Mercy Me
Perfect moments merit some recognition. Her voice alone captivates him. The first visit was indeed the beginning. Since then, many visits have followed. Today, it will be a month since the first one. Thirty-one visits in a row. Thirty-one fucking visits and the voice still isn't gone. Yet he has faith. It's funny though-he has faith. He has faith even though, he knows deep down it's a lie. Deep down, he knew it was probably some plan to kill him. It wouldn't be the first time.
"Hi" she quietly says as she walks in the room.
He doesn't answer. He doesn't feel like talking. Not this time. Instead he stares blankly at the knife. Again. She says nothing when he starts running the knife in and out of the thin sheets. He continues upward and makes short work of the blanket underneath his legs. They don't talk at all. She stares, he slices. Two hours pass and she's still here shreds of cloth lay where the sheets and blankets used to be, not a single word passes either of their lips. She looks at him the whole time. Every glance made it harder for him not use the knife on her. It really was hard. He grips the handle harder. The feeling she gave him, it made him scared. It made him fearful because he couldn't control it. This new feeling- it was like the voice- he wasn't in charge of it. He was forced to let it take its own course and there was nothing he could do about it. That exact thing is what terrified him the most. The feeling of being helpless. Not knowing. He was utterly venerable and he knew it. This feeling is what he despised the most. The voice suggests that if she was dead the feeling would be gone also. He ponders, fingertips rubbing the blade's smooth wooden handle. A new thought pops in his head: If the feeling was gone she would be too. Fucking voice. He releases the knife. It was times like these when the words would flood out. He wasn't sure what he was saying, his mouth would always be moving too fast for him to figure out what exactly he was trying to say. This was one of those times. She doesn't say a word, no; she doesn't even look at him. She begins to walk out of the door and when she does he feels a soft, gentle, aching pain, coming directly from the bright red muscle buried deep within his chest. But just for a moment or two it stays. He doesn't know for certian why the feeling lingered. But if there is one thing he does know, its that he wants it to come back.
I lied I'm sorry. It's not Gaara POV and its short. I promised gin-inu an update so here it is. Sorry, it's kind of really bad.