Inspired by the first rainfall in who-knows-how-long. I have no idea what it's supposed to represent, mean, or signify. Maybe...passing strangers can inspire your life and change it forever or something.
Warnings: character death
Sky of White
AU [character death] One rainy day can change one life forever and mean nothing to the other.
The sky was a soft shade of white, tainted with slight grays and pale violets. Clouds covered the endless horizon and hid the blue expanse above, leaving only an unchangeable white canvas.
Rain fell with a steady rhythm, falling in straight vertical lines in the absence of wind. Rain was the streaks of silver that could seen against the world. Rain was the heady sound of falling water, the scent of wet earth and dampness that permeated the air, the sparkling drops that trickled downwards in compliance with gravity.
In this world of steady rain and white clouds and wet surfaces, there is an empty parking lot. It had been long since abandoned, though it existed at the edge of where life was worth living and where life was simply existing.
The rough black surface glistened from the water; dully reflective puddles of white dotted the tar amongst dirty off-white lines.
And in this lot, there was a boy.
His hair was of the rarely seen golden variety, then, a dark honey plastered to his head, his bony shoulders, his slender neck. His gaunt face was broad and catlike with high cheekbones, large eyes, and a pert mouth. His eyes were a bright hue of azure, like the sky of sunny days and unwelcome heat and innocent picnics at beaches of white sand and a clear, sparkling ocean; his mouth was soft, a drop of crimson tones against his naturally tanned skin.
Raindrops trickled down his skin, soaking his thin, patched t-shirt, his too-short jeans ragged at the ends, for he had worn them since they had been too-long. The drops slipped down his legs, onto bare feet blackened from the asphalt.
And he danced.
He moved lithely with an animalistic grace, his body seemingly boneless as he twisted and shifted, dancing to an unheard silent beat. He ignored the falling water, the puddles of rippling water, and the splashes that his agile footwork created within them.
Within this divided world of white skies and silver rains, there is a car traversing down an empty street. The chauffeur drove slowly; he avoided the puddles in a futile attempt to keep the black car as immaculately as it had once been.
The sons of the chauffeur's master and mistress sat in the back. With similarly-styled black hair and the same piercingly rufescent black eyes set in equally thin, pale faces, they could have passed for twins but for their obvious age difference.
The younger watched the weary world through his window, unused to how obvious the streets had once been nearly-prosperous and were prosperous no longer. His sharp eyes picked up on the faded, peeling paint, the wrongness of imperfect curbs and walls and streets, and the cracks that spoke to him of another world from his of rich pure perfection.
He pressed his face against the glass in his eagerness, and his breath misted the smooth, cold glass just barely, and then, he saw the fair boy in the rain.
He lost himself in a trance of watching gracefully jerky movements both forceful and soft.
And suddenly, he knew, with a certainty that surprised himself, that that was what he wanted to do. To display his emotions, his every thought with his body, to move with that hypnotizing charisma, to show the world who he was without words, without speeches and donations to charities and money.
He watched and he stared and their eyes met, like clicking into place, a vibrantly dull cobalt blue against a flat ebony black of awe.
And he felt foolish, as he stared into world-weary eyes, because, for the first time, he felt inadequate to someone who was not his brother, as though he failed to measure to unknown standard.
The fair boy stared back, eyes gleaming as he gyrated his thin bony hips and made an undiscernable movement with one graceful hand, as though inviting him to dance.
Just then, the car sped up, and the boys were left with a sudden splash of off-color water and the lost fixation of their fixed stare, though he watched the blurry movements through the rain and the blond kept his eyes on the car until it had disappeared into the distance.
The towheaded boy returned to his lonely dance, his eyes closed, and the brunette sat back into his seat, back straight and shoulders set as he remembered his manners. [sit straight, shoulders set, back straight, don't slouch, that's m'boy, good boy, maybe you'll be like your brother one day]
Five years later, 19-year old Uchiha Sasuke is an international break dancing star as his older brother inherits the family company, the Sharingan, at the age of 21, and turns them both into two of the richest, most famous people in their sparkling world.
Five years later, Uzumaki Naruto is dead, just another poor, dead child in the unescapable current of poverty, just another death in a world crowded with people who struggled to survive. All that is left of him is a memory of his piercingly bright blue eyes and a golden innocence in a dirty world of tarnished surfaces and sly smiles of deceit.
And when they ask why he chose to dance, Uchiha Sasuke would almost-smile, his only smile among his many smirks in the public of his world of riches and glinting gold and say, "I was inspired one rainy day."