FicWad

You're spinning and that's all there is. That's all there is. A private little world, the whole world, made just for you. Each spin and twist and looping wonder and the gamut of colour is for you! and no one else. There's no one else. There will never be anyone else. Because you are as blind as the stillborn pirate, the one eye gone already. Because you can see everyone move. You're so young, but you can see them all move. Men and women and children stronger and faster and so much more than you are - could be.

You can't see straight in this world. It's too slow for anything, each drastic colour change whipping your sides. It's not too slow. It feels slow. It feels slow. Slow, of all things, is ridiculous. Simply ridiculous, your mind tells you, but no, no, no, it can't be, because he said so. They were his final words. And everything sounded so frustratingly slow. You hate the speed of your arms. Not fast enough. Never fast enough, they are.

If it is all so damn slow as your eyes tell you, (wrong, that small part of your brain with logic still present says) then how come you don't understand? When teachers went along slow, not that you ever needed it, it's easier to understand. How come nothing else is like that? What is Obito saying? What is he saying! It's too important to forget. You said you wouldn't forget. You knew you wouldn't forget in that one moment. Maybe it was because your expression never changed? It should have changed, you reason. But it didn't and you're scared of that.

It's too early for poetry, you know. It's too early in the morning. No one can speak coherently this early, this late, and you want poetry? What's wrong with you? There's something wrong with you. Something went wrong that day, when you knew you should have died, and that day, when you knew you should have died, and in all those other days and weeks and months, you should have died. You should have died before you saw Naruto. It's too early.

You say you remember acid rain and holidays in childhood, but do you really remember anything besides their company? You can't even remember how strange his eyelid looked, bloody and wispy, but not hollow above his eye socket. It was the blood that gave it away, and his disturbingly happy manner of helpfulness. How was that helpful? His was undeveloped at the time, newly founded and late, late for all his clan's boasts. It was helpful in the end, because Obito felt it was. You weren't important, deciding, because you hadn't given anything besides irresponsible wonders posed as supercilious taunts he took seriously. You were always more shocked than you were supposed to be. It isn't a proper thing for a ninja to show emotions, but that's the only thing they can show, the one thing that gives each practiced movement any sharpness at all. How are you supposed to remember anything in that cracked head of yours?

Their hands all moved too fast back then, before you were presented with an easy way out and even that wasn't easy to train, to build. And now, it takes up too much of your energy; you can barely aim a kunai after a short slurp of power. A thousand moves is too much for you to remember, but it's enough to recall any particular favourite when the time calls. Then you could see the hands, blank turned into blur and then an outline and brief, irrational breaks of solidity. At first, you were victorious and cautious, trying to be small like your frame. It didn't work. Look at you. You're horrible.

Keep on spinning, little fairy. You aren't allowed to see straight. You'll understand the joke soon. It'll all be over in a reasonable amount of almost-deaths.

You're not twirling, because that is too feminine. You're revolting in circles, hands below head-height, realistic as should be. The demon's been given birth, but you don't care. It had only resulted in the Yondaime's death, simple as that. There was no resentment to be had; your birth had resulted in Obito's death. He would have died anyway, you fight, and you wouldn't have gotten an eye to kill for and with and against and hell, for! For! For! For you in turn, don't you want to know? Say it, why don't you. But it'd be disrespectful, you want to say. He wouldn't think so. He'd just laugh and say you can see the world like magic and adjustable volume. No more slow for you, no more spinning breaks, like afternoon naps, and no more blind, lucky, repulsive expectations.

But nothing is slow in this world, chinked the water, nothing, and you will do well to remember that much.