Impressions and natural/unnatural undertakings:
Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto
It seemed to her, in front of her father, she acted like someone else – a girl out there to impress. Academics, practical exercises, ninjutsu, everything had to be the best to garner and claim some sort of response from her father, that if she somehow didn't excel in them, the fetid silence that shrouds their family would rot even further.
Days with him home often accounted for greets with half-assed smiles (the ones you display in empty politeness to visitors and strangers), air-filled, rigid hugs, constant, neutral faced frowns, shame-filled attempts – on Sarada's behalf – at striking casual conversation, which led on to:
"Papa, where did you go this time?"
"To the _ in _."
"Was it nice?"
"Yes…though _."
"Yeah…"
"Did you hear Sasuke-kun, Sarada got top marks in her academy!" her mother would often interject with another wonderful accomplishment of their daughter's.
"That's great Sarada. Keep it up." Yes kind words, encouraging even, but spoken with no outward change of expression or tone, it was hard to accept such praises.
"Thanks papa…"
…and a bountiful load of silences. One of those, 'I'm talking to you, but you're not my best friend and now I don't know what to say so…' those silences. However, unlike any other silences, they force it to be carefree, casual, comfortable silences. Natural. Neutral. That's certainly the way to put it.
Really, it's like her father wasn't even trying to mend whatever was supposed to be mended. It's like Sarada and her mother have to force themselves to talk to one another…shameful really. That's why it's always easier to talk about her achievements. He just sits there on those days, as if he hadn't been away from his family for whole six months, stoically, and then when the time comes, leaves again for god knows how long.
He anticipated leaving, well that's what Sarada thought anyway, even she started to anticipate those times when her father would be standing by the doorway again with a small smile, his satchel lazily slung over him and a two fingered flick to say goodbye.
The door would close behind her – inhale and exhale: a giant sigh…finally, he was gone.
However, her head would still throb where two fingers had nudged, there was a wish in her heart – her father.