Nightmares racked his body-but he did not sleep. Shukaku cackled, amused by his host's unhappiness. He did not sleep, but nightmares plagued him like bits of growing cancer. His eyes were wide in fear, bugged even, but unfocused. He gripped his chest in a mental pain, and gagged on air. The ninja in the bushes watched, his eyes narrowing, a devious smirk crossing his face. His imagination was a beautiful, sadistic thing-even sadistic enough to beat out the great Shukaku no Gaara, demon-murderer extraordinaire.
The ninja licked his lips, stifling a laugh, as not to wake the murderer from his living dream-one he thought was real, and the kind of dream one could only have awake.
A dream by a sharingan.
Even being powerful, Gaara was nowhere near mentally stable. There fore, even the idea of him breaking free of such an elaborate dream was not only unspeakable, but also stupid. After all his traumas, there was no way he could even remotely realize that the dreams were untrue. They were fiction, a sadistic story planted in his head according to his own life and curse. He would never truly escape, unless he killed him, the ninja in the bushes. The vengeful stalker, the one full of hatred so thick that he shocked himself some times.
As for his wounds…he didn't really know they were there.
No-he would never realize it.