Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto > Kaleidoscope
Kaleidoscope
His skin was a velvet flush beneath her fingers. A rosette blush tinted his cheeks with innocence reminiscent of her own, and she dreams, hazes, wonders, ponders... lost in the recesses of her mind with sparkling brown eyes laden in the image of his own. His a royal blue, his like the ocean... his like the royal blue ocean of his father's...
Evening is a beautiful thing, oranges of sunset glowing indifference in the far horizon, lit with flailing tips of leaves and trunks, yet dank along the backdrop of iron gates... The sky is dark, hued, red, smoked... damaged in the most peculiar way. He watched the clouds sway and drift in frantic motion, a peculiar expression creasing his face, drawing his brows, squinting the lids over ocean-blue orbs.
Her eyes died then... She didn't look as his frosted to the recessive of impulsive sleep, his head cradled with the crook of her arm, mumbling whispered sleepy cues as only a baby can... because he was content, and that should serve to feed her own contentment. But it didn't.
It won't last long, he realises as the red of clouds drift to dreams, masked by the darkness of a black mist. Daytime doesn't last forever; it never will... so evenings, the tempered glow of the sky, pass over him with an oblivious blink of an eye... the serenity trailing with it. His peace of mind fades with in in-ornate snap of his lids and brows ease with a flicker of lashes, a touch of sweet breath from his lips kisses the air in tenderness of a feather.
She didn't welcome maternity, didn't embrace it, in fact she feared entrapment in its stagnant claws as she stared down at the blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. Luminous brown orbs squinted; lips trembled with remorse and twitched in distain... at what he is, at what he holds, at what he represents, at how he came to be. Beyond smooth flesh of his body, laden and pudged in 'cute' baby fat, he's just a container for memories, pain, a scattered history she'd forced away to recessant memories. Yet his eyes were as vibrant in sleep as when he was awake, twenty hours of labour brought the bastard screaming into the world.
Fluttering wings catch his ears with a flicker; a rarity in isolation that rides the waves of breeze brushing the fading blaze of thick bangs masking his forehead along the crease lining his brows. His ears twitch at the pattering; a bird, black, raven, catches its perch along the fence. The back silk of his clothes flutter, though stiff to the tremendously thick orange rope tied to a reversed bow, defying gravity to stand erect along his back... velvet brushing his skin. Leaves rustle inconspicuous to all, but they catch his eyes... because nothing escapes them.
Her fingers long ceased their reminiscent roaming, drizzled forcing of love for something so precious, innocent, gentle; the tuft of blonde hair, fragile skin, pudgy fingers tingling her own with a fragile yet relentless grip. She recoiled, and his face screwed in sleep for the briefest moment.
Gloves tighten to fists along his skin, the hiss of wind along the sparse wisps of hair, /fur/, glistening in the thinnest sheet of moisture along the back of his neck... his head dips forward. Teeth are bared in a minute flash as a nose creases... grass tingles in blades along the toes of his boots, spheral to his stiff statuesque form.
His hands felt like his fathers... grabbing her, clawing at her, forcing driving into her over and over again, tears spilling from her eyes as she screams and screams and... The moist salt of tears touched her lips once again... but her face didn't change.
The shock is sharp as the raven croaks its caw. An impression, solid as any fist to his cheek was the memory banished reticent to the depths of his mind; though now clear as the darkening skies. Heels press into a grassy plain, a habit straining memories of past blood from his nose and lips 'putting' against the harsh gravelled concrete floor.
The seal on his stomach was a prison, still fresh and tender with ink in the aftermath of the Kyuubi's defeat, a lifetimes worth of unnatural ink... but it was nothing. She knew the demon's nature, ferocity, destruction, hunger and bloodlust, yet the prospect of what her bastard-child held, what he'd become, what he still could become, struck no fear into her... because she was numb.
His ears sharpen, fingers itch in his nerves memory and he rubs them into the palm of his gloves, casting away the feel of the chipped intricate markings of a wall he can't see. A permanent darkness of his burning eyes hidden beneath his lids, wrapped in bandages pressing sweaty hair to his head... bloodying with invisible fists crashing into skull and he twitches inaudibly in memory of his back careering from impact with a far wall.
Her voice hoarse from screaming, a thin trail of blood running its course down her chin from her abused vocal cords, nothing but silence as she stares at the sky from the grimy darkness of an ally. He panted, he breathed, thick pungent puffs moist with sake. He was inside her, still diligent in his abuse, coming to a close with his gasp and rapturous groan... and her tearful silent wince as she feels him fill her, shock, pain and blood choking her. His sandals grinding as he stumbles away, echoing through her mind relentlessly as she lay broken on the floor.
