(no subject)
I actually like this one, haha.
luleeta-8, 4, 2. Graveyard, anniversary of someone’s death, pen
The sky foretold heavy rain that morning, and the looming threat hung thick and pungent like musky spices in the air. But Naruto’s pen didn’t waver, only slid smoothly like oil over water. It was a special pen he’d received as a birthday gift five years ago. He was given one every year, and this was the last one that Naruto had received.
His prose were amateur at best, cocky and crude at their worst, but whole and from deep within his bones. Every word nibbling scraps of his heart to devour and fuel themselves, concocting imagery as clear as a DaVinci painting on the page.
Naruto didn’t hear Sakura come up to stand in front of him. Naruto sat firmly on the ground, writing of white gold and black honeysuckle, of demons and mistresses, of myth and reality and the crude awakening stabbed into the heart with every sunset. Naruto drank bitter poison and let it guide his hands.
“He used to say… that this was the only thing I was good at.” Naruto bit his lip, pen tip hovering over the next few words, trying to get the limericks right in his head to keep from crossing things out, from making a scrawled black mess. “Writing, I mean.” A tiny speck of rain flicked his nose, but that was the only one. Sakura was hovering over him, and Naruto could see her ankles quivering. “I always told myself he was joking, but now… I’m not so sure, you know?”
“He was,” Sakura hissed quietly, voice distant and surreal as fog from nowhere. “He was never serious, you knew that?” It sounded more like a question than a reassurance.
“He was always better at me than everything.”
“He wasn’t. He-“ His name almost tripped from Sakura’s tongue, but she kept herself in check. “He learned how to be human, from you.”
“I used to hate him.”
Another fleck of rain, seemingly impossible. The sky had yet to break.
“I used to hate him so much.”
“I know.”
Sakura didn’t say anything more, nor did she kneel down beside him. Naruto wished she would, but not for companionship. Her tears would make his words bleed, and Naruto felt enough of his blood had been sacrificed into this already. Every word ached.
When they finally left an hour later, Naruto folded the prose neatly and tucked it like a proud parent into the grass that blanketed the grave. As he followed Sakura to her car, he felt real rain begin to trickle down. Naruto didn’t look back, not wanting to see black bloom through the paper like a fresh wound. He only hoped that as the ink, his words, his heart, bled into the ground, that somehow Sasuke would be able to read them.
luleeta-8, 4, 2. Graveyard, anniversary of someone’s death, pen
The sky foretold heavy rain that morning, and the looming threat hung thick and pungent like musky spices in the air. But Naruto’s pen didn’t waver, only slid smoothly like oil over water. It was a special pen he’d received as a birthday gift five years ago. He was given one every year, and this was the last one that Naruto had received.
His prose were amateur at best, cocky and crude at their worst, but whole and from deep within his bones. Every word nibbling scraps of his heart to devour and fuel themselves, concocting imagery as clear as a DaVinci painting on the page.
Naruto didn’t hear Sakura come up to stand in front of him. Naruto sat firmly on the ground, writing of white gold and black honeysuckle, of demons and mistresses, of myth and reality and the crude awakening stabbed into the heart with every sunset. Naruto drank bitter poison and let it guide his hands.
“He used to say… that this was the only thing I was good at.” Naruto bit his lip, pen tip hovering over the next few words, trying to get the limericks right in his head to keep from crossing things out, from making a scrawled black mess. “Writing, I mean.” A tiny speck of rain flicked his nose, but that was the only one. Sakura was hovering over him, and Naruto could see her ankles quivering. “I always told myself he was joking, but now… I’m not so sure, you know?”
“He was,” Sakura hissed quietly, voice distant and surreal as fog from nowhere. “He was never serious, you knew that?” It sounded more like a question than a reassurance.
“He was always better at me than everything.”
“He wasn’t. He-“ His name almost tripped from Sakura’s tongue, but she kept herself in check. “He learned how to be human, from you.”
“I used to hate him.”
Another fleck of rain, seemingly impossible. The sky had yet to break.
“I used to hate him so much.”
“I know.”
Sakura didn’t say anything more, nor did she kneel down beside him. Naruto wished she would, but not for companionship. Her tears would make his words bleed, and Naruto felt enough of his blood had been sacrificed into this already. Every word ached.
When they finally left an hour later, Naruto folded the prose neatly and tucked it like a proud parent into the grass that blanketed the grave. As he followed Sakura to her car, he felt real rain begin to trickle down. Naruto didn’t look back, not wanting to see black bloom through the paper like a fresh wound. He only hoped that as the ink, his words, his heart, bled into the ground, that somehow Sasuke would be able to read them.