Mantra
Title: Mantra
Series:Naruto
Character/Pairing:Sakura-introspective, One-sided Sasu/Saku
Rating:PG
Summary and Author's note: Sakura's daily routine, tending a scar that will never heal. Written for 31_days, with the theme "Ten out of Nine times". Who would have guessed I'd write a Sakura-introspective piece with hints of Sasu/Saku (though One-sided, as per my normal style.) But, I guess stranger things have happened.
She didn't know how many times a day she looked at this picture.
How many times she'd have to blink back the tears, with a shuddering breath, before slinging the portrait down upon it's side and turning away. How many times she'd have to deny the fact that what was in the picture was now no more, and would never return. How many times that she would have to lie to herself. Lie to herself that the past would come back, and nothing had changed, and if she walked out to that bridge...
They would be waiting for her. HE would be waiting for her. And they could continue living as if nothing had occurred. As if he had never left. As if it had all been nothing but a bad dream.
Nine times out of Ten, the lie was believed, at least physically, and her breath would calm, and the tears would stop.
Ten times out of Nine, she knew better--that this was temporary, and tomorrow, she'd find herself again in the same situation. Reality was what it was, no matter how much she wanted to deny it---even if there was still something in her that was dying to believe.
She wanted to blame others for shattering the peace she'd had--the happiness that once had been Team Seven--but, in the end, she knew this was nothing but another denial, another half-hearted chance to give herself reasons that could explain the present, in more comforting terms.
She wanted to blame Orochimaru. He'd lured Sasuke with the promise of power, wanting nothing more than the abilities contained within his eyes--playing the boy along until the day would finally come--even though the boy was well-aware of his circumstances.
It had seemed a feasible reason. It was a good explanation, and it took the guilt and conviction away from where she wanted it the least.
But Orochimaru had died, by his hand no less, and still he'd not returned.
So, the blame dissolved, and she, in her desperation to continue her facade, looked for others to place the fault with.
She wanted to blame Itachi. He'd been the one who'd started all this, even before she'd lain eyes upon Sasuke, the one who had planted the seeds of vengeance within him. His brother, whose death was his reason for existence.
It, too, was a likely explanation. But, as she had thought more about it, she'd realized. They'd told him countlessly that they would have helped him with his plight, that they were a team, and more than that friends--no, his family--and yet, every time he'd refused, rather vehemently, saying it was no-one's battle but his alone.
No matter how much she wanted to deny it, he'd left. For no-one's reasons but his own. Yes, he may have left because of Itachi, but Itachi had not been the one to physically make him leave. He had left for himself. Left everything--left them--behind to pursue his own goals, no matter who he had to hurt in the process.
There was no-one else to blame. The guilt was his.
And, as much as she bitterly fought it, she knew, the realization being nothing short of acid on her tongue, souring her stomach, and sending fire to her brain. She knew. They could chase him down to the ends of the world and yet, nothing would come of it. He was gone. He'd burned the bridge they'd stood upon, and never looked back. He was gone.
It hurt, too much to bear, and so she denied it. Who could blame her? He'd been more than just a teammate to her, more than a friend--he'd been her first love, even if it was unrequited. She'd not given a damn for that. She'd loved him with all her heart, and with childish innocence (now destroyed) had believed that one day he'd reciprocate. They'd fall in love, have children, and live as a happy shinobi family.
She was older now. And knew that the words 'Happy Shinobi Family' were nothing but a hilarious oxymoron. There was no such thing--as shinobi lived in a constant state between life and death; and daily had to run the gambit between the two, whilst depriving their targets of one, and giving the other. There was no time for that idealized peace, nor happiness in that existence, only small snippets you could glean here or there--that were always overshadowed by the thought of the next mission. Due to this lifestyle, all shinobi carried scars--and most of which were ones that you could not see. Her sensibilities would not lie to her, even though her heart spoke with a silver tongue. The day would come when she'd have to fully acknowledge what had happened; the scar that she now bore, bleeding and throbbing, down the length of her soul.
But, she'd already become like so many of the others, lying to herself to conceal the reasons for the scars they wore. Making apologies to the air, turning their heads so their inward darkness would not show, regrets and loneliness for those they'd lost, and things they still blamed themselves for (and maybe somewhere within herself, she was the one she blamed for him). A salve for the scar that would eventually callous over, hardening the shinobi against whatever else would come. Hers, if she would allow it to be, would be no different.
But, as hard as she tried, she could not allow the scar to heal. So she continued to apply the salve, praying one day she'd finally give in, wake up, and cease her defensive mechanisms. But, every day she found herself going through the same motions, with no deviation. As much as she hated herself for it, it would not change.
As she placed the picture back upright, as she did every time, she sighed, and rose to leave. Tomorrow, the same mantra would begin. She'd lie to herself, stop the wound from hurting for another night, and try and place it from her mind. Then the next day, it would happen all over again. The cycle would repeat again and again, until she forgot, or until she was dead.
