[broadcast mind]
Ten claws on your fingertips, one for every finger, inhuman and sharp. They're blood covered. It's not your blood. It's hers.
Your hands are painted red and she's been dead for eight minutes (you felt it the instant her life stopped, stabbing loss in the middle of your chest) but her blood isn't quite cold yet, instead it's tepid and growing tacky as it dries. It's everywhere.
It's in her hair, on her face, her mouth, all over her neck, even though it doesn't gush anymore from that ugly gaping wound that splits her throat.
"It's okay," you tell her. "It's okay, Sakura-chan."
You dropped that honorific months ago but it's hard to remember now. She's been Sakura-chan since she was five and gave you that rice ball out in the street when everybody else turned the other way. You don't think she even remembers it, but you do and you always will. That was the moment you decided you loved the shy girl with the too-large forehead and that you didn't care what the world thought.
"Shh." Even though there's no sound. "It's okay. It's okay."
No one else is coming. You know it. They're too slow. They don't care. They couldn't save her (you couldn't save her you couldn't save him you can't save anyone they all die because you can't do
a
fucking
thing)
"It's okay."
Useless and your claws itch and your teeth itch and you have to hold her close because even if she's dead she's not allowed to leave. This world can't take her from you. They can't take her from you. You'll rip it apart before you'll allow it. You'll make a sea of blood if they take her.
Doors and gods be damned you have a beast in you that can raise hell. It's clawing at its cage and it wants out.
Let me out, it purrs. Softly, so softly. I'll make it stop.
"Shh," you tell her. Tell it. "It's okay."
You dig your claws into the dirt. It begins to bake around the roiling chakra.
You want to let it out, to rage. Hurt like she's been hurt, kill like she's been killed (oh god oh god she's dead she can't be dead don't die Sakura don't die) then they'll know how this feels then it'll never happen again because they'll understand but it won't matter because she's already dead it's already too late so then--
Let the punishment fit the crime but you promised him and you promised yourself and you promised her even though you never said it aloud--
but she's dead.
she's growing cold in your arms
and you want this world to burn for it
Your hands are painted red and she's been dead for eight minutes (you felt it the instant her life stopped, stabbing loss in the middle of your chest) but her blood isn't quite cold yet, instead it's tepid and growing tacky as it dries. It's everywhere.
It's in her hair, on her face, her mouth, all over her neck, even though it doesn't gush anymore from that ugly gaping wound that splits her throat.
"It's okay," you tell her. "It's okay, Sakura-chan."
You dropped that honorific months ago but it's hard to remember now. She's been Sakura-chan since she was five and gave you that rice ball out in the street when everybody else turned the other way. You don't think she even remembers it, but you do and you always will. That was the moment you decided you loved the shy girl with the too-large forehead and that you didn't care what the world thought.
"Shh." Even though there's no sound. "It's okay. It's okay."
No one else is coming. You know it. They're too slow. They don't care. They couldn't save her (you couldn't save her you couldn't save him you can't save anyone they all die because you can't do
a
fucking
thing)
"It's okay."
Useless and your claws itch and your teeth itch and you have to hold her close because even if she's dead she's not allowed to leave. This world can't take her from you. They can't take her from you. You'll rip it apart before you'll allow it. You'll make a sea of blood if they take her.
Doors and gods be damned you have a beast in you that can raise hell. It's clawing at its cage and it wants out.
Let me out, it purrs. Softly, so softly. I'll make it stop.
"Shh," you tell her. Tell it. "It's okay."
You dig your claws into the dirt. It begins to bake around the roiling chakra.
You want to let it out, to rage. Hurt like she's been hurt, kill like she's been killed (oh god oh god she's dead she can't be dead don't die Sakura don't die) then they'll know how this feels then it'll never happen again because they'll understand but it won't matter because she's already dead it's already too late so then--
Let the punishment fit the crime but you promised him and you promised yourself and you promised her even though you never said it aloud--
but she's dead.
she's growing cold in your arms
and you want this world to burn for it