En Memoriam

WC: 413

The streets were empty. A few lights flickered, still running after twenty years. Houses and shops still stood, overrun by ivy and weeds. Absently, his feet carried him past the many things of his childhood. The ramen store he used to frequent... the tower that he played in... even his old apartment home... he sighed. It had been such a simpler time. But now, it was over, as was the time of the shinobi. He was, perhaps, the last left of the dying era. He was just here to do one more thing.

Mind on autopilot, he moved towards the old training grounds. Training ground seven to be exact. Ignoring the three poles, one of which he vaguely remembered being tied to, he made his way to the large stone in the middle. With precise ease, he etched one last name to join the many others:

Shizune.

At ninety-five, the old lady had finally died. With her last breath, she had asked to be taken home. After a quick trip to the cemetery, he agreed.

The Memorial Stone was not part of the plan, but she deserved to be on it, as much as the others. With a deep sigh, he settled down to stare at the names. Idly, he wondered if the end of the shinobi was a good time. He couldn't remember his friends being that happy in the end.

One by one he looked at them.

Hyuuga Hinata. Hyuuga Neji. Rock Lee. Inuzaka Kiba and Akamaru. Aburame Shino. Akimichi Chouji. Yamanaka Ino. Nara Shikamaru. Sai. Haruno Sakura. Hatake Kakashi. The list went on and on and on, until it was back to Shizune.

These were the names of his comrades, family, friends. These were the names of those that died for love, fighting with honor, and protecting their village. These were the names that Naruto had carried with him for his entire lifetime.

(Only one name was not on the list, but Naruto refused to think about that because that was one failure too painful to remember.)

Naruto smiled a touch wistfully, blue eyes clouding over. He dragged a finger over the names, noting how the Memorial Rock had dulled over time, so much so that he could no longer view his reflection in it.

They were waiting for him, he thought, and he dropped his hand.

Still sitting upright, with his head bowed, he died.

Weeks later, he was found by his biggest failure, and the circle was complete.

And thus the threefer is complete... I should stop writing about death. Maybe I'll write a happy ending next time.