[Naruto Fic] A Shifting of the Sand - Preview
today's laughter: this.
also. found this on one of my hard drives. am so ashamed.
In honor of Gaara’s birthday began Jan. 19, 2004 .
There were no cold days in the desert. There were only days when the temperature was bearable and the air still. There were days when the rare soothing breeze would blow from the Cloud Country, spiting the heat. And then there were days when it was unwise to walk outside even with sunscreen, an umbrella, a mist bottle, and a solar powered fan blowing at full strength. No matter the weather conditions, however, Gaara of the Desert had never been harassed by them. The desert was where his Demon thrived after all. There, where the sand shifted with the passage of time, amongst the varying degrees of heat, Gaara was master.
The day was such as that the heat could incinerate the soles of one’s feet through one’s shoes. The air was still, stifling. The streets were emptied of life. Gaara had no quarrel with that as he moved through the Village of the Hidden Sand. Had the streets been teeming with activity it all would have ceased the moment the people laid eyes on him. Children would have been brought close to their mothers’ bosoms and discouraged from pointing. There would have been a mass exodus that may or may not have involved screaming in absolute terror and frantic foot work to find safer ground; the typical vendor to patron dance disrupted in his wake. He was saved the trouble of inhaling the stench of their fear; almost glad that he wouldn’t have to fight Shuukaku for control the moment he saw that look in their collective eyes; panic in the white, horror in the iris, and dread in the black.
To them he would always be a monster.
Gaara didn’t smile at the thought as he once would have.
He had long since tired of being the demon all blamed for their miserable existence in the Village of the Hidden Sand. He was tired of seeing the same eyes every day the sun set and every night the moon rose -- more terror accompanied the moon rising. His whole existence was based on the circumstances of his birth. On the moment the jutsu that had made him was sealed he had been set to lead a very stark life, devoid of all but that gaze that even the kindest soul would produce upon sight of him.
There were very few people who could look at Gaara of the Desert without fear. The jounin in the tacky green outfit who had defended the boy with the thick eyebrows, the Copy Ninja, and the girl who had defended Uchiha when his courage and strength failed, came to his mind. A smile formed on his lips unbidden. There was another; the loudmouth. The name would not fall from his tongue just yet.
Thinking of the boy with the same eyes as his; the bright blue orbs that could project his fierce spirit as well as the vulnerability that lay just beneath the surface always caused him a brief fluctuation of pain within his chest.
They were the same.
He didn’t know what or who had possessed that boy. He didn’t know when or where, or why, such a thing had befallen him. But for a person who could be strong without selfish intent, could put his life on the line for those who may or may not appreciate the gesture; a person who had suffered the same indignities and yet retained a smile, such a person did not deserve the fate Gaara suffered.
Uzumaki Naruto, he had said the name often enough; it was impossible to not know it. It wasn’t possible for Gaara of the Desert to ever forget the first and only person to ever defeat him. It wasn’t possible to forget that look in his eyes. Eyes that burned red with their intensity; the eyes of a devil fueled by the love in his heart, Uzumaki Naruto was a maelstrom, he had concluded.
Love . . .
The word gave Gaara pause because he didn’t know love. He hadn’t experienced any in all of his twelve years. After his uncle Yashamaru’s betrayal he could trust no one to be honest. He supposed his siblings were the closest he had come, but even they bore that look in their eyes at times despite his apology.
Love had been sand-seared onto his forehead by his will years ago. At that time it had been a bright red hue, but after fighting Naruto he’d learned that his idea of love was a dysfunctional version of the real thing. The kanji had begun to fade, but it would not disappear. How could it when the windows from the houses and shops located on the street closed as he passed?
Gaara wasn’t familiar with love in a sense of it being applied to him, but had seen it before. Once, two months ago, in Konoha, he had fought an irritating individual with golden hair and blue eyes that had looked upon him without fear, who had converted love for his comrades into strength and defeated him utterly. He wasn’t entirely certain if it could have been done by anyone else. Gaara didn’t understand the why’s or how’s such a thing could have happened in the first place, but he did know that anyone cared for by Uzumaki Naruto, were the luckiest people in the whole world. And one day, he would be worthy of the tears Naruto had shed for him.
i'll finish it eventually. but it can stand alone too.
also. found this on one of my hard drives. am so ashamed.
