Disclaimer: I won't bother.
Moi musings: This chapter is even more painful than the previous one. Heck, I was feeling very angsty. This was not what I originally intended to write, but stories are stories, and this one led me elsewhere...
With thanks to rabidbutterfly and ethereal damsel for your reviews! You two are the reason why I bothered to make a second chapter! You guys rock!
Rabidbutterfly: Thanks for those little bits! I added them in here. See if you can find them.
Ethereal damsel : Thank you for the lovely compliment! Hope this one was up to your expectations.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The soft tap-tapping continued down the corridor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His footsteps echoed, ringing clear like bells in the silence that wrapped the dying, the dead hallway.
But he didn't hear them.
The dust of the unused rooms. The empty rooms. The rooms which had the smell of Death. Suffocating.
He stopped. Lavender. The lavender kimono, elegantly embroidered with branches of lilacs and lilies, gracing its hem, flowery ballerinas dancing without moving. It still hung there, from that wooden hanger, carefully perched on the little knob of the cupboard. The brief flicker of a memory, like the soft strains of a familiar melody, danced through his mind. Then it was gone, slipped through his fingers.
He tried to grasp on to it. Hold on, and never let go.
But it had disappeared.
Like the early morning dew. Blink, and you never see it again.
Like the woman who had once worn the lavender kimono.
But would never wear it again.
Because she was gone.
Gone.
It sounded a little less worse than Dead.
But that was how she was.
Like sugar-coating it with poison.
He didn't even know how he ended up in the room itself, clutching the cold, lifeless kimono to his chest, trying to grab back the smallest sliver of remembrance, as he rocked back and forth on the dusty, wooden floor.
Back and forth.
The festivals.
Back and forth.
The fun fairs.
Back and forth.
On and on, his eyes wide open, but unseeing, blind to his surroundings except for the silk robe he held in his arms. He hungered for the past, like a starving beggar hungers for a banquet, with its rich, exquisite flavors, the sweet wine warming his heart.
But isn't forbidden fruit the sweetest?
Now he could not, would not return to the past.
How could he?
It was forbidden, not only in the laws of physics, but his own laws as well.
It was a law.
Nothing mattered.
But his death.
No.
Nothing else.
Because he was the reason.
The reason why the people who had left the handprints on the windows...those last remaining traces...
Couldn't leave them anymore.
Finally, he staggered to his feet. Like a toddler, learning to walk. Unsteadily, he stumbled, but there was no one to catch him should he fall. The room seemed to tilt, here, then there. Like his life, swaying here and there like a ship in the face of a storm.
Ah. A metaphor. How poetic. Or was it a simile? He didn't care. He had long locked away all that he had learned about grammar, and lost the key. Or was that classified under vocabulary? He already didn't care, so how would he have known? Yes, his mind was too clouded, obsessed even. But as usual…
He didn't care.
Because nothing else mattered.
So…
Why bother?
He lived for that one reason.
Embedded like a shard of shattered glass in his broken soul.
Kuraitani.
The valley of darkness.
Indeed, his very being was so shrouded in nothingness.
Could one be lost in it? The nothingness which wrapped him like a snake binding its prey?
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
One never knows.
He never knew that blood would taint, flood the very grounds of the Uchiha compound. He had no way of knowing. No way at all.
The question haunted him.
Is ignorance bliss?
Or is it simply…
A delusion?
His existence was almost like a dream, flitting through the sunlight. Like a little butterfly, with its painted wings, shadowing the moon.
Yes, poetic again.
Dream.
Dream.
Dream.
Nothing compared to the fantasy of his brother's blood, dripping like the juices of the forbidden fruit, staining his pale hands.
He decided to check on the word Metaphor in the dictionary.
Maybe then, he could avoid using them too much.
The first bite of the fruit is sweet like nectar, but then it burns you like true love lost.
Reviews are, as always, welcome.
Check out my other fanfic: The Reason.