[ LOG ]
Who: Akasun Sasori (this-mannequin) and Uchiha Itachi (crimson-prose)
Where: Sasori's apartment complex.
When: May 25.
What: Itachi - listless, hopeless, proverbially homeless and soaking wet - arrives at Sasori's apartment with bad intentions and worser ailments. Sasori is a decent friend about it, if a very alienated one.
Warnings: To be added as things progress ( Read more... )
Where: Sasori's apartment complex.
When: May 25.
What: Itachi - listless, hopeless, proverbially homeless and soaking wet - arrives at Sasori's apartment with bad intentions and worser ailments. Sasori is a decent friend about it, if a very alienated one.
Warnings: To be added as things progress ( Read more... )
The grating sound of the words-
(Please give me peace.)
No.
(Please give me faith.)
No.
(Please end my life.)
No.
(Please save me.)
Save your own damn self.
Itachi neither expected the answer, nor does it surprise him. (At all.) Itachi feels nothing. He is completely numb to his emotions, to his heart which does not beat beneath his ivory-pale skin. (If you cut this string around my finger, I know I'll-) Itachi is jade. Itachi is ivory. Itachi is a corpse. (Please kill me.) Itachi's skeleton is on the outside of his deaddead body and his heart is stopped on the inside of his deaddead eyes and he knows Sasori can(not) see it. Itachi can't feel a thing. Not his head, not his eyes, not his throat, not his thighs, and not his-
Sasori is always in control.
Itachi is always-
(It's true, if you cut it, I'll definitely-)
He is drying ink on the paint of Sasori's whitewhite walls that are dappled by the cascading anagrams of charcoal, of graphite, anagrams, monograms, telegrams (STOP), it's like Itachi is nothing more than drying blood, a dying bird, it's spine broken. (He'd once seen a crazy man release one thousand seven pigeons directly in front of the inbound shinkansen. He'd memorized what birds look like when they're screaming, wings flapping and contorted, dream-like and strange, their heads, legs, rear and front ends ripped away like tissue paper. He could remember in crystal-perfect clarity what their eyes looked like. He could remember in crystal-perfect clarity the way the whole station had been painted in little white birds, and the way the police had seemed so solemn. Doves, but no olive branch to the schizophrenic. There was nothing you could do with people like that. Poor things. Poor things. Never had a chance.) It's like Itachi is a dead man begging for a grave.
And suddenly he's too close, slowing, falling to his knees, bowing his head, and maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the storm, maybe it was the fact that Shisui, Shisui had always (never) been-
(Three months later, Itachi'd seen an article in the article saying that the man who had been driving the shinkansen that day had committed himself to the psych ward after his conductor committed suicide by swallowing rat poison. They said he couldn't stop crying. Couldn't stop screaming. Couldn't stop talking about the birds. Poor thing. Poor thing. Never had a chance.)
His hands knot against the worn wood and he feels filthy. (Is filthy. Is dripping with water, is slick with rain and with emptiness, is slicked up and down with bitter illness, bitter sadness, bitten rage and shorn down nails from ripping the bark from trees.) He feels waxen, clumsy.
"Please."
Such an empty echo the world has never seen.
"Please."
Itachi has tried everything, which somehow makes it easier to press his head into the floor like it's the only thing holding him up. (It is.) Somehow everything its easy to beg Sasori to take his life, because Itachi would split his own head if God would just let go, if God would just let him die.
Nothing's worked.
And so he comes to Sasori.
Because Sasori does not believe in God.
(Because Sasori is God.
Because Sasori is always right.
Because Sasori-)
Itachi-
(-is crazy.)
I would if I could.
He's tried everything, and the buildings aren't high enough, and the water won't have him, and the wind isn't strong enough, and the lighting won't have any part of it. The trains won't have any part of it. Itachi has tried everything with trembling, shaking, bleeding fingers, Itachi has tried every knot, and jumped every tree, and fallen thousands of times in a three (four, five) day period (what time is it? Itachi doesn't know,) and he can't do it. The earth doesn't want him. Hell doesn't want him. (Heaven doesn't-) His heart (still and dead) will not stop beating, and he knows that it's the cause of all his pain and so if he can just convince Sasori to split it with a knife?
"Cut my heart out of my chest."
A delicate hand on Sasori's ankle, ebony on red on red on brown on green on death.
"Please."
I'm begging you.
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