Categories > Anime/Manga > Naruto
A Container For Hatred
0 reviewsWhat was Yashamaru left with? ...Nothing that would keep him sane.
0Unrated
I love to write about hatred.
Love and hatred are separated by the thinnest of lines.they are way too similar to be opposites. Both love and hatred can be passionate emotions, both can cause obsession. Actors thrive on strong emotions, and There are no emotions stronger than love and hatred.
This is a one shot introspective piece based on Yashamaru, it involves Gaara, but never by name.
I own neither of these characters. If I did the Naruto series would probably never have been published, so it's probably just as well.
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The Kazakage had his country.
Temari had wind, and Kankurou had puppets, and both had each other.
They all had something to keep them going after the monster had torn into their lives, kicking and screaming and tainting all that had been perfect and joyous in their lives.
After the mother, the wife had been taken.
What did Yashamaru have?
Nothing that would ever keep him sane.
He was left with the infant, the hateful child who had only lived a few hours, but had already destroyed so much.
He was left with his emptiness. That huge chasm in his heart where his sister had once been. A space that was rapidly being filled with loathing for her youngest son.
The child whose mother had cursed him at birth, whose father had doomed him to be an experimental weapon of mass destruction, whose siblings would think of as no more than a monster.
Yashamaru knew that he could never love the babe, the thing , his hurt was too deep, and his hatred too sharp.
He had tried to feel sorry for it-- to soften the edges of the bitter daggers he felt pressing against his heart every time he looked into the things eyes. But he couldn‘t do that either.
In Yashamaru’s eyes, the thing deserved any suffering it’s twisted existence caused it.
It deserved to die , but since that was just as impossible as Yashamaru feeling any affection towards it, cursing it to a life of emotional torture and unbearable pain was the best he could do.
And he couldn’t even do that openly.
Orders were orders.
And although it went against everything he was thinking and feeling, he’d been ordered to protect the icy-eyed monster, to act as a parent towards it.
To act as though he loved it.
Even just thinking about that was like poison to him. Even just to pretend to love the thing killed something inside him.
It didn’t get any easier for him over the years, either.
With every passing month, the thing grew, and so did Yashamaru’s hated, and so did the wound in his heart.
The part inside of him poisoned by his so called “love” for the thing , kept on dying , until he became hollow. A container for hatred. An existence almost as pitiful as that of the thing he hated.
It was just as well the thing could not see what was going on in it’s guardian’s eyes. That it was blind to the way his fists clenched at the sound of its voice, to the slight twitch in his eye when it asked its childish questions. Blind to the suppressed rage its guardian felt when it looked with wonder at the picture of its mother.
Otherwise, the monster may have lost control far more often that it already did.
Love and hatred are separated by the thinnest of lines.they are way too similar to be opposites. Both love and hatred can be passionate emotions, both can cause obsession. Actors thrive on strong emotions, and There are no emotions stronger than love and hatred.
This is a one shot introspective piece based on Yashamaru, it involves Gaara, but never by name.
I own neither of these characters. If I did the Naruto series would probably never have been published, so it's probably just as well.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kazakage had his country.
Temari had wind, and Kankurou had puppets, and both had each other.
They all had something to keep them going after the monster had torn into their lives, kicking and screaming and tainting all that had been perfect and joyous in their lives.
After the mother, the wife had been taken.
What did Yashamaru have?
Nothing that would ever keep him sane.
He was left with the infant, the hateful child who had only lived a few hours, but had already destroyed so much.
He was left with his emptiness. That huge chasm in his heart where his sister had once been. A space that was rapidly being filled with loathing for her youngest son.
The child whose mother had cursed him at birth, whose father had doomed him to be an experimental weapon of mass destruction, whose siblings would think of as no more than a monster.
Yashamaru knew that he could never love the babe, the thing , his hurt was too deep, and his hatred too sharp.
He had tried to feel sorry for it-- to soften the edges of the bitter daggers he felt pressing against his heart every time he looked into the things eyes. But he couldn‘t do that either.
In Yashamaru’s eyes, the thing deserved any suffering it’s twisted existence caused it.
It deserved to die , but since that was just as impossible as Yashamaru feeling any affection towards it, cursing it to a life of emotional torture and unbearable pain was the best he could do.
And he couldn’t even do that openly.
Orders were orders.
And although it went against everything he was thinking and feeling, he’d been ordered to protect the icy-eyed monster, to act as a parent towards it.
To act as though he loved it.
Even just thinking about that was like poison to him. Even just to pretend to love the thing killed something inside him.
It didn’t get any easier for him over the years, either.
With every passing month, the thing grew, and so did Yashamaru’s hated, and so did the wound in his heart.
The part inside of him poisoned by his so called “love” for the thing , kept on dying , until he became hollow. A container for hatred. An existence almost as pitiful as that of the thing he hated.
It was just as well the thing could not see what was going on in it’s guardian’s eyes. That it was blind to the way his fists clenched at the sound of its voice, to the slight twitch in his eye when it asked its childish questions. Blind to the suppressed rage its guardian felt when it looked with wonder at the picture of its mother.
Otherwise, the monster may have lost control far more often that it already did.
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