Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Enlightenment ❯ The Broken Edifice ( Chapter 3 )

Author's Notes: Complaints are now accepted since this chapter was forced and my grammar is currently killing me. The whole fic is chockful of symbolism so if you don't understand, inform me and please accept my apologies. Sorry too if it doesn't meet your demands. May also contain horror elements.

Reviews are very much appreciated! Constructive criticism, of course, is much pleasing.

 

A.L1: In life, it is true that there are many choices that we have to pick. The fork road represents only the good and bad decisions. Sorry, if it wasn't quite clear. ^_^; We might have thousands of choices to pick, but they all end in either awful or good. The branches of the fork roads are complications, so more choices to be picked again.

(But I realized that there is another ending to these choices; beginning again.) I appreciate your encouraging reviews and questions to the story so, thank you!

Warning: Gaara-centric. Contains fantasy: the fanfic should not be taken literally.

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, don't own Naruto's canon character, Gaara.

Summary: “Like a sapling he grew in front of us, like a root in arid land. Without beauty, without majesty we saw him, no looks to attract our eyes: a thing despised, rejected by man, a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering. We thought of him as someone punished, struck by God and brought low…”

~Text: Ruth 1:16; Jeremiah 53: 1-5 © 1966 The Jerusalem Bible

 

“The web of our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together,” quote by William Shakespeare.

Is life always filled with misfortune? And if it is so, must we hate our neighbors and ourselves? Gaara seems to believe so.

 

 

 

Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you (1 Pet. 5:7)

 

Chapter 3: The Broken Edifice

 

He knew that this is what he asked for and so it was answered, but has he taken this wrongly? It seemed so, for he questioned a lot more on his existence. If he was to be caged, why did he live?!

 

Another shot of pain made its way through his head, he was bending over now, his head almost reaching the asphalt. With both hands, he clutched his hair forcefully. A groan of pain escaped through his mouth and he almost doubled over.

 

The lady took a hold of his shoulders, trying to help him up. But Gaara shrugged her off violently and she fell down to a sitting position. He didn't need anybody's help, she'd better get off his case before he decides to kill her right now.

 

Even if he denied her help, she did not give up on him. Climbing back to her feet, she held his fragile body, trying to assist him.

 

Yet in his delicate state, he was still strong; or maybe he forced himself to be. Letting go of his head, one arm reached to his side and forced the woman off of him. The shove was violent enough for her to back away a few steps and fall again, this time, with a harder thud.

 

Gaara realized that they were near a sandy area; he may use that to his advantage. He was getting tired of her, anyway.

 

His left hand was on his head, clutching a lot tighter than last time. One eyes was squeezed shut and the other wide with insanity. Gritting his teeth, he strained to raise his right hand to shoulder level. A single thought plagued inside his head, which repeated and repeated endlessly, `Die.'

 

His face stared impassively down at her, seeming intensely superior.

 

“Sabaku…”

 

There was a moment of silence. Movement fell into an abrupt stop and the whole scene looked frozen.

 

The woman looked at him, half with bewilderment and half with confusion. Staring at his immobile hand, she realized what caused him to halt his actions. The technique he was performing… it didn't work. He stood there unmoving, only gazing unwaveringly at the scene.

 

Finally, a movement coming from the crimson haired child cut through the unnerving silence, he dropped his arm tiredly.

 

The sand in this place didn't seem to acknowledge his commands. Another batch of questions filled his mind like some disease but he chose to ignore them, if there was nothing there for him, then he will leave.

 

And leave he did.

 

But he stopped in his tracks and picked a splintered wood on the ground. Inspecting with sharp, cold eyes, he trailed his fingers on the hard piece of wood in his hand. After calculating the needed speed and accuracy, he shot the pointed stick to his target unexpectedly, turning it into a weapon.

 

He observed with unnoticed fascination as the weapon pierced the target. The blood dripped down slowly, as if it had a rather unusual thickness but the smell was unmistakable. He managed to hit her at the forehead, between the eyes and just above the nose bridge.

 

Then, the woman began to shimmer. And once again, she was gone.

 

 

***** “When you meet God, kill him. When you meet someone else, kill him too. I'll never be bound by anyone. It's because... I live for myself.” *****

 

 

Just disappeared out of sight.

 

He started conclude that she really wasn't there and his mind was playing tricks on him.

 

Gaara clutched his head; something was playing with his thoughts. Or maybe it was just him, it wasn't the first time that this happened.

 

As the dark clouds rolled and rumbled in the distance and coiled around the dim city, he set foot into the darkness. The rain will come and when they pour down heavily on him, he would choose to look for elsewhere to stand as cover. He didn't need her help, he was fine on his own (and much preferred to be).

 

He already knew that he does not just live in the desert; he is one.

