FIC: Naruto: Perpetual Motion (Part I) (Naruto, Sasuke & Sakura, PG-15)
Title: Perpetual Motion (Part I: Weapons Of Choice)
Fandom: Naruto
Pairings/Characters: Naruto, Sasuke & Sakura
Rating: PG-15
Word count: 477
Prompt: 030. Death
Author's notes: Zombie!AU, because I was sugar high at 3 AM.
Summary: The end was never supposed to last like this.
Sakura has a gun, Naruto has a knife, and Sasuke has a thick bough, broken off a tree and smoothed with use.
There's a sick pleasure in the crunch of connection, something about wielding death in his hands. The way they topple back, stagger, moan and stumble and trip over each other. Sasuke batters them back, again and again, the staff an extension of his arms. It's only a precaution, really. What Sasuke wants to do is tear them senseless with bare hands.
He screams, sometimes. Never remembers it, but Sakura recounts the day every twilight, when they're huddled together for warmth. She always looks at him with hollow understanding, and whispers to him what he said. Things about mothers and fathers and brothers and blood. Mostly blood.
Sasuke's life used to be white-washed and pretty, but now it's difficult to find anything that isn't stained with blood.
Sakura has a gun, Sasuke has a stick, and Naruto has a knife given to him but a man who could almost be his brother.
He's always been a brawler, and the way the knife slides in has always appealed to his rougher instincts. It's small and slick, the handle worn from more use than it was meant for, but it's held up well. He uses it to slice throats and gouge eyes, trusting his traveling companions to do the rest.
Naruto brushes up against death like an old friend, greets it with a crazy grin and a knife in the back. Sakura worries, he knows, and Sasuke scrutinizes him like he can't quite understand, but Naruto keeps going. The knife brings him right up to the edge and just short of over, and there's nothing left for them to loose, anyways.
Naruto dances in the arms of death and feels more alive than ever before.
Sasuke has a stick, Naruto has a knife, and Sakura has a gun she took off the body of her teacher.
It never felt like defamation. The gun was to be put to a use, a weapon to fit the war. Sakura swore, in a building of white tile and brilliant sun, to never harm. Her hands were meant for healing, but on days like this, Sakura smashes the Hippocratic Oath to pieces, fragments she can wrap around herself in the night. She can justify it by reciting under her breath, pulses and blood flow and breath, but it still stings like salt in a wound every time she pulls the trigger.
There's a certain poetry to this. Like follows like, and the hot metal burns the virus away, and Sakura tells herself she's clean. Like her hands aren't still spattered in blood every night, like it even matters when they're soaked to the bone anyways.
All it takes is a flex of muscle, and the landscape lays itself to waste before her.
Fandom: Naruto
Pairings/Characters: Naruto, Sasuke & Sakura
Rating: PG-15
Word count: 477
Prompt: 030. Death
Author's notes: Zombie!AU, because I was sugar high at 3 AM.
Summary: The end was never supposed to last like this.
Sakura has a gun, Naruto has a knife, and Sasuke has a thick bough, broken off a tree and smoothed with use.
There's a sick pleasure in the crunch of connection, something about wielding death in his hands. The way they topple back, stagger, moan and stumble and trip over each other. Sasuke batters them back, again and again, the staff an extension of his arms. It's only a precaution, really. What Sasuke wants to do is tear them senseless with bare hands.
He screams, sometimes. Never remembers it, but Sakura recounts the day every twilight, when they're huddled together for warmth. She always looks at him with hollow understanding, and whispers to him what he said. Things about mothers and fathers and brothers and blood. Mostly blood.
Sasuke's life used to be white-washed and pretty, but now it's difficult to find anything that isn't stained with blood.
Sakura has a gun, Sasuke has a stick, and Naruto has a knife given to him but a man who could almost be his brother.
He's always been a brawler, and the way the knife slides in has always appealed to his rougher instincts. It's small and slick, the handle worn from more use than it was meant for, but it's held up well. He uses it to slice throats and gouge eyes, trusting his traveling companions to do the rest.
Naruto brushes up against death like an old friend, greets it with a crazy grin and a knife in the back. Sakura worries, he knows, and Sasuke scrutinizes him like he can't quite understand, but Naruto keeps going. The knife brings him right up to the edge and just short of over, and there's nothing left for them to loose, anyways.
Naruto dances in the arms of death and feels more alive than ever before.
Sasuke has a stick, Naruto has a knife, and Sakura has a gun she took off the body of her teacher.
It never felt like defamation. The gun was to be put to a use, a weapon to fit the war. Sakura swore, in a building of white tile and brilliant sun, to never harm. Her hands were meant for healing, but on days like this, Sakura smashes the Hippocratic Oath to pieces, fragments she can wrap around herself in the night. She can justify it by reciting under her breath, pulses and blood flow and breath, but it still stings like salt in a wound every time she pulls the trigger.
There's a certain poetry to this. Like follows like, and the hot metal burns the virus away, and Sakura tells herself she's clean. Like her hands aren't still spattered in blood every night, like it even matters when they're soaked to the bone anyways.
All it takes is a flex of muscle, and the landscape lays itself to waste before her.