Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Distant Part Two: Dwindling Hope
I can only blame myself
You can only blame me
(Swallowed in the Sea - Coldplay)
vi. count: ninety-two days
I mark an "X" across the number on my small calendar. Beneath it, in tiny numbers, I scribble "92."
It's been ninety-two days since Sasuke-kun left, and I've been hoping ever since that he'd return before one hundred days are past. This small hope is the only light that brightens my life, and it is enough to push me forward, when otherwise, I'd break.
It's become a ritual; I mark my calendar every morning, and it's the first thing I do when I wake up. Many teachers and friends at school are worried about "that Uchiha boy," and I'd be lying if I said I didn't. Unlike them, though, I have this strong, clear vision that soon, Sasuke-kun would be back.
I don't know what revenge is doing to him, but I'm sure that once he comes back, everything would be all right again.
vii. count: one hundred days
"Naruto," I run up to a familiar blonde, and I give him a silly smile.
"Sakura-chan," Naruto replies, and a goofier smile clings onto his lips. Suddenly, his blue eyes widen with mock horror, and gasping, he questions, "Are you, perhaps, drunk?"
At this, I give him a playful punch and I erupt to a fit of giggles.
"Whatever do you mean, Naruto?"
"Well," he eyes me nervously and responds, "That's how you sound like, anyway. Drunk, that is."
My smile broadens and I giggle once more. "I just have a good feeling today, that's all," I reassure him.
For the rest of that day, my senses stay heightened; I jerk at every moment I hear a footstep, the creak of a door, the voice of a male, or the glimpse of a dark, raven hair…
By the time I go home, I feel so psychologically drained, but after quickly changing into comfier clothes, I pace out and walk around the town. I find myself especially lingering around a certain path, decorated with certain cherry-blossom trees, whose branches are still bare.
When finally night comes and today transitions to tomorrow, I quietly close my bedroom door, turn off the lights, and I weep quietly in the dark.
Sasuke-kun still hasn't come back, against all hopes I had.
viii. thirteen-years old
Today is March twenty-eighth, my birthday. It is also a day when the cherry-blossom trees begin to bloom, giving the world a gentle, pink glow.
Today is a miserable day; today is a day of hope.
My senses, again, are heightened, and I react to even the smallest sound of a pin dropping.
'Perhaps,' I tell myself, 'Sasuke-kun will come back on my birthday.'
Later, I wonder if he would even remember my birthday, and the horrible thought makes me feel so queasy that I run away to my bedroom to cry.
I am starting to hate the cherry-blossom trees, for every time I see them, they remind me of him, and they give me hope.
Hope, I see now, that is becoming more and more futile every day.
ix. fourteen-years old
By now, Sasuke-kun may be wondering if I've stopped hoping for him. About two years has passed after all, and one day, I've stopped to mark the calendar.
But my reason to live is still very much the same; I will continue to wait for him, no matter what.
It is on this day, after renewing my strong resolve that I find strangely pulled to the Sakura trees. I stop for awhile, and though these trees give me great pain, they also give me hope. I make them the witness to my oath.
For an hour, I let myself collapse to the ground and dazedly watch the pale petals fall, and the haunting memories of our child selves walk, disappearing into a hazy light.
When I get up, the day is already becoming darker, so I hurry back home.
The moment my feet step inside, my instincts send warning shivers through my body; something is wrong. Taking one big gulp, I step in further, and there, I see my parents lying on the floor.
My eyes lift up and then my heart sinks upon seeing a familiar pair of eyes…
"How could you…" I choke out in a whisper, but he clearly heard me, for he replies with a startle, "Why are you here?"
Sasuke-kun's face seems to have aged an incredible deal since the last time I saw him, but I hardly notice, because, in the coldest voice, he mutters as if to explain himself, "I need power."
He is as silent as the night, and just as cruel; how does killing lead to power? I drop to my knees and expect tears to fall, but they don't. Perhaps I've cried too much already, when my hopes were repeatedly, and so, so savagely, crushed.
'Maybe you don't know…' My eyes blankly search for a drawer, and there, I slowly and painfully dig out a photograph and slide it to his feet.
When he picks it up, I hear a small, sharp intake of his breath, because he can't help but notice – notice just how similar he is to the murderer who wiped out his clan. Inside the photograph, which slides from his grip and shatters to the floor, there is a couple – the ones laying lifeless on the floor – and a pink-haired girl grinning between them.
Sasuke-kun killed my family.
Notes: I put Sakura' birthday as "March twenty-third" by mistake. I apologize for any misunderstanding; her birthday is March twenty-eighth. Thank you my readers and reviewers! I really appreciate it!