Two -
I do not own Naruto.
Lately, Haruno Sakura's dreams had been rudely interrupted by what she would consider nightmares; anything to do with the inhuman puppet master Sasori was.
The scene played over in her head, the beginning of a horror film, the disc skipping at a part of sure suspense - the swing of the kunai, his red blood on her skin. Red, like his hair. Her blood bitter and metallic in her mouth, on her tongue, staining her lips.
Jolting upright, sheets stuck to her body, Sakura shivered. The nightmares had been repetitive; it was the way some people dreamt of falling. Over and over and over and over...
Peeling the sheets off of her sweat-slicked skin, she wobbled out of bed and over to the window, inhaling like an asthmatic. Deep breaths, an epileptic meditating amidst the prelude of a seizure. It was as if she were a patient at the hosital in which she worked.
The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, freckles of stars dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. Leaves rustled, sending chills down her spine along with the smooth fingers of the midnight breeze.
Gasping a final breath and holding it in her lungs as if it were a precious treasure, Sakura shut the window and hesitantly made her way back to the dampened sheets of her askew bed. The whispers of air had felt nice, almost welcoming, to a world where fear ceased to exist, even in a time of the night such as this. She would have left the window open if it were not for her ever-looming fear of that cruel, sadistic man creeping into her room and whisking her away. To where he would take her, she hadn't a clue, but it sounded plausible for someone lacking as much sanity as any member of the Akatsuki.
The young teen's mind raced at the same pace as her heart, every nerve on end looking for comfort. Pulling the sheets further upon her body and twisting into them, she decided mummifying herself was a safer bet and a more...mature bet than crawling into her closet beneath and upon strewn articles of clothing.
No one could ease her painstakingly aggravating fears, not a single soul in this entire village or outside of its walls. Even if someone came up with a plausible reasoning, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to believe a word of it.
For Akasuna no Sasori was an S-ranked criminal; deadly, stealthy and obsessive. For anyone to make her feel safe would make them a con, a fraud.
As she had recently come to see and believe, words were sweet nothings; sentiments with no value behind them or sincerity, for that matter. They could leave timeless or minute impressions, but they would never be more than skipping stones in the world of conversing.
Eternity...
Not that it was often, but any time she heard the word it made her shudder; she heard it in the same tone every time. In his mellow, sweet-talking and alluring voice. It was terrible.
A soft tap tap outside her window made her jump. Crawling beneath the covers and rolling to face her door, Sakura curled into the fetal position, no more than a mere child plagued by the boogieman under her bed. There was an argument raging between her thoughts; go investigate and own up to the title she had earned as a renown shinobi or snuggle further into her matress, praying that her heart would slow and allow her to drift into a dreamless sleep.
Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of her and she tumbled once more out of bed and edged her way to the window. On the short trip she fumbled with her bag to fetch a kunai...just in case. Glancing around while the window was shut, she saw no visible signs of danger. A voice in her head cried 'Deciet!'. Ahh...
Opening the window, Sakura eased her torso out and searched the premises once more for a sign of life; nothing. There was absolutely nothing. There wasn't a trace of anyone's presence there. Nada.
Climbing back into her room and hastily pushing shut the window, she tip-toed back to bed and stopped, body going rigid at the sight of it -
Against the opposite wall a paper hung, stuck with a kunai. No. It couldn't be...
Reality spun from out of reach as did she to check her back. He was here, or at least, he had been.
Darting around the room in a paranoid state, Sakura checked everywhere - closet, hallway, even under her bead. As far as she was concerned Sasori was the boogieman and she was his innocent victim, an innocent little girl all over again, braving her fears.
Once again, there was nothing. The only trace of his presence a small note on her wall eliciting a feeling of numbness otherwise indescribable.
Easing over to the wall she reached out with a shaky hand and budged the kunai from its hold in the wood. Trembling, she wandered back to her bead and fell into it, eyes fixated on the surreal image of a kunai and paper between her fingertips. Denial; she was in blunt-faced denial.
With the kunai now in her grasp, she decided it was now or never. Sakura would have much preferred the option of never, but a kunoichi doesn't hide from fear - she addresses it head-on.
Pulling open the paper so elegantly creased and folded, she found handwriting that matched the precision of the note's folding; the words immediately standing out, written in red ink.
Or was it blood...?
Dear, dear Sakura. It's a pity you won't come out and play...it would be all the more interesting if you would.
Her stomach lurched and she clutched at her mouth, willing the acidic feeling to ease back down her throat. This man was completely irrational - he came to her in person then addressed her by notes.
What was she saying? It was insanity either way and more than creepy.
Tossing the note under her bed, she began the process of mummifying herself once more and curled up tight, burying her face in the pillow. Upon one last fearful glance, she craned her head around the room and froze as her gaze met the window.
I'll be watching you.
It was there, on the glass of her window. Bold, red letters. Weezing and clutching at her chest, her head spun. When? When had he found the time, the precise moment to complete such a vile task?
Getting up once more, foolishly unarmed, she crept towards the window, but once again to no avail. Whenever he had been there, he was gone now.
Brushing her finger against the red, she watched as the wind whisked it away on a single drift.
Sand.
Red sand.
A/N: I re-wrote the chapter (once again) because I wasn't satisfied with the quality. I'm tired, it's 3:52 in the morning...I'll make a point to update the latter when I find the time.