When my family died, I laughed. I laughed so hard I doubled up from the pain of it, but keep right on laughing, laughing as tears flowed down my face, laughing as blood finally leaked into them, and I was still laughing. I don't think I stopped for at least a day, that's how long it was.
When I finally stopped, my breathing ragged, I looked up at their still bodies and blank faces, then started all over again, my body wracking with the violent giggles.
The smoking ruins of my house reeked of smoke and death, and the scent crowded out any other smells, slowly killing off my scent of smell.
I collapsed then, worn out, and I can't be bothered with remembering, or even trying to remember, how long I slept. It was a long time, I know. My parents' bodies were bloated, their skin alive with the dance of flies by the time I awoke. The sun beat down on me, and my skin was raw. Sunburn. Days had passed; how many, I'm never going to know.
There's not much to remember about that day...it was hot, with no breeze, as was usual in Rock country. My villages was in ruins around me, smoke still curling up to the clear sky. My fault, of course. Everything that went wrong can be blamed on one person.
Well, guess who that was for my village.
My muscles were sore as I slowly stood, wincing as pain shot through my already exhausted body. My back stung, sending dull shocks through my system. My head was throbbing, and I was fighting the urge to throw up and just fall down again.
The villagers lay dead around me, bodies sprawled in streets covered with ash, scrambling into fallen buildings, laying by the front gate...everywhere.
And I had done this.
I licked my dry lips, trying to spread what little moisture I had. They were dry and cracked, my lips were, and the blood was way too thick and dried for my taste.
I glanced down to my right. My mother's hands were reaching for me, her blue eyes, so much like mine, glazed by death. She was holding my five-year-old brother in her ruined, burned arms, sheltering his face in the crook of her bloody neck.
My father was plastered against the wall, his head lolling to the side, tongue poking out. It may have been comical in another situation, but not now. His hair, golden as mine, was burned to the roots, and a gaping hole marked his face, where his right cheek should have been. His teeth were blackened and falling out. They hadn't been that way before he died.
Before I blew up the village.
The reek of death is getting to be too much, combined with the smell of burned flesh, and my stomach churned unpleasantly as I eyed the remains of the Rock village. Everything was ruined, and the edges of my mouth lifted momentarily before I turned to examining my body.
I wasn't spared by the fire I had set. My arms were covered with huge blisters and ugly raw spots due to sunburn. Ash coated by whole body, and the remains of my clothing were ripped and torn, held together by a few threads as they draped around my body.
My clay pouch was the only thing even vaguely whole, still tied onto the last strips of my belt. Blood dripped from various wounds, adding to the puddles decorating the ground already.
I pursed my lips as I stared back up at the sky. I didn't really have a plan when I blew this place up, I just wanted silence. I didn't want the endless chatter, the constant yelling, the smacks of beating as hands bruised my skin.
God, I could taste the blood, there was so much of it spilled. It smelled nasty, the sharp iron scent burning into my nose, but I didn't have the energy to do anything about it.
I began walking, picking my way over the broken buildings, the stacks of stones and piles of bodies. There's nothing left for me here, in this dead place, with glazed eyes staring at me accusingly every way I look.
You killed us, Deidara...
Do you regret it?
Look! My child was burned by your flames and bombs, you monster! You should die, you fucker!
Why'd you do this to us? We never bothered with you....
That was part of it....
It hurts so much! How can you laugh in the face of such pain?!
You laughed at me...when I was the bleeding, dying one...
I'm so sorry, Deidara!
You're not.
Their eyes are dead as they stare at me, and I fight a shudder as I pick my way by them. Stop staring at me! They never looked at me before, why must they now?
I pause by the gate, my hand on the burned wood and clay as I cast one final look over my shoulder, at the death and ruins behind me. At my dead parents, my dead brother, my dead teacher, the dead boys who would beat me up every chance they got...and their blank eyes, staring at me with such hatred. Not anything different from what I'm used to.
"Funny..." I muttered, voice harsh. It was the first time I had tried to speak in days, and the words ripped at my throat. "You're all so quiet...but your accusations are louder than ever."
Author's Comments: Um...it's bloody?