Beware: fic
Nov. 12th, 2004 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whitereflectionDon't say I didn't warn you. I've blown pretty much my entire work morning on this. First draft, spell-checked and looked over, but not beta-ed.
Title: Futility and You
A Sasuke-POV fic
Author: Di
Series: Naruto
Rating: PG
Warnings: Poorly-done, dark, melodramatic angst. I don't know nearly enough about this series to be attempting this.
Disclaimer: Fanwork. I do not own the characters, manga, or anime. Duh.
Word Count: 897
Summary: A what-if fic set somewhere in the future, in which Uchiha Sasuke discovers failure in success and what it is to achieve a goal and yet not.
Blood dripped slow and thick and slick down his arm, some far distant part of his mind whispering how strange it was that it should tickle as it traced a meandering stream's path over his skin. He twitched at the sensation, a flicker of muscles tensing that lasted less time than the blink of an eye--but the movement was enough to nudge the body in front of him until it sagged into gravity, slipping off his hand with a sucking-wet soft sound, the thud of it falling to the ground almost soundless against the hissing of a chill wind tangling through the trees.
He had done it. He had succeeded.
But even as the power of the sharigan and chidori drained from him, the sparks of rage and shadow-fire subsiding first to prickling needles rolling through his flesh then to a humming numbness that throbbed deep inside like a heartbeat, even then he already knew the truth. Knew it as certainly as he knew the sick, hopeless, agonized knot that clenched his stomach.
Sasuke...had beaten Itachi. Beaten him.
But...he had not *won*.
Crumpling to his knees next to the corpse, a twisted grimace spasmed across Sasuke's face as he choked back some pained animalistic sound trying to claw its way out of his throat. He'd been strong, hadn't he? He'd hated, just like his brother had wanted. He'd driven himself obsessively, day after day, month after month, year after year. He'd trained and he'd struggled, and he'd given up so much, sacrificing everything (and every*one*) for strength and power to be able to achieve just one goal. And at last the beast that had slaughtered the Uchiha clan had been brought to justice. The avenger had been victorious; Itachi had at last been made to pay the price for his sins.
But yet...he'd just failed. Hadn't he.
Sasuke's hand stilled, a faint tremor shivering through it as the sinuous black marks of the now-ebbing curse flickered and faded ghostlike over his pale skin. He'd reached for his brother, moving without being conscious of it. But now he froze. Because it was pointless. Wasn't it.
There was no use reaching out. Itachi was as far away now as he'd ever been in his entire life. Because as much as he'd chased him, as much as he'd run after him and clawed his way toward him, Sasuke had never...he'd never caught up. Ever. Never come close. Realization seeped into him like the damp, dank night's frost and chill. No matter what he did, no matter how much he fought, he'd never had a chance of getting what he'd truly wanted from Itachi. Acknowledgement. Respect. Admiration. Caring. Love. And now there was no more hope that he would ever, could ever get those things. Because Uchiha Itachi was dead. Dead with the same cold, mocking laughter reflected in those blank eyes as he'd seen when his brother had taunted and challenged him so many years ago. Dead with an expression etched on his face that jeered that Sasuke was, as always, weak, talentless, unskilled--and that his killing Itachi was the result of nothing more than a lucky shot. Dead with a gaze that still, even now, looked past Sasuke, stared through him, as if still seeking out instead the loudmouthed, fuck-up (friend) idiot Sasuke had long since (abandoned) left in the dust; for all eternity giving Naruto--for simply *existing*--the attention and fascination Sasuke had scrabbled for, fought for, raged for...and failed to ever get.
Ever. Never. Ever.
When...when he joined Itachi in whatever hell he'd gone to...Sasuke would probably still be left chasing him. Wouldn't he. Chasing and never being noticed. Never catching up. Constantly failing, and never being good enough. Forever. Wouldn't he.
His shoulders suddenly gave a great heave, then another. And another. Though no anguished sob, no hoarse, roaring scream or wail broke free past grit teeth, locked jaws, and clenched-closed eyes, remaining imprisoned deep within the empty black place burning in his chest. Until it finally all seemed to collapse like a dying star, and Sasuke crumbled and hunched in upon himself, curling over the shell of his brother, his body bowing as something inside that was Uchiha Sasuke finally splintered and broke.
And something within he hadn't known was there died.
Some time passed; or at least he thought so, from a dim awareness of hard-packed dirt and sticks digging into knees and shins gone tingling near-numb--and from the solid, stone-and-ice cold of the corpse he was collapsed against. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked slowly, eyelashes brushing against the long, tangled hair of bangs plastered to his forehead with dried sweat, and distantly he noted the sting of a myriad of small cuts and wounds and the dull ache of bruises-perhaps-more. As well as the skin-crawling itching of crusted blood and gore. *His*.
And then he remembered.
