-Naruto's POV-
Looking out the window, I see rain. The monsoon season is coming, and Leaf prepares to face an onslaught from nature. The rain falls on the streets, splashing and pooling together; the rain falls on the roofs, and from there it came down to the land below; the rain falls on the flowers and trees, and they rejoice in rejuvenation, a moment of escape from the heat; the raindrops fall on shops, and the shopkeepers fume in anger, knowing less customers will walk through their doors.
I took my time absorbing the knowledge that hides within the books, while humming to the soft music in the background, the endless tick and tack of the raindrops.
Now, I would need to consider the next part of my plan, to get to know her better, and closer. I am rather ashamed to admit that I was never close to her back then, but perhaps she hates me like the rest of them. Who knows, but it is now the past, because I am a new person, and with my new identity, I will pull her out.
What can I do? I remembered her teacher's words, about the one person who had caused her fall and decline. I will find out who he or she is, and I will do it by talking to her, directly.
(scene change, central square, near hinata's art shop)
The square is quite packed, amidst the howling rain and the roaring wind, and there she is once again, unenergetic and pale, yet still she forces herself to talk to her customers.
Making my way closer while weaving through the crowds, I kept my eyes on her, observing and monitoring.
-Hinata's POV-
This is the only thing in my life that makes me feel at least slightly alive, and I wish to keep it that way. Art, has always been the place I could find warmth and comfort, the place where I could vent my frustration, the place where I could pour all my heart out, all into a single picture, poem, short story or song.
These are my mediums, my words, my thoughts, and I am most upset when I see these people view these pictures as mere pictures, not a story, not a tale, not an idea.
Shallow. They are and always will.
Turning my body to look at the newly entered customer, I am more than surprised. 'Who is this person... He came a few times already... I never even asked his name...'
It is undoubtably my mistake, but I have not really devoted myself into socializing with people.
He came, and he kept looking at a work I made some time ago. My observations over time has become very sharp, an artist's instinct, a painter's eye, a poet's intuition, and so I could there the depth in his eyes, as he scans the paint. Somehow, I felt very uncomfortable and nervous... Who is this? An art critic? His eyes never seem to leave the paint, as if he was mesmerized by it... no... although I gave all into painting, I have never seen anyone seem so... captured by the work. Again, I had wanted someone to see my pictures differently, not as a mere decoration to a home, and here, this person seems to offer it, and yet... I am scared and nervous.
But I am happy in my work, and I take pride and full responsibility for them.
I walked next to him, and I mustered all the courage I had to ask.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Born in the Hyuga family had at least gave me the gift of manner, and although I am no longer one of them, I still hold on to this manner that is so important for my only lifeline.
He kept staring at the work, as if he did not listen to me. I am upset because he did not seem to listen, and also happy that someone actually look at art so deeply.
"Sir, can I help you?" I asked again, and this time, he actually snapped out of it.
"Oh... Sorry. Didn't notice you. I like the painting, and if I am right, the whole paint goes clockwise, right? From birth to death... Quite an interesting idea to take."
I gave a slight smile, and I took a look at my own painting. It was a painting, no.. more of an experiment, a style very often used in the past, where a picture tells of the movement of time, and the events along them. It is a story without words, only the brushes, strokes and style of approach to convey the story. "Thank you."
"Anyway, this paint seems to tell about the life of a certain child." He pointed it to a child who sports blue eyes. "Who is he?"
"What makes you think the child is someone I know?" I asked, but I was rather surprised by his added question.
"To truly understand a painting, a person must first understand the painter, and the painter's environment. I assume this is someone you know."
---Naruto's POV---
When I finished my statement, she gave a small chuckle that seemed genuine. She laughed, and to me, it was the laughter of the heavens, the signal that I am drawing closer to my aim.
"Who is he? I don't see any bad in telling you, because he is dead anyhow."
I was nervous, and somehow, sad that the one she cared for is dead.
"He is the person who I loved with all that I had."
I could not stand her delaying of the name, so I could beat and thrash that person up.
"I loved him, but after his death.. I began to hate him. For taking it all away, he took my life, my soul away." Her eyes were sad, hateful and tormented. "I wished I could die as well, but I believe in upholding his memory when nobody would."
Come on, Hinata. Just get to the name!!!
"I hate him. I hate him and I hate him! Yet hate dissipateed as time progressed, and now, I only feel a sense of longing for him."
Who? Now, she is making me anxious. But wait, maybe she did not intend to tell me who he is.
"He is.... "
---IIII
HAHAAHAHA. I intend to finish this story quickly, so maybe there is only one or two more chapters, unless I get a stroke of inspiration.