A memory's whimpered cry, loud from his mind to his ears... his head snapping from shock. The rasp of past impalements and bruises reopening as his blood flow began again... the breeze of a fist swishing, fraying sparse hairs as it missed, his body obeying desperate shouts before his ears decipher his subconscious command. A nine-year-old's excitement severed with a vile kick to his abdomen. The weariness is fresh, berth of six months feeling as recent as yesterday.
Teardrops patted the baby's cheeks, his little, chubby, soft, blushing, whiskered cheeks, lulling him to the waking world, but he didn't scream... because he was natural, conceived in the most unnatural way. And she hated him, for who he held in the sinew of his flesh, for the blue eyes she wanted to love, for the boy who raped her, who's eyes look so innocent now... ignorant, unassuming, un-knowing, reliant, expectant... deception within the orbs of her child.
Her child... the idea disgusted her to her core, because children are born of love, and she knew she didn't love... this... this object of her nightmares, the subject of her torment, her terrors, her shock, her numbness and trauma...
His thumb, twitchy, restless, brushes his cheek, imploring the divots of whiskers on otherwise smooth, flawless sun kissed skin. The breeze swirls unnaturally, kicking the earth shrapnel, loose grass and soil, which to clings to the air as his tongue darts in habit to brushing his bottom lip...
Yes, she hated him... but her thumb traced superficial tender along his nose and his handsome face; her lips twitched to a morose smile, morose because she didn't feel the joy in her heart, and her falsed attempt at loving this boy failed again... but she didn't try very hard; she never did... because all she saw was ugliness.
Fingers rest on his shoulder, pale, white, callous over the finest of glistening black silk... caressive and possessive, as he's only known them to be.
"Aimi..." The sweat-matted tendrils of her hair brushed her pillow. She looked briefly into the eyes of the Sandaime, but he looked, questioningly to that of the bundle still within her embrace.
"Naruto..." her whisper, lifeless, robbed of conviction, perked his ears, "...his name is Naruto."
"Naruto-kun..."
"You named him...?" His gentle smile was a trademark, one of understanding, as a Hokage should, "...does this mean you-"
"No." She cut him, sharply. "I'm not... I can't keep him..." The resounding breath of Sarutobi's sigh touched her skin... breeze to a gust, because it wasn't the first time he'd tried to talk her into keeping this child.
The comforting warmth of presence, protecting, watchful... a grin; malevolent, using, accepting/, approving/... as sun-kissed lips pull to the lightest smirk. He glances over his shoulder, meeting his watcher, his provider and protector with a mirroring smirk. Yellow, snake-like eyes. "...Sensei?"
"May I?" She offered the bundle into his waiting arms, impassive as the Sandaime claimed him, cradling little Naruto - little Naruto - to the warm comfort of his white robes. The baby gargles, basking in a love she can't give him, doesn't want to give him. She could have spared herself the pain of seeing his face, she could have ended his life before it even began, but despite her absent love, she knew her conscience, her guilt, wouldn't have allow it. She had the child; that was enough.
The patting of sandals to tufts of grass before him, the air ripe with anticipation, apprehension, as the bodies lining the clearing stand taught with tension, bodies of enemies he'd otherwise been oblivious to now. Armed soldiers, yet... somehow defenceless.
".../He'll have a difficult life you know." He tried to reason, he always tried to reason... "It's barely been a week and the people are still wounded; they'll want a scapegoat and he'll be the obvious target, regardless of the Yondaime's wishes." She didn't look up; if she did she'd be looking into his eyes, the same that drew guilt for her son's sharp branding of repent. He'll need his mother."/
Shaky fingers ran through her hair, but she steeled her voice, if nothing else but with the hatred and loathing she can muster. "I don't care."
A voice, smooth, hoarse, throaty, deep... "Kill them."
"Aimi..."
"No!" She made a valiant effort not to cry, no more than she had to as she glares desperation into his eyes. "I carried him for nine months, I gave birth to him... I gave life to something that shouldn't even be alive!" Her glare flicked to the child, limbs askew with his squirm, and her eyes softened for the briefest moment. Guilt... she looked to the blank white sheets, reading the Hokage's crestfallen expression without so much as a glance. "/He's your responsibility now, do what you want with him..."/
His eyes flash to his targets, fearful with flinches as they stare into the Sharingan... a gift. "Hai, Orochimaru-sama..."