His eyes flinched closed as if to deny the truth of his sight, but knowledge and memory settled over him like a clinging, choking shroud. And as he breathed sharp, chill air into the hollow inside, Sasuke wondered, there in the dark before dawn, if Orochimaru would be coming for his body soon. Because he'd ruined his soul, lost his heart, and destroyed his spirit; and what was left of him beyond that was just trash he had no use for anymore.
end
Title: Futility and You
A Sasuke-POV fic
Author: Di
Series: Naruto
Rating: PG
Warnings: Poorly-done, dark, melodramatic angst. I don't know nearly enough about this series to be attempting this.
Disclaimer: Fanwork. I do not own the characters, manga, or anime. Duh.
Word Count: 897
Summary: A what-if fic set somewhere in the future, in which Uchiha Sasuke discovers failure in success and what it is to achieve a goal and yet not.
Blood dripped slow and thick and slick down his arm, some far distant part of his mind whispering how strange it was that it should tickle as it traced a meandering stream's path over his skin. He twitched at the sensation, a flicker of muscles tensing that lasted less time than the blink of an eye--but the movement was enough to nudge the body in front of him until it sagged into gravity, slipping off his hand with a sucking-wet soft sound, the thud of it falling to the ground almost soundless against the hissing of a chill wind tangling through the trees.
He had done it. He had succeeded.
But even as the power of the sharigan and chidori drained from him, the sparks of rage and shadow-fire subsiding first to prickling needles rolling through his flesh then to a humming numbness that throbbed deep inside like a heartbeat, even then he already knew the truth. Knew it as certainly as he knew the sick, hopeless, agonized knot that clenched his stomach.
Sasuke...had beaten Itachi. Beaten him.
But...he had not *won*.
Crumpling to his knees next to the corpse, a twisted grimace spasmed across Sasuke's face as he choked back some pained animalistic sound trying to claw its way out of his throat. He'd been strong, hadn't he? He'd hated, just like his brother had wanted. He'd driven himself obsessively, day after day, month after month, year after year. He'd trained and he'd struggled, and he'd given up so much, sacrificing everything (and every*one*) for strength and power to be able to achieve just one goal. And at last the beast that had slaughtered the Uchiha clan had been brought to justice. The avenger had been victorious; Itachi had at last been made to pay the price for his sins.
But yet...he'd just failed. Hadn't he.
Sasuke's hand stilled, a faint tremor shivering through it as the sinuous black marks of the now-ebbing curse flickered and faded ghostlike over his pale skin. He'd reached for his brother, moving without being conscious of it. But now he froze. Because it was pointless. Wasn't it.
There was no use reaching out. Itachi was as far away now as he'd ever been in his entire life. Because as much as he'd chased him, as much as he'd run after him and clawed his way toward him, Sasuke had never...he'd never caught up. Ever. Never come close. Realization seeped into him like the damp, dank night's frost and chill. No matter what he did, no matter how much he fought, he'd never had a chance of getting what he'd truly wanted from Itachi. Acknowledgement. Respect. Admiration. Caring. Love. And now there was no more hope that he would ever, could ever get those things. Because Uchiha Itachi was dead. Dead with the same cold, mocking laughter reflected in those blank eyes as he'd seen when his brother had taunted and challenged him so many years ago. Dead with an expression etched on his face that jeered that Sasuke was, as always, weak, talentless, unskilled--and that his killing Itachi was the result of nothing more than a lucky shot. Dead with a gaze that still, even now, looked past Sasuke, stared through him, as if still seeking out instead the loudmouthed, fuck-up (friend) idiot Sasuke had long since (abandoned) left in the dust; for all eternity giving Naruto--for simply *existing*--the attention and fascination Sasuke had scrabbled for, fought for, raged for...and failed to ever get.
Ever. Never. Ever.
When...when he joined Itachi in whatever hell he'd gone to...Sasuke would probably still be left chasing him. Wouldn't he. Chasing and never being noticed. Never catching up. Constantly failing, and never being good enough. Forever. Wouldn't he.
His shoulders suddenly gave a great heave, then another. And another. Though no anguished sob, no hoarse, roaring scream or wail broke free past grit teeth, locked jaws, and clenched-closed eyes, remaining imprisoned deep within the empty black place burning in his chest. Until it finally all seemed to collapse like a dying star, and Sasuke crumbled and hunched in upon himself, curling over the shell of his brother, his body bowing as something inside that was Uchiha Sasuke finally splintered and broke.
And something within he hadn't known was there died.
Some time passed; or at least he thought so, from a dim awareness of hard-packed dirt and sticks digging into knees and shins gone tingling near-numb--and from the solid, stone-and-ice cold of the corpse he was collapsed against. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked slowly, eyelashes brushing against the long, tangled hair of bangs plastered to his forehead with dried sweat, and distantly he noted the sting of a myriad of small cuts and wounds and the dull ache of bruises-perhaps-more. As well as the skin-crawling itching of crusted blood and gore. *His*.
And then he remembered.
His eyes flinched closed as if to deny the truth of his sight, but knowledge and memory settled over him like a clinging, choking shroud. And as he breathed sharp, chill air into the hollow inside, Sasuke wondered, there in the dark before dawn, if Orochimaru would be coming for his body soon. Because he'd ruined his soul, lost his heart, and destroyed his spirit; and what was left of him beyond that was just trash he had no use for anymore.
end