The Twist
This moment I am remembering the beauty of the middle of winter, the darkness and sparkle of it. I remember the deep black of pressed ice, and the thick white of the hard snow,which had known many shoes. I long for it already, although it has barely reached its end. My beloved winter has only just begun to die, letting sunlight look over the rooftops earlier than I’d prefer, extending the day much longer than I’m happy with. I long for that darkness; for that peace. I belong there, in the middle of it, with my hairy wool jacket, hands thrust in the meager heat of my pockets, and my chin numb with the beautiful cold which echoes wonderfully in my own bones.
I look to my left. Kakashi-sensei is walking beside me, his gaze far away, and his feet following a path he’s trodden many times before.
“You’re coming with me,” I say, surprised.
He sighs, and his breath is barely visible on the late winter air.
“It can’t be helped,” he replies, still not meeting my eyes.
I don’t blame him for feeling awkward, and strange. It’s not often that such a thing is expected of a person.
I look away, embarrassed. My gaze also finds a comfortable neutrality in the clouds, pinking up in the morning sun, flushed with the tint of the morning.
The silence is a distraction from the task at hand, from the doom of the footsteps taking us closer to where I go alone. I bathe in the awkwardness of our comradeship, embrace the feelings of discomfort that arise from his presence. It is better than other things, this feeling, and I know there is worse to come.
“Sakura-” my sensei begins, but when I turn my head to him, he is shaking away any objections he may have about my decision; my unfortunate fate.
I smile at him, the same one I have always given him. I give him this smile because I can. Because when I look at him, I feel twelve years old again, filled with admiration, respect, and just a little disappointment. But most of all, my smile is filled with understanding. I understand how it feels to watch people you care about die, to watch their eyes turn stony as they see the end and its inevitability. I understand that he is just a man, bound by duty, bound by his own past and future. I see his eyes widen at my smile.
“How? How can you agree to this, Sakura?”
“I’m happy, sensei. I’m happy to do this for Konoha. For the people who are left.”
The only one left is him, almost, and he knows it. It hits him hard, and I know it was the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t do it. Don’t go.”
He’s gripping my arm, and his bare fingertips are steel around my flesh. The action is so distinctly un-Kakashi that it shocks me.
“Don’t do this,” I plead. “My head is clear, I’ve decided. Don’t make this hard for me, Kakashi.”
“You’re twenty years old!” he explodes. “You have a family. No parent wants to see that happen to their daughter.”
I look at my feet, ashamed. I try not to think of my parents’ faces when they hear the news, once they hear of what their daughter’s gone and done. I try not to imagine my mother’s wail, and her knees hitting the tatami mats as my father holds her and tells her ‘it’s okay, it’s alright.’ Would Kakashi tell them? Or would they send someone else?
“Stop it,” I plead weakly. “I’ve made up my mind, and I just know that everything will be okay. Let me go...sensei...”
The grip around my arm relents, and then retreats. His hands are clenched at his sides. I’ve never seen him lose composure like this, and it frightens me. It makes me doubt myself.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my eyes still downcast.
He lets out a sharp bark of what sounds almost like laughter.
“You’re sorry? You?”
And then he’s laughing for real, one hand on his knee supporting him as he loses himself in laughter. At first I can’t bear to see him like that, but then I join in, because there’s nothing else to be done, and I can’t just stand there. My own laughter sounds stunted and polite at first, but then I realise that this may be the last time I ever laugh, so I let go, and laugh about that too.
It must be almost ten minutes before I realise that my cheeks are wet, and my guffaws have changed into violent, braying sobs. They sound like those of an animal, and I’m disgusted at the sound of my own cowardice.
I turn from him, one hand on my mouth, trying to stem the sobs like I’d press on a gushing wound, but it does no good. I can feel my shoulders jerking sharply with the strength of my gasps, and I wish I was alone.
In this moment, I hate him. I hate him for breaking that peaceful calm I’d so carefully constructed over these past few weeks, for being the unsightly ripple on my beautiful, still pond.
