Graverobber141
[Insert Clever Line Here]
Silence.
For years it had been a constant, looming shadow, a space in which he could only fill the thoughts that ran throughout his head like ghosts, and how desperately did he try to grasp them, anything, like mist slipping between his fingers, to justify his existence. Emptiness that birthed resentment, and in that void, that resentment was forged into the sharp edge of hatred.
Yet this silence was starkly different. In a way, more difficult. His mind was no longer consumed by that raged-fueled, incessant need to act—to do something, because doing nothing meant he was a victim—that narrowed his existence to a finite, singular point: vengeance. At least then, blinded by his own reality, he had known his purpose, had forced the world to make sense, and from that sense, had known which step to take forward. In his delusion, he had possessed certainty.
And now freedom from that delusion hardly felt like enlightenment; it left the taste of ash on his tongue, bitter and regretful, and in its wake, he found he was lost, searching once more so desperately for absolution. For certainty.
This silence was nothing if not the manifestation of uncertainty.
Consciously aware of how long it had been since he'd last spoken, Sasuke came to a stop, his sandals padding softly against the dirt-composed road. Out of the corner of his sharp eyes, he had occasionally been glimpsing the river their path followed, the calm, dark waters which currently reflected the low-hanging moon, but mostly he had been subtly watching her.
Sakura.
Occasionally, the cool night breeze had danced through her hair, and in those moments, he found himself taking in little details that had evaded him before: things he hadn't allowed himself to notice. The urge to break the persistent silence, which he himself had fostered, scratched underneath his surface, yet he simply did not know how, and that barrier haunted him more than perhaps he was capable of fully realizing. In the end, he merely, distantly stated, "We'll rest here for the night." Turning his dark eyes onto hers, one of the first times he'd let himself meet her gaze since they set off this morning, he tilted his head in the direction of the small inn nestled against a backdrop of trees further along the road and continued walking.
Part of him wondered why she was here, traveling at his side, and it was the most consistent, coherent thought circling around in his head, and yet, even still, it left him confused, unable to understand. When it came to counting his sins, she was perhaps one he was most indebted to. Anger. Scorn. Hate. Fear. Reactions he had expected, things he could understand. Yet this, her walking alongside him, did not make sense. But then again, hardly anything made sense to him anymore.
This was supposed to be his journey to redemption--that was why she was here--and yet he found himself lost in the silence, searching for what he could say. Because there were no words that could erase his sins, nothing on the tip of his tongue, expect for an unshakable feeling that he should say something, if only to break the silence that strangled the air between them. Perhaps inviting her had been a childish idea to begin with: a desperate want to find an easy way to rebuild ties he had tried so hard to sever completely.
If only it were so simple. But the point was to try, and this was hardly about him.
Nearing the destination, all these things eating away at the edge of his consciousness, he stopped abruptly. And even though it was pointless, shallow in consideration of how deeply he had fallen, he spoke in an attempt to offer her something: "Thank you, Sakura."
For being here.
For years it had been a constant, looming shadow, a space in which he could only fill the thoughts that ran throughout his head like ghosts, and how desperately did he try to grasp them, anything, like mist slipping between his fingers, to justify his existence. Emptiness that birthed resentment, and in that void, that resentment was forged into the sharp edge of hatred.
Yet this silence was starkly different. In a way, more difficult. His mind was no longer consumed by that raged-fueled, incessant need to act—to do something, because doing nothing meant he was a victim—that narrowed his existence to a finite, singular point: vengeance. At least then, blinded by his own reality, he had known his purpose, had forced the world to make sense, and from that sense, had known which step to take forward. In his delusion, he had possessed certainty.
And now freedom from that delusion hardly felt like enlightenment; it left the taste of ash on his tongue, bitter and regretful, and in its wake, he found he was lost, searching once more so desperately for absolution. For certainty.
This silence was nothing if not the manifestation of uncertainty.
Consciously aware of how long it had been since he'd last spoken, Sasuke came to a stop, his sandals padding softly against the dirt-composed road. Out of the corner of his sharp eyes, he had occasionally been glimpsing the river their path followed, the calm, dark waters which currently reflected the low-hanging moon, but mostly he had been subtly watching her.
Sakura.
Occasionally, the cool night breeze had danced through her hair, and in those moments, he found himself taking in little details that had evaded him before: things he hadn't allowed himself to notice. The urge to break the persistent silence, which he himself had fostered, scratched underneath his surface, yet he simply did not know how, and that barrier haunted him more than perhaps he was capable of fully realizing. In the end, he merely, distantly stated, "We'll rest here for the night." Turning his dark eyes onto hers, one of the first times he'd let himself meet her gaze since they set off this morning, he tilted his head in the direction of the small inn nestled against a backdrop of trees further along the road and continued walking.
Part of him wondered why she was here, traveling at his side, and it was the most consistent, coherent thought circling around in his head, and yet, even still, it left him confused, unable to understand. When it came to counting his sins, she was perhaps one he was most indebted to. Anger. Scorn. Hate. Fear. Reactions he had expected, things he could understand. Yet this, her walking alongside him, did not make sense. But then again, hardly anything made sense to him anymore.
This was supposed to be his journey to redemption--that was why she was here--and yet he found himself lost in the silence, searching for what he could say. Because there were no words that could erase his sins, nothing on the tip of his tongue, expect for an unshakable feeling that he should say something, if only to break the silence that strangled the air between them. Perhaps inviting her had been a childish idea to begin with: a desperate want to find an easy way to rebuild ties he had tried so hard to sever completely.
If only it were so simple. But the point was to try, and this was hardly about him.
Nearing the destination, all these things eating away at the edge of his consciousness, he stopped abruptly. And even though it was pointless, shallow in consideration of how deeply he had fallen, he spoke in an attempt to offer her something: "Thank you, Sakura."
For being here.