Here we go! Again, sorry for the delay, my computer really seems to dislike . Whenever I try to go and see the 'My Stories' tab, it generally goes all weird, so I can't update the chapter. However, lets hope it works now! This one certainly isn't one of my best works, but the second one for today, in my opinion, is decent enough. I apologize if this isn't up to par with my usual standards, but I hope you're still entertained. Enjoy!
Gaara had always travelled alone.
From the minute he was conceived, he was destined to be ignored. To be hated. Vilified, even.
As a child, he would sit in his nursery, jade green eyes sparkling with wonder and curiosity as he gazed around the room. But he would never sleep. And he would never giggle.
Because the whispers in his head wouldn't let him sleep.
What was worse, though, was how he couldn't fully hear them. He could hear only the faintest of sounds, but never full sentences, or words. Just unintelligible whispering.
He'd never told anyone. Not his brother, nor his sister. Not that he got to see them often enough to even say anything,
But that was a lie. He had told someone.
He'd told Yashimaru.
And, when asked what they meant, and what the sand that always defended him meant, the older man had smiled, and simply said. "They're what make you special, Gaara."
Special? They made him special?
Perhaps he had smiled somewhat at that, as his uncle had affectionately tousled his hair. He couldn't remember.
He didn't want to remember.
Because he had tried to kill him. And so, he had died.
Just like the rest.
And for the rest of his young life, Gaara knew he would wander the lonely road to death alone. He knew that for every step he took, it would be soaked in someone's blood. He knew with every breath he took, he would be taking someones away.
But he didn't care.
They would feed him. Feed his instability and his beast within, give him blood and a reason to be alive.
And that was how it went on, as he walked, soaked in the blood of those he had slain, unmoving, and unfeeling. Apart from anger, and rage.
Nobody could, nor would, stand in his way. His siblings quivered at his every word, his village shook at his every movement. They wouldn't stand in his way. Nobody would.
At least, that's what he thought.
For, along the lonely road one day, he was stopped by a boy. A boy with bright blonde hair, and shiny cerulean eyes. A boy with enthusiasm in his spades.
He had wanted to kill him at first. Naruto would make him feel alive.
But that had changed.
Naruto was just like him. He too had been ignored by the villagers, treated as an outcast with no friends or family. And yet, despite this, he had pressed on. He had tried to form emotional bonds with people, and had succeeded. A Jinchuuriki had friends.
The thought baffled and confused Gaara, and yet, at the same time, gave him hope.
Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps nobody did hate him. Not the important ones, anyway.
And so, Gaara of the Desert, Fourth Kazekage of Sunagakure, did not walk along the lonely road. By his side were his two siblings, who had always loved him. By his side was his teacher, who had always respected him. By his side, were the villagers, who had come to admire and respect him as a leader.
And, by his side, was Naruto Uzumaki, future Hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, and his best friend.
Gaara smiled.
He wouldn't have to travel alone anymore.