She believed the latter would find her first.
Series:Naruto
Character/Pairing:Sakura-introspective, One-sided Sasu/Saku
Rating:PG
Summary and Author's note: Sakura's daily routine, tending a scar that will never heal. Written for 31_days, with the theme "Ten out of Nine times". Who would have guessed I'd write a Sakura-introspective piece with hints of Sasu/Saku (though One-sided, as per my normal style.) But, I guess stranger things have happened.
She didn't know how many times a day she looked at this picture.
How many times she'd have to blink back the tears, with a shuddering breath, before slinging the portrait down upon it's side and turning away. How many times she'd have to deny the fact that what was in the picture was now no more, and would never return. How many times that she would have to lie to herself. Lie to herself that the past would come back, and nothing had changed, and if she walked out to that bridge...
They would be waiting for her. HE would be waiting for her. And they could continue living as if nothing had occurred. As if he had never left. As if it had all been nothing but a bad dream.
Nine times out of Ten, the lie was believed, at least physically, and her breath would calm, and the tears would stop.
Ten times out of Nine, she knew better--that this was temporary, and tomorrow, she'd find herself again in the same situation. Reality was what it was, no matter how much she wanted to deny it---even if there was still something in her that was dying to believe.
She wanted to blame others for shattering the peace she'd had--the happiness that once had been Team Seven--but, in the end, she knew this was nothing but another denial, another half-hearted chance to give herself reasons that could explain the present, in more comforting terms.
She wanted to blame Orochimaru. He'd lured Sasuke with the promise of power, wanting nothing more than the abilities contained within his eyes--playing the boy along until the day would finally come--even though the boy was well-aware of his circumstances.
It had seemed a feasible reason. It was a good explanation, and it took the guilt and conviction away from where she wanted it the least.
But Orochimaru had died, by his hand no less, and still he'd not returned.
So, the blame dissolved, and she, in her desperation to continue her facade, looked for others to place the fault with.
She wanted to blame Itachi. He'd been the one who'd started all this, even before she'd lain eyes upon Sasuke, the one who had planted the seeds of vengeance within him. His brother, whose death was his reason for existence.
It, too, was a likely explanation. But, as she had thought more about it, she'd realized. They'd told him countlessly that they would have helped him with his plight, that they were a team, and more than that friends--no, his family--and yet, every time he'd refused, rather vehemently, saying it was no-one's battle but his alone.
No matter how much she wanted to deny it, he'd left. For no-one's reasons but his own. Yes, he may have left because of Itachi, but Itachi had not been the one to physically make him leave. He had left for himself. Left everything--left them--behind to pursue his own goals, no matter who he had to hurt in the process.
There was no-one else to blame. The guilt was his.
And, as much as she bitterly fought it, she knew, the realization being nothing short of acid on her tongue, souring her stomach, and sending fire to her brain. She knew. They could chase him down to the ends of the world and yet, nothing would come of it. He was gone. He'd burned the bridge they'd stood upon, and never looked back. He was gone.
It hurt, too much to bear, and so she denied it. Who could blame her? He'd been more than just a teammate to her, more than a friend--he'd been her first love, even if it was unrequited. She'd not given a damn for that. She'd loved him with all her heart, and with childish innocence (now destroyed) had believed that one day he'd reciprocate. They'd fall in love, have children, and live as a happy shinobi family.
She was older now. And knew that the words 'Happy Shinobi Family' were nothing but a hilarious oxymoron. There was no such thing--as shinobi lived in a constant state between life and death; and daily had to run the gambit between the two, whilst depriving their targets of one, and giving the other. There was no time for that idealized peace, nor happiness in that existence, only small snippets you could glean here or there--that were always overshadowed by the thought of the next mission. Due to this lifestyle, all shinobi carried scars--and most of which were ones that you could not see. Her sensibilities would not lie to her, even though her heart spoke with a silver tongue. The day would come when she'd have to fully acknowledge what had happened; the scar that she now bore, bleeding and throbbing, down the length of her soul.
But, she'd already become like so many of the others, lying to herself to conceal the reasons for the scars they wore. Making apologies to the air, turning their heads so their inward darkness would not show, regrets and loneliness for those they'd lost, and things they still blamed themselves for (and maybe somewhere within herself, she was the one she blamed for him). A salve for the scar that would eventually callous over, hardening the shinobi against whatever else would come. Hers, if she would allow it to be, would be no different.
But, as hard as she tried, she could not allow the scar to heal. So she continued to apply the salve, praying one day she'd finally give in, wake up, and cease her defensive mechanisms. But, every day she found herself going through the same motions, with no deviation. As much as she hated herself for it, it would not change.
As she placed the picture back upright, as she did every time, she sighed, and rose to leave. Tomorrow, the same mantra would begin. She'd lie to herself, stop the wound from hurting for another night, and try and place it from her mind. Then the next day, it would happen all over again. The cycle would repeat again and again, until she forgot, or until she was dead.
She believed the latter would find her first.