team, because she was a failure.

No, she was worse. You can pity someone who never succeeds.

You don't pity a pawn that can't do its job.

You discard it.

And replace it.

Because it's not valuable.

And maybe it has never be.

A wolf howled to the moon far away from here, and the kunoichi understood it was time. She had waited long enough.

And the figure hidden in the shadows must have had enough of her staying there. She would save him the trouble of doing what he had probably been instructed to do.

He watched as the girl slowly took a kunai out of her weapon pouch, before letting go of the brown container that had followed her for the past ten years or so. It lay motionless on the grass, forgotten; just like its owner.

She kneeled on the cold, unforgiving ground. There was no snow to be seen on this 17th December. The land of Fire was too warm for the white miracle to happen.

She had seen the snow, when she was little. Her family had travelled far away from home, and she had witnessed the snow falling for a whole week. The child-like innocence she once had had immediately dimmed the phenomenon a miracle, a present from the gods themselves, despite the explanation she had been given afterwards. She had spent the night watching as quiet flakes fell from the heavens, a thousand stars dancing on the midnight sky. And at the time, she had wondered how so many tiny things could fall together to create the amazing landscape she'd find on the morning.

It remained a memory she treasured in her mind, and up to now she had always prayed for it to happen at her home.

But she had no home, now.

There would be no miracle for her tonight.

The kunai was raised into the air; right above her stomach. There was no turning back now.

I'm sorry, father. Sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to become. I'm sorry I was such a disgrace to our clan. I'm sorry I was such a burden for all these years. I know once I leave this world, no one will ever know about my pathetic existence. I know the children won't remember the once heiress of a proud clan who had turned out to be such a disappointment. I know my name will be erased from every book. Soon, it will be as though I never existed.

But it's okay.

Because it's how it should have been since the beginning.

I'm sorry.

A single tear rolled down her face, and the kunai plunged towards its target. He jumped as fast as he could, running towards her, towards the kunai, towards her life in mortal danger. He fell to the ground, not breaking his course and run to her. Everything seemed slow, so slow, the kunai kept its unforgiving course, so close to her skin now, the trail of blood ready to flow from the soon-to-be wound, shimmering treacherously beneath the surface.

He extended his hand, reached for the kunai, brushed it with his fingers and-

Did nothing. He was back in his tree, watching with blank eyes, as the kunai tore through flesh and organs like it was nothing.

A soft exhale was heard, and nothing else.

Blood pearled on her lips and rolled down to her chin, mirroring the tear's path earlier, in a darker reflection. Her body fell backward and rested against the tree, silent witness of this night's tragedy. The headband fell from her hand, the Konoha leaf facing the ground. A single blood trail fell on the metal plate, as though she had cried tears of blood. The ANBU dropped from the tree he was in and approached her, a distinct edge to his usually so steady steps.

He didn't know why he didn't interfere.

Maybe it was the solemn atmosphere of the place, the way it felt like a sacrilege to interrupt something so beautifully courageous, so darkly tragic. Maybe it was the strange echo her decision had made in his heart, knowing he had once been as helpless as her; even he had had no right to rid the world of his presence, since it needed him.

The world had saved him, and had condemned her.

Or maybe it was the last look she sent him, pleading him to understand how tired she was of living- of trying. Maybe it was that last look of utter despair that had stopped him in his tracks, understanding her need for a peace she couldn't achieve in this world.

The night was quiet as he silently wished her good luck on her journey to peace. He was maybe the only one able to understand how she truly felt as that kunai was poised above her skin, the only one who could see the true her, the courageous girl who had decided, in her darkest hour, to let go of her attachment to the world. Because people tend to forget that for those who have honour, letting go is as painful as staying strong.

No one had the right to judge her.

Because no one knew how she felt inside.

One could always say that she should have been strong and endure, like so many people before her. But those are wrong; everyone is unique. Everyone has its strength and its weaknesses. Why would one be able to do what the other can? They are not the same; they can't do the same things. Life is this way. She had been strong enough to make a choice, even if to those who cared about her it wasn't the right one. If life is more painful than death, why would you force someone to live? Because, according to you, it is right? That's being so selfish. Maybe it's wrong, maybe it's a mistake. But they should have tried to see things from her eyes before judging. Maybe they would have understood her desire to leave.

He walked closer and closed her eyes. She would never see anything else, now. The people around her had taken everything away from her; they were as responsible for her death as the kunai resting in her hand.

They were all to blame.

As he picked her body up, his eyes caught the shining plate of metal lying on the ground. Her blood had splattered on it, but the inscription was clear.

And it spoke louder than a thousand words could ever have.

ごめんなさい- gomen'nasai

I'm sorry.