Naruto: Kaleidoscope © Evolved 2007. Naruto characters & concepts © Shonen Jump & Masashi Kishimoto
His skin was a velvet flush beneath her fingers. A rosette blush tinted his cheeks with innocence reminiscent of her own, and she dreams, hazes, wonders, ponders... lost in the recesses of her mind with sparkling brown eyes laden in the image of his own. His a royal blue, his like the ocean... his like the royal blue ocean of his father's...
Evening is a beautiful thing, oranges of sunset glowing indifference in the far horizon, lit with flailing tips of leaves and trunks, yet dank along the backdrop of iron gates... The sky is dark, hued, red, smoked... damaged in the most peculiar way. He watched the clouds sway and drift in frantic motion, a peculiar expression creasing his face, drawing his brows, squinting the lids over ocean-blue orbs.
Her eyes died then... She didn't look as his frosted to the recessive of impulsive sleep, his head cradled with the crook of her arm, mumbling whispered sleepy cues as only a baby can... because he was content, and that should serve to feed her own contentment. But it didn't.
It won't last long, he realises as the red of clouds drift to dreams, masked by the darkness of a black mist. Daytime doesn't last forever; it never will... so evenings, the tempered glow of the sky, pass over him with an oblivious blink of an eye... the serenity trailing with it. His peace of mind fades with in in-ornate snap of his lids and brows ease with a flicker of lashes, a touch of sweet breath from his lips kisses the air in tenderness of a feather.
She didn't welcome maternity, didn't embrace it, in fact she feared entrapment in its stagnant claws as she stared down at the blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. Luminous brown orbs squinted; lips trembled with remorse and twitched in distain... at what he is, at what he holds, at what he represents, at how he came to be. Beyond smooth flesh of his body, laden and pudged in 'cute' baby fat, he's just a container for memories, pain, a scattered history she'd forced away to recessant memories. Yet his eyes were as vibrant in sleep as when he was awake, twenty hours of labour brought the bastard screaming into the world.
Fluttering wings catch his ears with a flicker; a rarity in isolation that rides the waves of breeze brushing the fading blaze of thick bangs masking his forehead along the crease lining his brows. His ears twitch at the pattering; a bird, black, raven, catches its perch along the fence. The back silk of his clothes flutter, though stiff to the tremendously thick orange rope tied to a reversed bow, defying gravity to stand erect along his back... velvet brushing his skin. Leaves rustle inconspicuous to all, but they catch his eyes... because nothing escapes them.
Her fingers long ceased their reminiscent roaming, drizzled forcing of love for something so precious, innocent, gentle; the tuft of blonde hair, fragile skin, pudgy fingers tingling her own with a fragile yet relentless grip. She recoiled, and his face screwed in sleep for the briefest moment.
Gloves tighten to fists along his skin, the hiss of wind along the sparse wisps of hair, /fur/, glistening in the thinnest sheet of moisture along the back of his neck... his head dips forward. Teeth are bared in a minute flash as a nose creases... grass tingles in blades along the toes of his boots, spheral to his stiff statuesque form.
His hands felt like his fathers... grabbing her, clawing at her, forcing driving into her over and over again, tears spilling from her eyes as she screams and screams and... The moist salt of tears touched her lips once again... but her face didn't change.
The shock is sharp as the raven croaks its caw. An impression, solid as any fist to his cheek was the memory banished reticent to the depths of his mind; though now clear as the darkening skies. Heels press into a grassy plain, a habit straining memories of past blood from his nose and lips 'putting' against the harsh gravelled concrete floor.
The seal on his stomach was a prison, still fresh and tender with ink in the aftermath of the Kyuubi's defeat, a lifetimes worth of unnatural ink... but it was nothing. She knew the demon's nature, ferocity, destruction, hunger and bloodlust, yet the prospect of what her bastard-child held, what he'd become, what he still could become, struck no fear into her... because she was numb.
His ears sharpen, fingers itch in his nerves memory and he rubs them into the palm of his gloves, casting away the feel of the chipped intricate markings of a wall he can't see. A permanent darkness of his burning eyes hidden beneath his lids, wrapped in bandages pressing sweaty hair to his head... bloodying with invisible fists crashing into skull and he twitches inaudibly in memory of his back careering from impact with a far wall.
Her voice hoarse from screaming, a thin trail of blood running its course down her chin from her abused vocal cords, nothing but silence as she stares at the sky from the grimy darkness of an ally. He panted, he breathed, thick pungent puffs moist with sake. He was inside her, still diligent in his abuse, coming to a close with his gasp and rapturous groan... and her tearful silent wince as she feels him fill her, shock, pain and blood choking her. His sandals grinding as he stumbles away, echoing through her mind relentlessly as she lay broken on the floor.