I tell him so. I tell him over and over between my breaths, and I know he hears me, because I can feel him against my back, his chest rising and falling into me.
“I hate me too,” he agrees, before slipping his arms around my shoulders, stilling them. “So much I can’t stand it.”
Then I turn around and bury my face into his chest, knowing that I’ll find what I need there. Courage? Strength? Acceptance? Maybe. Maybe it doesn’t matter. His hands are warm on my back as I inhale, and I feel my pond becoming still again with his touch.
I don’t know how long we remain like that, but after a while, I feel a nagging sense that I’ve lingered too long. I have a job to do, and it has to be done soon or everything up until now will have been for nothing.
I think he feels my unease shifting beneath his arms, as the warmth encircling me falls away.
“I have to go,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says, though his face tells me something else entirely. That eye, which has watched me grow, watched me become what I am today, is filled with such despair I have never seen it possess. It twists a blade in my chest, and my hand crumples my shirt where it pains me.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” I say quietly. “I can’t bear it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, and looks away from me.
Part of me feels like saying ‘you’re sorry?’ and beginning the whole wreck all over again, but I don’t. I don’t have time.
“I have to go,” I say again, and the pain in my chest twinges again, even though I’m not looking at him.
He says nothing this time, and the silence is hot. I feel it pricking at my eyes.
I being walking to the gates, and from the light footfalls behind me, I know that he follows.
It takes minutes before the gates come into view, and those who are gathered by it. Tsunade and Shikamaru are waiting for me. They are wearing black, and it feels like I’m walking into a dream.
Tsunade doesn’t say anything, she just walks quickly towards me and hugs me tightly. I think she can tell I’ve been crying, and I can feel her producing little tremors of her own against my chest. I ignore them, because to comfort her would be to start crying again, and I want to be joyful.
She lets me go, by which time any evidence of distress had been replaced by her professional demeanor. I smile at her, and it is truly genuine, for she has been wonderful to me. She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her, and turns away, her shoulders quivering again.
Shikamaru approaches me next, a grim smile twitching at his lips. He is the one who came up with the mission plan, the one which will end my life. He looks uncomfortable and ashamed, so I close the distance between us and hug him. He is stiff and unresponsive, but by the sigh I feel on my ear, I know he’s relieved.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to him, and he makes a strangled noise in his throat, which then becomes a cough. I step away from him.
Then there is Kakashi.
I turn to him, intending to thank him for his friendship and his teaching, but find myself unable to raise my eyes higher than the collar of his shirt. For the first time, I notice that he is wearing black, like the others.
I remember what he told me three months ago, by the cenotaph as I counted the names I knew. He told me about the dream he’d had about skimming stones across a calm stretch of water with his mother, and how he knew everyone was okay.
I lunge towards him, almost tripping over my own feet as I go. My arms catch around his neck, and I crash into him clumsily, but it’s like coming home for the last time.
“I love you,” he whispers in my ear, and although it’s my first time hearing it, it doesn’t surprise me, though that old blade, the one in my chest; it twists again, harder than ever.
“I love you too,” I reply, wishing with all my heart that things were different; that we’d known this before today. It was ending before it had begun, and there would have been so much to live for, had things been different.
His old battle-scarred hand strokes the back of my head, and I close my eyes against his touch, hoping that if I feel for it hard enough, then it will stay with me until the end.
“It’s just like skimming stones,” I breathe into his neck. “I’ll be there, on the other side of that lake, waiting for you amongst the brightly coloured pebbles.”
I hear his breath catch, and I give us both a moment before I pull away, feeling the seconds ticking against us, little sharp twists of their own kind.
When I finally meet his gaze, he is smiling sadly, and I know that he’ll never be the same.
I feel their eyes on me as I leave, and wonder what they must be thinking. All three, I know, will be filled with guilt, and that makes me sad.