Looking out the window, I see rain. The monsoon season is coming, and Leaf prepares to face an onslaught from nature. The rain falls on the streets, splashing and pooling together; the rain falls on the roofs, and from there it came down to the land below; the rain falls on the flowers and trees, and they rejoice in rejuvenation, a moment of escape from the heat; the raindrops fall on shops, and the shopkeepers fume in anger, knowing less customers will walk through their doors.
I took my time absorbing the knowledge that hides within the books, while humming to the soft music in the background, the endless tick and tack of the raindrops.
Now, I would need to consider the next part of my plan, to get to know her better, and closer. I am rather ashamed to admit that I was never close to her back then, but perhaps she hates me like the rest of them. Who knows, but it is now the past, because I am a new person, and with my new identity, I will pull her out.
What can I do? I remembered her teacher's words, about the one person who had caused her fall and decline. I will find out who he or she is, and I will do it by talking to her, directly.
(scene change, central square, near hinata's art shop)
The square is quite packed, amidst the howling rain and the roaring wind, and there she is once again, unenergetic and pale, yet still she forces herself to talk to her customers.
Making my way closer while weaving through the crowds, I kept my eyes on her, observing and monitoring.
-Hinata's POV-
This is the only thing in my life that makes me feel at least slightly alive, and I wish to keep it that way. Art, has always been the place I could find warmth and comfort, the place where I could vent my frustration, the place where I could pour all my heart out, all into a single picture, poem, short story or song.
These are my mediums, my words, my thoughts, and I am most upset when I see these people view these pictures as mere pictures, not a story, not a tale, not an idea.
Shallow. They are and always will.
Turning my body to look at the newly entered customer, I am more than surprised. 'Who is this person... He came a few times already... I never even asked his name...'
It is undoubtably my mistake, but I have not really devoted myself into socializing with people.
He came, and he kept looking at a work I made some time ago. My observations over time has become very sharp, an artist's instinct, a painter's eye, a poet's intuition, and so I could there the depth in his eyes, as he scans the paint. Somehow, I felt very uncomfortable and nervous... Who is this? An art critic? His eyes never seem to leave the paint, as if he was mesmerized by it... no... although I gave all into painting, I have never seen anyone seem so... captured by the work. Again, I had wanted someone to see my pictures differently, not as a mere decoration to a home, and here, this person seems to offer it, and yet... I am scared and nervous.
But I am happy in my work, and I take pride and full responsibility for them.
I walked next to him, and I mustered all the courage I had to ask.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Born in the Hyuga family had at least gave me the gift of manner, and although I am no longer one of them, I still hold on to this manner that is so important for my only lifeline.
He kept staring at the work, as if he did not listen to me. I am upset because he did not seem to listen, and also happy that someone actually look at art so deeply.
"Sir, can I help you?" I asked again, and this time, he actually snapped out of it.
"Oh... Sorry. Didn't notice you. I like the painting, and if I am right, the whole paint goes clockwise, right? From birth to death... Quite an interesting idea to take."
I gave a slight smile, and I took a look at my own painting. It was a painting, no.. more of an experiment, a style very often used in the past, where a picture tells of the movement of time, and the events along them. It is a story without words, only the brushes, strokes and style of approach to convey the story. "Thank you."
"Anyway, this paint seems to tell about the life of a certain child." He pointed it to a child who sports blue eyes. "Who is he?"
"What makes you think the child is someone I know?" I asked, but I was rather surprised by his added question.
"To truly understand a painting, a person must first understand the painter, and the painter's environment. I assume this is someone you know."
---Naruto's POV---
When I finished my statement, she gave a small chuckle that seemed genuine. She laughed, and to me, it was the laughter of the heavens, the signal that I am drawing closer to my aim.
"Who is he? I don't see any bad in telling you, because he is dead anyhow."
I was nervous, and somehow, sad that the one she cared for is dead.
"He is the person who I loved with all that I had."
I could not stand her delaying of the name, so I could beat and thrash that person up.
"I loved him, but after his death.. I began to hate him. For taking it all away, he took my life, my soul away." Her eyes were sad, hateful and tormented. "I wished I could die as well, but I believe in upholding his memory when nobody would."
Come on, Hinata. Just get to the name!!!
"I hate him. I hate him and I hate him! Yet hate dissipateed as time progressed, and now, I only feel a sense of longing for him."
Who? Now, she is making me anxious. But wait, maybe she did not intend to tell me who he is.
"He is.... "
---IIII
HAHAAHAHA. I intend to finish this story quickly, so maybe there is only one or two more chapters, unless I get a stroke of inspiration.