It was Raining, a naruto fanfic

It was Raining

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

Summary: Those words of his ambition mocked him. He should have known what they foreshadowed. But he did not. He did not regret experiencing companionship. He thought he never would.

Spoilers for those who have not finished the first arc.

It was raining. Looking up, he sees the water droplets falling from the grey heavens; rivulets streaming down his pale face, washing away the splatters of blood.

The trees loomed above him, their branches softly swaying in the gently assault of the summer storm. A rabbit appears in front of his path, stares at him for a moment and continues its way to its den. The background music of buzzing insects reached his ears.

Everything around him proceeded as normally. It was as if nothing had changed, as if he had not broken a dozen laws and performed one of the worst deeds he had ever done.

Many years before, he had come to a realization that the world did not, in fact, revolve around him. He had once that that if his life ended, the world would suddenly halt in its rotation. He reached the painful truth when his family was lost to him. No, the world does not, in fact, revolve around him. His existence was as slight as the leaves, easily blown away or trampled underfoot. And because of this sudden awareness of his insignificance, he vowed that if he was to be a leaf, he would at least strive to be the one red leaf among the many green; a most valued and beautiful leaf. This way, even if he were to fall to the ground, no one would dare to step on him, and therefore, his ambition would continue.

Each step he takes, each breath he takes, he takes it for that one ambition. He would not dare to call it a dream, for if it were to be a dream, then that would mean that it would be too far away to be reached. The risk of that would be too high; a risk that he would never be willing to take. He must accomplish it, no matter how far he falls, no matter what evils he took, no matter how much of his soul he had to sell to the devil. So this is why, he will never call it a dream. Thus, he calls it his ambition.

This ambition of his, was what made him strive to be the best. He threw away his childish whims and devoted himself to meet the towering standards set before him. He struggled through the obstacles fixed in front of him daily, and he became conscious of the fact that no matter how hard he worked, no matter how much blood he shed, he would never be able to come close to those standards. That was unacceptable.

That one fateful day, he met his team. Why must he be burdened with these weaklings? They would only pull him down, causing his already tedious burden to become even heavier. He thought himself higher than them; his red intensity shone and illuminated their pale greenness. His leaf was so much more brilliant than theirs. Overtime, he found some of his hidden and lost childhood wishes returning. He had always wanted someone to talk to; someone that would just stay by his side, unprejudiced.

He found this unquestioned acceptance in his teammates. Although he thought them weak in the beginning, he saw glimpses of their concealed talents. Their green was slowly becoming a pale yellow. In them, he found companionship.

When he thinks back, he feels a small bitter smile forming. He should have known. Everything in his life revolved around his time-consuming ambition. He should have known that he could never take a break; never be able to find a moment of peace. His words echoed in his ears. 'If you want to live, run. And in turn, hate me, hate me with all your being.' It was through those words that his life lurched to a stop and made a turn. And he continued, telling him that in order for his hatred to be strong enough to exact revenge, he must kill his closest friend. He should have known; should have, should have, should have. Those cursed words foretold of what was to come. But, he did not realize it at that time. And now, he knew.

Those many months before, he never thought that he would find such a close friend. He knew that the both of them held dark secrets in themselves; secrets that neither would tell another soul. But it was because of that specific reason that he felt drawn to him, no matter how reluctant that he was. And overtime, this reluctance melted away. For the first time in his life for many years, he felt the warm glow that was called friendship. He did not regret experiencing it. He thought that he never would.

Then, in a flash, what little light in his soul brought from such friendship was chased away by the all-consuming darkness of him. He stood in front of him, telling him in that condescending voice that his hatred was not strong enough; that he would never be talented enough to accomplish his ambition. Standing there – taunting him, mocking him. Those profound words of his from so many years ago reverberated in his mind at that moment. Must kill your closest friend, kill your closest friend, closest friend. He should have known; should have, should have, should have. He should have known what those words foreshadowed.

With such renewed hatred in him, he sought for power – power that would bring him closer to the accomplishment of his ambition. In his opinion, friendship was an overrated quality. Friendship did not bring strength or power; all it brought were feelings and he knew that feelings were not needed. Feelings were unneeded for his ambition. And so, to chase after power, he ran away.

But as he ran away from friendship, friendship ran after him. When he told him – with silent tears running down his face – that sometimes, he wondered if this was what it was like to have a brother, – he felt the faintest flicker of regret. Before, many months ago, he did not regret experiencing friendship. He thought that he never would. He was wrong.

When those warm words reached his ears, he regretted ever being drawn towards friendship. He regretted it, for if he had not experienced it, he would never have come to this. He would never have had to fulfill the prophecy that he foretold but also knew that he would have to in the end. And the thing he most regretted was that his closest friend would have to die in order for him to accomplish his ambition.

When his arm was thrust into friendship's chest, he felt horror strike him. Those bright blue eyes were dulled with pain, and behind those clouds of pain, he saw grief. When he could no longer stand to look him in the eye, he found a small, resigned smile in friendship's face. He wondered what he was smiling for. He did not think that he would ever find out.

Idly, he noticed that his arm was still stuck in Once-Bright-Eyes' chest, and as he braces his other arm on a shoulder to pull it out, he found that the blood around it was warm, so very warm. So warm against his cold, cold fingers. When he finished pulling his hand out, the one he was facing fell backwards in a graceful arc; the pain must have been too great. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling the wetness of blood running down his fingers and smelt the bitter iron scent soaked into the fabric of his clothing. He stared at the unconscious Once-Bright-Eyes and replayed those words, 'Sometimes, looking at you, I wonder if this is what it is like to have a brother.'

With those words in his heart, he dropped his hitae-ate to the cold wet ground and turned to walk away. His hand went up to grip his shoulder, the one where he stuck his arm into friendship's chest. It was dislocated.

When he reached to forest edge, he turned around and stood there for a moment to look back at Once-Bright-Eyes' still body. The blood flowed down the hole in his chest and mingled with the rain flowing on the ground. It seemed as if he was lying in a field of vibrant red flowers, flowers that swirled around the body before dispersing, only to be replaced by more bloodied flower petals. He saw patterns in those swirling red shapes.

He turned back towards the forest and began to walk again, weaving between the trees; stumbling away from his former village, his former teacher, his former friend. His eyes narrowed as he vowed that he would find another way for his power to grow, another way for his hatred to strengthen further. He would never follow his advice.

It was raining, raining harder than before. Looking up, he sees the water droplets falling from the grey heavens; rivulets streaming down his pale face, washing away the splatters of blood. The violent red flower petals faded, but he knew that although they were no longer visible to the eye, he would feel them on his face as if they always had a place there until the day he dies.

Was listening to some of my angst/super sad songs while typing this out.

As some of you have probably realized, there are some parts in here where there are repeating sentences. I did this because I thought that it made the story flow more smoothly and would put emphasis to what the character was thinking. I am sure that most, if not all, of you have already figured out who was the one that this was featuring is – and also who the word 'friendship' stand for.

Anyhow, please R&R and tell me what you think. And if you see any spelling errors, tell me that too, since this is un-betaed. Thank you!