Chapter 4
(Jenrya Lee: Oh...I'm not getting too many reviews...wah! But maybe it's because the Naruto section isn't that popular? *stares at number of stories in Naruto section* Never mind....Read, and please, please, review!)
Three years later/ Age Eleven
A raven haired boy was dragging a large bucket, filled with water. A mop was held awkwardly between his arm and side. The boy was having difficulty going around corners, and water from the bucket splashed onto the floor. The boy dully turned around, his dark grey eyes going over the spilled water. The boy mentally shrugged. He placed the bucked in the middle of his bare living room floor. He had moved the carpet out of the way, and now dry blood was stained into the floor. The boy swept the floor with the wet mop, knowing that the blood wouldn't go away. But he didn't really care. That wasn't why he was mopping every floor in the house. It was because he hadn't done it in a while and the dust that had accumulated was making his allergies go haywire.
And even if it did get the stained blood off the floor, the blood he saw when he closed his eyes wouldn't go away, no matter how often he saw the Konoha psychologist, who always sat three inched away from him, blinking once every four seconds. She always told him that the only way to get rid of the dreams, and the awful memories, was to move out of the house. It held to many bad memories, she said. When she said that, Sasuke stood up so fast his chair fell to the floor. He yelled at her so loudly that the whole building heard him. How dare she tell him where he should live? He could live in a damn cardboard box, for all she cared. But he was not going to move out of his house. No way.
The boys thoughts wandered back to cleaning, so he dipped the dirty mop into the equally dirty water. He would have changed it by now, but decided against it. The bathroom was too far way.
Once the boy thought he did a satisfactory job, he moved onto his uncles room. Then his aunt. Then his cousin Yuki, and his little sister Ichiga. She was only 6 when she was killed, and she was found clutching her pink teddy bear, with the matching pink strawberry t-shirt. It was her favorite. Yuki, who knew a bit of English, called Ichiga 'Strawberry', because 'Ichigo' in Japanese means exactly that. From that day on, everything she owned had a large red strawberry on it. It slightly annoyed her mom, who was Sasuke's mothers sister, because Uchiha's were usually dark, and hardly ever wore anything but blue and black. But her sister told her to let the girl do what she wanted, because by the time she would be ten she would have grown out of it. Sasuke could still feel her lingering presence in the room, and could almost smell her strong, fruity shampoo. She really looked up to her raven haired, older cousin. She would always ask him to help her tie her shoes, or comb her hair. But she hated Itachi. She said he scared her.
Sasuke though now, that if he had listened to her, maybe she wouldn't dead. Maybe she wouldn't be buried in a baby-blue coffin with her teddy bear still clutched to her chest. And maybe Yuki wouldn't be buried next to her, his face rigid, completely erased of the easy-going facade he always had.
The boy dropped his mop, and bent down to pick it up, when he something caught his eye. On Yuki's wall, which was hardly even his, because his little sister always plastered her stuff there, was a childish drawing. It was scribbled, chicken-scratched sort of art. But the raven haired, cold eyed boy wanted to cry.
Because that scribbled, chicken-scratched picture was of him. The boy bit back tears until he could taste the blood from his cut lip. He threw the mop on the floor and ran to his parent room, which was nearest, and threw himself on the bed, mentally telling his stinging eyes not to shed a tear.
And he didn't. Instead, he had a tantrum. He grabbed a picture of his parents on their wedding day, and flung it halfway across the room. It hit the wall, and the glass protecting the picture shattered into a million little pieces. The boy realized what he did, and ran the end of the room, picking up the picture. Some rather sharp pieces of glass cut into his skin, leaving a small jagged cut. But the boy ignored it, and frantically patted the remaining shards away. His palm was a bloody mess by the time he was done, but he hardly felt it. He carefully examined the picture to make sure it was intact. The actual picture, miraculously, was untouched. The boy took a deep breath of relive, and put the picture back, face down. Now, he had to sweep up the shards and mop again. The boy scolded himself for not having better control over his emotions, and went to get the mop. His eyes narrowed in his annoyance. He also had to clean out all his cuts, which would take a while. He decided to do that first, or else he'd get an infection and they'd have to cut off his hand.
Well, it wasn't that bad of a cut, so he wouldn't need it to be amputated. But he didn't want to take his chances. He took out a disinfectant cream. It did the same thing alcohol did, but didn't burn like hell. He rubbed it around his cut, and placed it back. He then went back to cleaning the house.
The very large, very empty, once prestigious, Uchiha Clan house.
And he had to do it all by himself.
One year later
The Uchiha house was still spotless, and the boy who cleaned it all was taking a well deserved shower. He washed quickly and efficiently, wiping away all the dirt and dust that stuck to his skin and hair. He shampooed his hair, and his hand ran up his neck, rubbing the seal he had there. He thought about the man who gave it to him, Orochimaru, and how he said that Sasuke had greater potential then his brother.