 

*******

 

By living for ourselves, we die…

 

*******

 

The rain came down ever so heavily and pounded on his already throbbing head. Deep inside his head, he was probably cursing the rain and the thunder and lightning but his face remained calm. It was perhaps just another rumbling in his head, but it can't be, Shukaku was gone.

 

Maybe the demon came back, and as always, rambled on irritably about being outside in the rain and how much it hated the presence of water. A temporal situation of his being free was displayed a few minutes ago; why not keep it that way?

 

He supposed the demon would bite back an answer but there was none, only the insistent hammering of the downpour on his drenched head.

 

A few thoughts came rushing through his head, trying to explain the unfamiliarity he felt on himself. Shrugging the ideas off, he continued on. The rain poured heavier on his body, thundering down his back, drumming on his head, seeping on his clothes… Yet he didn't seem to care, all the expression that can be seen on his face was mere boredom and probably tiredness, nothing more.

 

The walk didn't take too long, less than or simply four minutes, if his computations were correct. If the rain didn't fall, it might have been an easier one, but at least his body cooperated and kept on. He arrived in the middle of a clearing and a few meters from where he was, stood an isolated structure. It was left unfinished, as shown in its damaged upper right corner, by someone who was stupid enough to build such a thing in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe it was once whole and somebody came and destroyed it.

 

Staring at it with little or… no interest at all, he seemed to no longer care for its history; it was some sort of shelter, it could be used. He decided to trek towards the idle construction, with only his shadow following him.

 

The rainfall thudded harder, puddles formed around the area making the building seem like a little island of its own. The dark structure looked as if it didn't care that it was alone in the forest clearing, and may have appeared to prefer such a location; solitude and privacy kept within its walls. It even looked like it was bending down to him, greeting him with a mild blow of coldness.

 

… It didn't want him there…

 

A warning?

 

Gaara, as always, just gazed at it and shrugged it off. He went in, pushing the heavy wooden doors out of his way, stepped in and squeezed off the water that was dragging him.

 

Looking intently around the dimly lit hallways, he found two torches attached on both sides, lighting only a part of the damp floors. The farther end was just a big hole of black and seemed to stretch out to him, reaching for him to drown him in the darkness.

 

The hallway resembled a pit, one with no end.

 

He stepped over to the torch on his right and tried to tug it off, but it didn't even budge. Trying again, he pulled harder and it felt as if his arms wrenched off his shoulders. The pain shot up to his neck like some kind of electric shock. He pulled his hands away from it.

 

Placing his right hand over to his left shoulder and pushing it a little, he tried to work it out a little. His shoulder made a small and long cracking sound, a little loud but it wasn't painful. Stretching his arms to the back, he exercised his muscles before reaching for the torch for a second time.

 

Right now, he couldn't even sense his own chakra level but he knows quite well that he's drained.

 

What was this place?

 

Again, his thoughts flew to the house he woke up to. What happened to him? Why was his energy so drained? Did he have a fight before getting thrown into this… place?

 

Well, whatever took place before his coming here would have had a connection to all this.

 

Again, he looked for Shukaku; it just disappeared without a sign. But his tired mind couldn't trace the demo, so there's definitely no chance of understanding this memory lapse.

 

Sweat dripped down his temple and he wondered if the torch was permanently cemented to the wall. This activity was whisking away his patience every second that passed. Leave the torch. He could leave without it, but he knows that he would once again wonder around like a blind man.

 

A question screamed inside his head: Why WAS he here in this godforsaken place?!

 

The torch broke off just in time for him to realize a few things: The torch was held by two metal hands attached to the wall; with every ounce of his strength he managed to tear the torch off along with the two metal hands; The storm outside was rumbling stronger and the water has flooded inside, welling up on his feet and he was lucky not to slip; And the torch contained a light blue colored wax which melted and dripped on to his pale hand.

 

Gaara, at first, didn't seem to care about or acknowledge the wax. That was, until the wax made its presence felt and started burning through his skin. It felt as if it was tearing a hole through his hand, and then he cringed.

 

He placed the torch side wards on the floor, the metal hands serving as a kind of support (away from the water, which will eventually burn it out; and away from the wooden side of the floor).

 

He peeled the wax off of his hand and gazed at it intently. The wax left an ugly, red mark on his hand and it appeared as if it was going to blister. Holding the wax to eye level, he smelled something from it… ammonia? Then he quickly threw it away and watch it slide towards the waiting darkness.

 

But the smell was growing stronger and he wondered whether the smell really came form the wax or somewhere else.

 

The smell started to invade his nostrils and he started to choke. He coughed… once, twice. It was so strong he could almost taste it in his mouth. Maybe even starting to feel the odor and suffocating from it.

