Author's Note: This is something I actually wrote today during school... or more specifically, Study Hall. Mainly, this was just something that was randomly spewing from my head, and it was intended to be about a vampire. By the time I was almost finished writing, I realised how much it did seem like Gaara. The imagery is just something that I thought of whenever I think of him. Maybe you'll agree with me, maybe you won't, I don't know. It's just a little something, so there's no real plot. Maybe a Character Study, if you will?
Anyway, read and review. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my car. What makes you think I own Naruto©?
Desert Child
The summer sun sets, giving way to the dreary darkness known only as the night. Foggy with mist in the air, it's a cool breeze; a preamble to autumn's chill and winter's bitter cold. Muggy nights, such as these, clogged the heavens with thick blankets, the mystical patch work of weeks of dry labor. The gods have been holding back their tears, tear ducts as dry as the dusty ground below. Soon, the clouds warned, the flood gates would open.
This was the type of night he enjoyed the most. The inability to see too far ahead of him is what gave him that increased feeling of solitude he so desperately needed. This was his night, his time. Damned be the person to take away his sense of momentary peace and clarity. Damned be anyone who took away that which was precious...
A low murmur in the sky, and again, another warning. No reason to be afraid because it was him the gods were waiting for. This mournful elegy was in his name, his honor. Another crack of thunder and he knew the sky broke open, tore at the seams. He knew these were the only tears that cried for him. Still, wash this blood away, and there was no trace of remorse.
A cleansing, but this water wasn't pure. Dirty water for a dirty soul. Wash out the wounds, but it's still infected. Being alive means spreading the plague, the virus, and he, its King and Master, predominant carrier, makes his own cursed markings. Rule this forgotten ill paradise where the meaning of evil is not made with words, but through breath and life. He is that meaning, that curs'd deception running rampant while the rest sleep in their homes.
Hold them close, for they have what he does not, and they will take from him no more, damned that they are...
No need for revenge, for he was vengeance from the beginning. A mistake, a reminder, fate back to bite them in the ass for what they failed to take care of. The problem they created and forgot to take the blame for. The child they forgot to love, from birth. And this child is still covered in blood, cold eyes forever detached from this realm.
Everyday is not a waking dream, but a nightmare, and his cold, cool, calm self hides the smirk behind that face of a mask. They know not what it's like to never dream...
And no one cries for him. All cries in fear. For themselves. But not for him.
Well, Child of the Desert, the gods are crying for you now.
And so it pours...
