Part one:
Do you hate me now? I hope you do. I still wake up with the feel of your blood on my hands. The visceral sensation of your tearing flesh crawls over me until I can't take it anymore and I stand, wet hands spattering shaking drops of crimson across the floor as I attempt to light a lantern. It is not until the lamp is turned all the way up that I realize it is only my memory that soaks my hands in blood. Again and again. I drop my head into my hands, ignoring the sensation of liquid running down my arms, and try, once again, not to shudder as spongy, meaty pieces of your body squish from beneath my fingernails into my hair. It takes me a few hours to stop the shaking. Would you believe I'm getting better?
I wonder if I am writing to a ghost.
Perhaps I am the ghost. Maybe I am simply living out the hell I've earned.
I can feel myself getting stronger. I have no responsibilities here but to train. My body must be perfect, after all.
Kabuto has left me alone thus far, but he grows bolder. He hints at ways to make me stronger, to increase my capabilities. When all is done, I wonder who I will be. I have seen glimpses of some of his "experiments". They are disturbingly unnatural. But then, I suppose I am already that. I wonder what else they have planned for me here. At least I will have my eyes. Kabuto would not dare touch them.
The land was dark as Sasuke made his way through the trees and the grass. The moonlight reflected dimly from a paper envelope, highlighting a few smudged ink characters.
The boy could have been the wind for all the noise he made. The town was as dark as the surrounding countryside, its residents having long since retired for the night. He found the mailbox without a problem and silently slipped the letter inside, once again walking away without a backward glance.
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Second part of the shot series. Enjoy
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Do you hate me now? I hope you do. I still wake up with the feel of your blood on my hands. The visceral sensation of your tearing flesh crawls over me until I can't take it anymore and I stand, wet hands spattering shaking drops of crimson across the floor as I attempt to light a lantern. It is not until the lamp is turned all the way up that I realize it is only my memory that soaks my hands in blood. Again and again. I drop my head into my hands, ignoring the sensation of liquid running down my arms, and try, once again, not to shudder as spongy, meaty pieces of your body squish from beneath my fingernails into my hair. It takes me a few hours to stop the shaking. Would you believe I'm getting better?
I wonder if I am writing to a ghost.
Perhaps I am the ghost. Maybe I am simply living out the hell I've earned.
I can feel myself getting stronger. I have no responsibilities here but to train. My body must be perfect, after all.
Kabuto has left me alone thus far, but he grows bolder. He hints at ways to make me stronger, to increase my capabilities. When all is done, I wonder who I will be. I have seen glimpses of some of his "experiments". They are disturbingly unnatural. But then, I suppose I am already that. I wonder what else they have planned for me here. At least I will have my eyes. Kabuto would not dare touch them.
The land was dark as Sasuke made his way through the trees and the grass. The moonlight reflected dimly from a paper envelope, highlighting a few smudged ink characters.
The boy could have been the wind for all the noise he made. The town was as dark as the surrounding countryside, its residents having long since retired for the night. He found the mailbox without a problem and silently slipped the letter inside, once again walking away without a backward glance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Second part of the shot series. Enjoy