'Sure. Boost my ego while you're trying to kill me.' The boy thought bitterly, sticking his head under the nozzle. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, rinsed out the bar of soup, and stepped out of the shower. He swore to himself when he realized he didn't bring any clean clothes. He wrapped a towel around his slim waist and walked to his room, taking out a fresh set of clothes. He returned, shivering, to the bathroom, pat-dried his hair, dried his body, and slipped into his clothes. He smiled to himself. He just realized he covered himself being looking for clothes.
'Not like there's anyone here to see me naked...' He thought to himself. He combed his hair hurriedly, put his shoes on, and headed out the door to go shopping. He stared at his shopping list. He only received around one hundred dollars for food a month, because Naruto, who was also an orphan, needed money too. But most of the shop keepers refused Sasuke's money, no matter how loud he yelled or how persistent he was in his goal to pay for his food.
"No, no, I have enough to pay for this, believe me–"
"Oh, I know. But spend it on something else. Ok?" All the shopkeepers would say, patting the boys head like he was a dog or something. Sometimes, the blue-clad boy wanted to scream, to the whole world, "I don't need your charity!!" But then he'd stare at the money in his hand, and shut up. He may not like it, but without the towns charity, he'd starve. He never touched what was in the Uchiha bank account, mainly because of the fact that that money went toward the burial of his family (which, Sasuke insisted, he would pay back every dime he took out of that account once he saved enough). But he hated feeling poor. When his family was alive, he was actually exceptionally spoiled. He'd buy everything that he wanted, and when it came to the holidays, he'd nearly drown in presents. Now, he didn't even buy himself a decent birthday cake. He actually didn't buy one for a year now. What was the point of having a party if no one was there?
The boy wandered to the vegetable section, and he grabbed a few hearty ones and threw them in his basket. He went to the bread section, and picked up several different ones. He bought just enough for him to get all of his nutrients and the sort, and never a dollar more. Of course, if he went to the Hokage and showed him all of his receipts, he would get more money. But he has never had to that since he started getting the loans. (Which is what they are, Sasuke told himself. Loans. I will pay everyone back.) So why start now? The Uchiha passed the fruit section, and realized they had a huge sale on strawberries. He did not frown, nor show any emotion. He was in public. His mind, ignoring his orders to not to, wandered to his cousin.
"Sasu-Kun, Sasu-Kun, could you lift me, please? I'd like to see the 'stawberties'."
"They're not 'stawberties' Ichiga. They're strawberries!"
"Straw-ber-ries. Ok! Got it! Can you lift me now?"
"Hahaha. Sure."
And he would. He'd lift her up, complain on how she weighed a ton, and show her the fruit she loved so much. She'd smile and kiss his cheek while she was up there, then complain that he was holding her wrong. So, the boy would lower her, pat her head, then buy some strawberries for her.
'Stop! Don't you dare cry! Itachi would never cry! DON'T!' the boy ordered his mind. And he did not cry. His face remained emotionless. It remained rigid, hard. He stalked past the foods, and stood on line. No meat for Sasuke this week. He was running out of money, and had to grasp every penny. Once it was his turn to pay, the lady at the cashier smiled at him, and said,
"You that Uchiha boy?" The black haired boy nodded quickly, and took out his wallet, getting his money in order. He knew what was next,
"Oh. Well, yah know, you don't gotta pay for this, sugar." The boy wanted to scream endlessly into a pillow. Instead, he took a deep breath and told the woman that he had enough money and he could very well pay for the food.
"Come now, honey. I ain't takin' your money, kay? Your foods on the house. Now, why don't cha go out and see a movie or somethin'? Do something fun, kay?" The boy forced himself not the frown and said that her boss might get mad if he got all this food for free. His hand swept above the food to indicate that he had a lot there, even though he didn't even have twenty dollars worth.
"I am the boss."
"Oh."
"Next!"
The boy sucked in his pride, thanked the woman for her kindness, walked out of the store, and kicked a rock so hard it would drive a hole through the person it hit.
When he got home, he trained.
And trained.
His hands became bloody and bruised after several hours. His mind screamed for him to stop, but he didn't. He had to ignore it. That was the only way he could become stronger.
He needed to become stronger.
The boys mind numbed, and his lips broke apart to say a single word.
"Sharingan."
His eyes turned red, and he fought to keep it up. He fought to make it stronger.
After a while, he collapsed. His eyes turned from warrior red, to innocent black.
The eyes of a boy who had seen hell, and now lived in it. The eyes of a boy whose scars ran past his hands, but dug deep, and ran into his heart. Into his mind.
Into his eyes.
(Jenrya: WOW! That took a while! I'm sorry this seems a bit....bad, but this is hard to write. Next chapter is the last one. But, you guys saw that right? How I was going through his life after the Uchiha Clans demise and paralleling it with his present day life? Well, anyway, I NEED IDEAS!!! HELP ME PEOPLE!!! I know you guys have ideas!! I will give credit if you want it. You could even email me with an idea, just put, "FF.Net Fanfic" as the subject. Now....review!!)