Introduction

Hi!

I decided to set myself a little challenge, to help combat boredom. I was scanning through my music and realised that some of the song titles would make great story titles too, so my challenge is to write a oneshot for each of the titles from the Beatles album 'Help!' The stories probably won't have anything to do with the songs except for the title. They'll all be Naruto stories, but characters and themes will vary. I'll give a brief summary and such before each story.

Please read and review! All constructive criticism welcomed.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. I also don't own the Beatles or their song titles.

Story 1: Help!

Summary: Gaara sits alone during the full moon, the demon within him crying out for blood.

Genre: Angst/Drama

AN: For those that read 'Sand' Yes, it's another angsty Gaara fic, but I love him so… and it was the only idea for the title that went beyond a paragraph. Not all of the stories will be this dark. I think this is one of the more difficult ones to write. Anyway… hope you enjoy (and review :D).

Help!

This isn't me. I'm not like this. I don't want to be like this.

Gaara let his eyes rove around the streets beneath him. They were empty, except for one man stumbling home after a night of drinking. Gaara followed him with his crystal blue eyes, watching until he turned the corner out of view.

I never asked for this. I didn't ask to be a demon. I'd live without the sand if it meant that someone would look at me with something other than fear or hatred.

The full moon had risen high in the sky above him. He was feeling the familiar tingling in his fingertips and tightening of his stomach; he could feel the demon, awakening somewhere within him, wanting to be released. The demon was waiting for freedom. Gaara wanted him to leave him, forever. He wanted a night of peace: one night where he could sleep and not worry about the demon. He had lived all his life afraid of sleep, fearing to close his eyes because behind them the demon waited.

I just want to sleep. I don't want to live like this anymore

So many people in the village relied on him. His sand, his ultimate defence, and also his ultimate attack, was one of the village's strongest weapons. They relied upon him to fight for them. And yet they were terrified of him. When he looked at them, they viewed him with fear and distrust.

They all run away from me. Why did no one ever try to help me?

He stood up slowly, looking out over the village that he called his home. If it was his home, though, then why did he view the buildings with disinterest, the streets with contempt, the people with barely concealed revulsion? If this was his home, then why did he feel that everyone in it would be happier if he was dead?

They made me to fight for them, but they won't help me live with the demon they gave me!

Gaara could feel the familiar anger rising within him. If this was his home then why did his own father try to kill him?

They don't want the demon they created, and yet they still use me.

A moment later, sand swirled and he was no longer standing on the roof, but on the ground of the street below. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, inside one of the houses by the side of the street. His eyes drifted in that direction, to see a man standing at the window, looking at him in shock and hastily closing the curtains.

They all run from me.

Gaara let the anger flow, like a tangible force. It floated through his limbs, it extended around him like a shield. He closed his eyes. He could feel the demon within him. It filtered through his consciousness, filling his senses. The moon was full. The demon wanted blood.

Extending his left hand, Gaara stared at it, hardly seeming to recognise it as a part of himself. Without moving he gathered sand from the ground into it, then clenched a fist, tipping it to one side and letting the sand trickle slowly out onto the floor again. His eyes watched, seeming fascinated with the simple action of gravity on the sand.

The sand flows. It flows like water. Like blood: Like life, ebbing away.

A demonic smile twisted Gaara's features as he felt the demon within him clawing its way into his psyche. He could almost hear its voice, demanding, shouting: Kill. Kill. Kill.

I have that power. They may hate me, but I have the power to kill.

Stalking through the streets of the Hidden Village of Sand, Gaara kept his senses alert for some unwitting soul. Then he heard something behind him. Someone was approaching.

He turned around, his turquoise eyes focused to pinpoints, his eyelids narrowing. He saw the man in front of him. Just a man; no one special. He looked at Gaara, took in the red hair, the eyes, the dark rims around those eyes that spoke of 12 years without much sleep, the kanji burnt into his forehead. The man's eyes widened in that too familiar expression of terror and Gaara smiled, extending a hand slowly.

The demon wanted blood.

He could provide blood.

Streets away, another man was walking home. He paused, hearing a terrible strangled cry.

"HELP!" the voice called. "HE…" the second cry was cut off. The man shuddered, pausing for a moment and listening to the deadly stillness that followed the scream. He listened, imagining that he heard a crazed, maniacal laugh coming from the same direction. Shaking his head in disbelief, but with fear in his eyes, he hurried on.