I turn around, and though my hands are trembling, my thumbs tucked into my pack straps to still them, I give them my biggest smile, putting all my love and gratitude and peace into it. There is not a single bit of sadness in my smile. I pray that they will remember me like this, Kakashi especially.
I look over their faces, and by their own strange smiles, they seem to understand. I take those unhappy smiles with me as I disappear into the darkness.
I look to my left. Kakashi-sensei is walking beside me, his gaze far away, and his feet following a path he’s trodden many times before.
“You’re coming with me,” I say, surprised.
He sighs, and his breath is barely visible on the late winter air.
“It can’t be helped,” he replies, still not meeting my eyes.
I don’t blame him for feeling awkward, and strange. It’s not often that such a thing is expected of a person.
I look away, embarrassed. My gaze also finds a comfortable neutrality in the clouds, pinking up in the morning sun, flushed with the tint of the morning.
The silence is a distraction from the task at hand, from the doom of the footsteps taking us closer to where I go alone. I bathe in the awkwardness of our comradeship, embrace the feelings of discomfort that arise from his presence. It is better than other things, this feeling, and I know there is worse to come.
“Sakura-” my sensei begins, but when I turn my head to him, he is shaking away any objections he may have about my decision; my unfortunate fate.
I smile at him, the same one I have always given him. I give him this smile because I can. Because when I look at him, I feel twelve years old again, filled with admiration, respect, and just a little disappointment. But most of all, my smile is filled with understanding. I understand how it feels to watch people you care about die, to watch their eyes turn stony as they see the end and its inevitability. I understand that he is just a man, bound by duty, bound by his own past and future. I see his eyes widen at my smile.
“How? How can you agree to this, Sakura?”
“I’m happy, sensei. I’m happy to do this for Konoha. For the people who are left.”
The only one left is him, almost, and he knows it. It hits him hard, and I know it was the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t do it. Don’t go.”
He’s gripping my arm, and his bare fingertips are steel around my flesh. The action is so distinctly un-Kakashi that it shocks me.
“Don’t do this,” I plead. “My head is clear, I’ve decided. Don’t make this hard for me, Kakashi.”
“You’re twenty years old!” he explodes. “You have a family. No parent wants to see that happen to their daughter.”
I look at my feet, ashamed. I try not to think of my parents’ faces when they hear the news, once they hear of what their daughter’s gone and done. I try not to imagine my mother’s wail, and her knees hitting the tatami mats as my father holds her and tells her ‘it’s okay, it’s alright.’ Would Kakashi tell them? Or would they send someone else?
“Stop it,” I plead weakly. “I’ve made up my mind, and I just know that everything will be okay. Let me go...sensei...”
The grip around my arm relents, and then retreats. His hands are clenched at his sides. I’ve never seen him lose composure like this, and it frightens me. It makes me doubt myself.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my eyes still downcast.
He lets out a sharp bark of what sounds almost like laughter.
“You’re sorry? You?”
And then he’s laughing for real, one hand on his knee supporting him as he loses himself in laughter. At first I can’t bear to see him like that, but then I join in, because there’s nothing else to be done, and I can’t just stand there. My own laughter sounds stunted and polite at first, but then I realise that this may be the last time I ever laugh, so I let go, and laugh about that too.
It must be almost ten minutes before I realise that my cheeks are wet, and my guffaws have changed into violent, braying sobs. They sound like those of an animal, and I’m disgusted at the sound of my own cowardice.
I turn from him, one hand on my mouth, trying to stem the sobs like I’d press on a gushing wound, but it does no good. I can feel my shoulders jerking sharply with the strength of my gasps, and I wish I was alone.
In this moment, I hate him. I hate him for breaking that peaceful calm I’d so carefully constructed over these past few weeks, for being the unsightly ripple on my beautiful, still pond.
I tell him so. I tell him over and over between my breaths, and I know he hears me, because I can feel him against my back, his chest rising and falling into me.
“I hate me too,” he agrees, before slipping his arms around my shoulders, stilling them. “So much I can’t stand it.”
