Chouji
Chouji collapses against the tree and traces his friends writing with his hand, smiling. 'hurry up fatass,' said Naruto, 'catch up soon.'
Oh, if only they could see him now.
Chouji leans against the trees back and closes his eyes. He can hear his muscles screaming at him under his skin. He can feel the tissue deteriorating. He can smell the evaporating blood and sweat from his skin. He can taste destruction impending. He can see the bone.
Chouji is skinny.
Chouji is dying
Chouji is exactly what he has wanted to be his entire life. He is skinny, he is just like everyone else, he is exactly what a person should like. He is not a shame to his friends. He is no longer overweight. Chouji is normal.
Chouji is – at last – what he has wanted to be his entire life, and he only has a few minutes to enjoy it. He cannot help but laugh at the irony. He is exactly what they all wanted, and no one will even know.
But it's alright, Chouji decides, sinking into the tree trunk and letting the butterflies carry him, at least his friends are safe.
At least his friends are safe. At least his friends are safe. At least his friends are safe.
Chouji is skinny, and Chouji is dying, but that's okay.
Butterflies have never lived for long.