 

He was getting disgusted and he spat, half expecting the stench and taste would come out with it. But, of course, it didn't and instead, it grew stronger and the smell was making its way through his brain. Before he knew it, it started altering his perception.

 

Blurry eyed, he grasped his head firmly, hoping that the putrid smell would go away. His tired knees were breaking away, weakening and were bent awkwardly. The smell was having an effect on his body and it was withering his system.

 

He planted a hand over his face, trying to block out the smell while his other hand was clawing on his hair.

 

Involuntarily, he started backing away and almost stumbled across the torch he placed down on the ground. With whatever consciousness and strength he had left, he skipped away from it, avoiding the possibility of burning the building along with himself. But the nauseating wave crashed back on him, stronger this time and more disgusting.

 

His vision started to swirl like a crazy roller coaster tide. He wiped it away as if it was just his eyes. Then the revolting smell made its way to his nose again. It was so sickening now, not like ammonia or the smell of rotting plants but like alcohol and vomit mixed together, and this was a lot more intense.

 

A headache throbbed in his head, he dropped his hand and his mouth opened, trying to force something… anything out of it just to get this over with. None came out, just his smoky breath due to the reducing temperature. He panted; this was taking a lot of his energy. His lower lip and chin was trembling and his body slapped against the left wall.

 

He struggled.

 

Luckily, his hand unconsciously wrapped itself around the left torch and was currently supporting him.

 

Jaw clenched, hand squeezing the torch with all the life he's got left, he tried to focus. His eyes met the shadows at the hall; they seemed to be crouching over to him, waiting for him to fall so that they could swallow him.

 

A smile seemed to form at the back of his head and the darkness mocked him… taunted him.

 

The grip he kept on the torch loosened and he had to let go. His hands snaked their way to his aching head. Other hands, paler and more lifeless than his, reached out and seemed to join his own.

 

The smile grew wider, row-by-row of teeth spreading, talking and mocking with silence escaping. They started to widen, like a thousand rows of teeth making fun of him, smiling and laughing through gritted teeth.

 

His eyes widened as the hands clasped his whole body; torso, arms, legs, face… They were dragging him down, making him fall, taking him away from the light into the presence of the darkness' embrace.

 

The shadows started to spread thinly, then adding up quickly… like a plague, like thick water pouring down a container, like the blood and sand filling up his gourd…

 

The smell, the taste, the coldness he felt… all of his senses were invaded by the darkness.

 

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, the hand that cupped his chin caught it and flicked it away.

 

He shivered… in fear? Probably.

 

…in the cold? Perhaps. He himself did not know.

 

Not paying any heed to his trembling, he clutched his crimson hair so firmly, his scalp almost bled.

 

The darkness was spreading faster; drowning out the light that barred its path as it hastily came. The hands held him tightly; he observed them closely, they were not connected to bodies or arms… just hands.

 

He choked… again? Maybe a hand was around his neck. He didn't know… he couldn't see.

 

The hands started to rot… no, burn… he couldn't determine which, his confusion seemed to force all logic to vanish and the images were starting to act up. The colors were brighter and they blended with each other but the vision was vague.

 

His body system gave up, his body slid down on the wall ever so slowly. The hands let go of him as he fell.

 

The smile turned into an open mouth, laughing scornfully at him, but the sounds didn't even reach his ears. But he knew one thing, it laughed at his defeat… how pathetic he appeared…

 

Sabaku no Gaara… the so-called strong and feared desert demon was dying.

 

Deep inside, he blamed it all on the veiled woman, on his failing body system, on the world… and maybe himself… maybe.

 

He spotted something below him and had a quick glimpse of what it was.

 

… A face… a body…

 

A corpse lay in front of him, its dead eyes staring endlessly; its body swimming in its own puddle of blood; its form, limp. Though he knew it was dead (and will always be), he couldn't keep from thinking that it would suddenly raise itself or maybe point its finger at him and laugh. There was another thing too: it was smiling.

 

Now he knew where the smile in his head came from. He also knew that he killed that thing, with no idea how or why. Oh, yeah, he killed for the fun of it.

 

It's not amusing any longer, now that he was about to join that cadaver's soul in hell. How sickeningly dishonourable was his death, all because of a pungent smell. He didn't have much time to think about that though, or to think about anything at all.

 

Raising his head to glare at the roof, his eyes rolled in his head and soon enough, the shadows had reached him, embraced him in its coldness… coffined him…

 

The darkness finally claimed possession of his shell.

 

… a shame… without much struggle, the darkness won.

 

 

Author's Notes: Sorry if it was short. Holy! Is this the end?! Maybe… maybe not… Review please! Oh, many thanks to Nozomi Kurihara for the inspiration. Half of this was out of boredom, half out of motivation. Oh, yeah, sorry if you weren't expecting horror in this, I had to put it in!