In honor of Gaara’s birthday began Jan. 19, 2004 .
There were no cold days in the desert. There were only days when the temperature was bearable and the air still. There were days when the rare soothing breeze would blow from the Cloud Country, spiting the heat. And then there were days when it was unwise to walk outside even with sunscreen, an umbrella, a mist bottle, and a solar powered fan blowing at full strength. No matter the weather conditions, however, Gaara of the Desert had never been harassed by them. The desert was where his Demon thrived after all. There, where the sand shifted with the passage of time, amongst the varying degrees of heat, Gaara was master.
The day was such as that the heat could incinerate the soles of one’s feet through one’s shoes. The air was still, stifling. The streets were emptied of life. Gaara had no quarrel with that as he moved through the Village of the Hidden Sand. Had the streets been teeming with activity it all would have ceased the moment the people laid eyes on him. Children would have been brought close to their mothers’ bosoms and discouraged from pointing. There would have been a mass exodus that may or may not have involved screaming in absolute terror and frantic foot work to find safer ground; the typical vendor to patron dance disrupted in his wake. He was saved the trouble of inhaling the stench of their fear; almost glad that he wouldn’t have to fight Shuukaku for control the moment he saw that look in their collective eyes; panic in the white, horror in the iris, and dread in the black.
To them he would always be a monster.
Gaara didn’t smile at the thought as he once would have.
He had long since tired of being the demon all blamed for their miserable existence in the Village of the Hidden Sand. He was tired of seeing the same eyes every day the sun set and every night the moon rose -- more terror accompanied the moon rising. His whole existence was based on the circumstances of his birth. On the moment the jutsu that had made him was sealed he had been set to lead a very stark life, devoid of all but that gaze that even the kindest soul would produce upon sight of him.
There were very few people who could look at Gaara of the Desert without fear. The jounin in the tacky green outfit who had defended the boy with the thick eyebrows, the Copy Ninja, and the girl who had defended Uchiha when his courage and strength failed, came to his mind. A smile formed on his lips unbidden. There was another; the loudmouth. The name would not fall from his tongue just yet.
Thinking of the boy with the same eyes as his; the bright blue orbs that could project his fierce spirit as well as the vulnerability that lay just beneath the surface always caused him a brief fluctuation of pain within his chest.
They were the same.
He didn’t know what or who had possessed that boy. He didn’t know when or where, or why, such a thing had befallen him. But for a person who could be strong without selfish intent, could put his life on the line for those who may or may not appreciate the gesture; a person who had suffered the same indignities and yet retained a smile, such a person did not deserve the fate Gaara suffered.
Uzumaki Naruto, he had said the name often enough; it was impossible to not know it. It wasn’t possible for Gaara of the Desert to ever forget the first and only person to ever defeat him. It wasn’t possible to forget that look in his eyes. Eyes that burned red with their intensity; the eyes of a devil fueled by the love in his heart, Uzumaki Naruto was a maelstrom, he had concluded.
Love . . .
The word gave Gaara pause because he didn’t know love. He hadn’t experienced any in all of his twelve years. After his uncle Yashamaru’s betrayal he could trust no one to be honest. He supposed his siblings were the closest he had come, but even they bore that look in their eyes at times despite his apology.
Love had been sand-seared onto his forehead by his will years ago. At that time it had been a bright red hue, but after fighting Naruto he’d learned that his idea of love was a dysfunctional version of the real thing. The kanji had begun to fade, but it would not disappear. How could it when the windows from the houses and shops located on the street closed as he passed?
Gaara wasn’t familiar with love in a sense of it being applied to him, but had seen it before. Once, two months ago, in Konoha, he had fought an irritating individual with golden hair and blue eyes that had looked upon him without fear, who had converted love for his comrades into strength and defeated him utterly. He wasn’t entirely certain if it could have been done by anyone else. Gaara didn’t understand the why’s or how’s such a thing could have happened in the first place, but he did know that anyone cared for by Uzumaki Naruto, were the luckiest people in the whole world. And one day, he would be worthy of the tears Naruto had shed for him.
i'll finish it eventually. but it can stand alone too.