Then I turn around and bury my face into his chest, knowing that I’ll find what I need there. Courage? Strength? Acceptance? Maybe. Maybe it doesn’t matter. His hands are warm on my back as I inhale, and I feel my pond becoming still again with his touch.
I don’t know how long we remain like that, but after a while, I feel a nagging sense that I’ve lingered too long. I have a job to do, and it has to be done soon or everything up until now will have been for nothing.
I think he feels my unease shifting beneath his arms, as the warmth encircling me falls away.
“I have to go,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says, though his face tells me something else entirely. That eye, which has watched me grow, watched me become what I am today, is filled with such despair I have never seen it possess. It twists a blade in my chest, and my hand crumples my shirt where it pains me.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” I say quietly. “I can’t bear it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, and looks away from me.
Part of me feels like saying ‘you’re sorry?’ and beginning the whole wreck all over again, but I don’t. I don’t have time.
“I have to go,” I say again, and the pain in my chest twinges again, even though I’m not looking at him.
He says nothing this time, and the silence is hot. I feel it pricking at my eyes.
I being walking to the gates, and from the light footfalls behind me, I know that he follows.
It takes minutes before the gates come into view, and those who are gathered by it. Tsunade and Shikamaru are waiting for me. They are wearing black, and it feels like I’m walking into a dream.
Tsunade doesn’t say anything, she just walks quickly towards me and hugs me tightly. I think she can tell I’ve been crying, and I can feel her producing little tremors of her own against my chest. I ignore them, because to comfort her would be to start crying again, and I want to be joyful.
She lets me go, by which time any evidence of distress had been replaced by her professional demeanor. I smile at her, and it is truly genuine, for she has been wonderful to me. She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her, and turns away, her shoulders quivering again.
Shikamaru approaches me next, a grim smile twitching at his lips. He is the one who came up with the mission plan, the one which will end my life. He looks uncomfortable and ashamed, so I close the distance between us and hug him. He is stiff and unresponsive, but by the sigh I feel on my ear, I know he’s relieved.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to him, and he makes a strangled noise in his throat, which then becomes a cough. I step away from him.
Then there is Kakashi.
I turn to him, intending to thank him for his friendship and his teaching, but find myself unable to raise my eyes higher than the collar of his shirt. For the first time, I notice that he is wearing black, like the others.
I remember what he told me three months ago, by the cenotaph as I counted the names I knew. He told me about the dream he’d had about skimming stones across a calm stretch of water with his mother, and how he knew everyone was okay.
I lunge towards him, almost tripping over my own feet as I go. My arms catch around his neck, and I crash into him clumsily, but it’s like coming home for the last time.
“I love you,” he whispers in my ear, and although it’s my first time hearing it, it doesn’t surprise me, though that old blade, the one in my chest; it twists again, harder than ever.
“I love you too,” I reply, wishing with all my heart that things were different; that we’d known this before today. It was ending before it had begun, and there would have been so much to live for, had things been different.
His old battle-scarred hand strokes the back of my head, and I close my eyes against his touch, hoping that if I feel for it hard enough, then it will stay with me until the end.
“It’s just like skimming stones,” I breathe into his neck. “I’ll be there, on the other side of that lake, waiting for you amongst the brightly coloured pebbles.”
I hear his breath catch, and I give us both a moment before I pull away, feeling the seconds ticking against us, little sharp twists of their own kind.
When I finally meet his gaze, he is smiling sadly, and I know that he’ll never be the same.
I feel their eyes on me as I leave, and wonder what they must be thinking. All three, I know, will be filled with guilt, and that makes me sad.
I turn around, and though my hands are trembling, my thumbs tucked into my pack straps to still them, I give them my biggest smile, putting all my love and gratitude and peace into it. There is not a single bit of sadness in my smile. I pray that they will remember me like this, Kakashi especially.
I look over their faces, and by their own strange smiles, they seem to understand. I take those unhappy smiles with me as I disappear into the darkness.