None of this is mine (except this lovely little oc), all Kishimoto's. But if I were him, I would totally give certain characters more depth and get rid of all the goddamn fillers.
A curl of smoke through the door. Smokey, as smoke is. Sweet, perhaps some spice? Musky, a pinch of perfume?
The room grows warmer. The screams get louder. And all the while, I sit.
Darkness falls. A shadow against the door. A creak. The door is opened, and the monster slides underneath my skin. It oozes and sparks, swirls and bumps. Footsteps. A voice. Two.
Darkness falls. True darkness. Darkness is the absence of light, and sound cannot be heard. Blacker than the blackest black. More midnight than the darkest ebony. The strength of a thousand stars cannot bring back the light.
Still, I sit in the blood and gore of something that once, I loved. Once, loved me. But now, it is nothing more than chunks of flesh and slowly congealing blood upon my face.
The voices still speak.
"We cannot bring her back."
"I know that, I am not an idiot."
"Then why did you say it?"
A child? Ha. I have no room to speak. No room and nowhere to run. How depressing. How disgusting. My mother would be ashamed. If she was still alive and her eyes still in their sockets, that is. Gods. I hear myself speak and sound disturbed. Well, speaking is wrong, I suppose. I cannot speak. I am paralyzed with fear. Really.
Slowly, I pick myself off the floor. The blood has seeped into my clothes. It smells like iron. Disgusting, like eating rotten peaches.
I limp towards the door and recoil as my hand touches the doorknob. It's hot. Really hot, but it's not like the house is on fire, right? Grimacing, I stretch out my hand once more and make contact with the doorknob that's slowly burning off my skin. The knob turns and the door opens to a room full of the sickly-sweet, cloying smoke that had previously been muffled by the closed door. The voices stop.
A shape in the smoke. It looks human. I crane my neck and squint my eyes, trying to get a better look. It isn't working, seeing as the room is full of the goddamn smoke. Cautiously, I take a step. Another. Now, I am walking towards the shape. The shape moves. It lunges out of the smoke and straight for my face.
Swearing, I dodge. Barely. The thing scuttles around and charges back at me. What the hell is this?
Too focused on evading, I fail to notice the other shapes converging on me until a hand is laid on my shoulder. Shrieking, I jump into the air. As I land, the smell of cooking meat fills the air and a thick smoke wafts the through an opened window. The hand of the man who touched me tightens and I pass out, unable to take the pain.
I wake up on the floor, trussed up like a rotisserie chicken. The smoke has filled the entire room. The man who must have tied me up is nowhere to be seen. Alone again.
My head turns to the door, behind it my mother lies in chunks of her intestines and the fluid of her popped eyeballs. Stifling a sob, my eyes begin to water. Reality sinks in. My mother is dead. Dead, dead, dead. Dead like the the flowers I picked for her yesterday. Dead like the chicken I ate for dinner last night. Dead, dead, dead.
The pricks of pain from the wooden floor and the burning of the rope doesn't stop me as I attempt to wiggle my way to my mother the body. Time slows down as the smoke begins to choke me. My eyes sting from the acrid smog and my writhing ceases.
Darkness. I close my eyes and lay still, too tired to move any more. All my energy is gone and I begin to sob in earnest. God, all the sarcasm and disturbing thoughts cannot save me or my mother now.
I have given up.