A memory's whimpered cry, loud from his mind to his ears... his head snapping from shock. The rasp of past impalements and bruises reopening as his blood flow began again... the breeze of a fist swishing, fraying sparse hairs as it missed, his body obeying desperate shouts before his ears decipher his subconscious command. A nine-year-old's excitement severed with a vile kick to his abdomen. The weariness is fresh, berth of six months feeling as recent as yesterday.
Teardrops patted the baby's cheeks, his little, chubby, soft, blushing, whiskered cheeks, lulling him to the waking world, but he didn't scream... because he was natural, conceived in the most unnatural way. And she hated him, for who he held in the sinew of his flesh, for the blue eyes she wanted to love, for the boy who raped her, who's eyes look so innocent now... ignorant, unassuming, un-knowing, reliant, expectant... deception within the orbs of her child.
Her child... the idea disgusted her to her core, because children are born of love, and she knew she didn't love... this... this object of her nightmares, the subject of her torment, her terrors, her shock, her numbness and trauma...
His thumb, twitchy, restless, brushes his cheek, imploring the divots of whiskers on otherwise smooth, flawless sun kissed skin. The breeze swirls unnaturally, kicking the earth shrapnel, loose grass and soil, which to clings to the air as his tongue darts in habit to brushing his bottom lip...
Yes, she hated him... but her thumb traced superficial tender along his nose and his handsome face; her lips twitched to a morose smile, morose because she didn't feel the joy in her heart, and her falsed attempt at loving this boy failed again... but she didn't try very hard; she never did... because all she saw was ugliness.
Fingers rest on his shoulder, pale, white, callous over the finest of glistening black silk... caressive and possessive, as he's only known them to be.
"Aimi..." The sweat-matted tendrils of her hair brushed her pillow. She looked briefly into the eyes of the Sandaime, but he looked, questioningly to that of the bundle still within her embrace.
"Naruto..." her whisper, lifeless, robbed of conviction, perked his ears, "...his name is Naruto."
"Naruto-kun..."
"You named him...?" His gentle smile was a trademark, one of understanding, as a Hokage should, "...does this mean you-"
"No." She cut him, sharply. "I'm not... I can't keep him..." The resounding breath of Sarutobi's sigh touched her skin... breeze to a gust, because it wasn't the first time he'd tried to talk her into keeping this child.
The comforting warmth of presence, protecting, watchful... a grin; malevolent, using, accepting/, approving/... as sun-kissed lips pull to the lightest smirk. He glances over his shoulder, meeting his watcher, his provider and protector with a mirroring smirk. Yellow, snake-like eyes. "...Sensei?"
"May I?" She offered the bundle into his waiting arms, impassive as the Sandaime claimed him, cradling little Naruto - little Naruto - to the warm comfort of his white robes. The baby gargles, basking in a love she can't give him, doesn't want to give him. She could have spared herself the pain of seeing his face, she could have ended his life before it even began, but despite her absent love, she knew her conscience, her guilt, wouldn't have allow it. She had the child; that was enough.
The patting of sandals to tufts of grass before him, the air ripe with anticipation, apprehension, as the bodies lining the clearing stand taught with tension, bodies of enemies he'd otherwise been oblivious to now. Armed soldiers, yet... somehow defenceless.
".../He'll have a difficult life you know." He tried to reason, he always tried to reason... "It's barely been a week and the people are still wounded; they'll want a scapegoat and he'll be the obvious target, regardless of the Yondaime's wishes." She didn't look up; if she did she'd be looking into his eyes, the same that drew guilt for her son's sharp branding of repent. He'll need his mother."/
Shaky fingers ran through her hair, but she steeled her voice, if nothing else but with the hatred and loathing she can muster. "I don't care."
A voice, smooth, hoarse, throaty, deep... "Kill them."
"Aimi..."
"No!" She made a valiant effort not to cry, no more than she had to as she glares desperation into his eyes. "I carried him for nine months, I gave birth to him... I gave life to something that shouldn't even be alive!" Her glare flicked to the child, limbs askew with his squirm, and her eyes softened for the briefest moment. Guilt... she looked to the blank white sheets, reading the Hokage's crestfallen expression without so much as a glance. "/He's your responsibility now, do what you want with him..."/
His eyes flash to his targets, fearful with flinches as they stare into the Sharingan... a gift. "Hai, Orochimaru-sama..."
Naruto: Kaleidoscope © Evolved 2007. Naruto characters & concepts © Shonen Jump & Masashi Kishimoto
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