Sam-Sam-Samedi

Drabble # 19: Sacrificial Lamb --Click here to view--

Having taken the power to destroy everything, Itachi was the closest thing to a God Sasuke had, and he found that all those real gods require blood. Naruto was lucky, he thought, because he was given more privilege. More than anything-- more than life itself-- he needed him to die. He was the most important thing remaining, and that was reason enough to end him.

He was there to ensure that god lost. What greater vice, and what greater virtue, were there then sacrifice? Naruto had dealt in dirt and scrapes to have Sasuke notice him, and now he had, far beyond any measure. He could be the bridge between earth and a forever hell; the kind of protection that saved, and listened to the waters of Styx hiss below empty, barren claws of rock and stretching black. That was the power Naruto held for him, and it was a strength Sasuke never understood-- but god loved irony, and, like sacrifice, it was a double-sword that would kill even himself in the end.

That didn't matter. Sasuke chose his own death, and he would create Naruto's. Their friendship was the blade.

((OOC: Takes place during the Valley of the End fight. D: All I can think is, "Sasuke, you are so friggin' crazy right there. . . . and pretty much everywhere else, but whatever. >>"))

Drabble # 20 (one-sided HinaNaru alert, for those who would rather skip over this): Comfort --Click here to view--

She had tried not to think of him lately, because it was sad. It was sad that he was gone now, and she had done nothing, failed herself, again, and again, like she would do for her own eternity. A record, broken, and repeating its jarred blunders.

". . .You didn't do too bad," Kiba commented, watching her.

Drabble #21: Unions --Click here to view--

They revisited the grave yearly, until their ages were that of Asuma when he died-- Ino was no longer a girl, grown-up and hardened. Shikamaru puffed daily, an upholder of the single promise he'd ever managed to keep. Chouji figured, in their shadows, he looked as if he hadn't changed much-- although he had. Less than the others, he guessed, but he was certainly not the same.

"Chouji, you'll lose weight if you keep up this confidence!" Ino chirped as they left in unison, leaving the same as they'd come.

Drabble # 22: Memory --Click here to view--

Kakashi observed as the memories trembled beneath the surface, shattering his concentration.

Yes, he thought, it was too reminiscent, and Naruto was too loud. He felt the wind dust the world with its hands, brushing stray leaves from their homes in the undergrowth-- but Naruto's hoarse, excitable chirping cracked his silence. Kakashi managed to force himself to attention, feeling he desperately needed to find solace in that empty quiet; long ago, he'd left the house vacant as a reminder.

He had little patience for teaching, genin, or-- generally speaking-- the novelty that came with youth. Kakashi was loathe to tell any mothers their sons died in action-- he had never completely managed to accept women crying, and screams during torture were another matter entirely. Genin work was simple, yes.

War was not, and type-casting it as "the easy way out" was a caricature of humanity's idiocy. Reality tore at the seams on the frontlines; it became a hell where you accepted death as a necessity, ugly with blood and the knowledge that human nature literally killed to be pacifistic.

'Ha. How indifferent of us.' He fingered the pages with bored interest, their sharp-white blurs sprinkled with chicken-scrawl and listless optimism-- friends died. Obito was gone, and Naruto was too loud.

A preview of the only Naruto fanfic I *am* writing. . . --Click here to view--

Sakura followed him with her tired eyes, shadows dusting their apartment with reflections of the sky. "Why do you believe you can?" She questioned, burying herself in the fabric of her pillow, Naruto shifting next to her-- the stars winked from their home behind the window glass, beaming brilliance at the laughing, sleepless earth beneath them.

"I don't want to be coddled by dreams of this world's limits," he answered tersely, "What kind of dream is that?"

"Sometimes it's better if the world has limits," she murmured, feeling the gentle lull of exhaustion drape itself around her, "They're easy for people to understand."

Naruto said nothing, slipping into silence; he watched moonlight spill over the floorboards, neon blaring an array of green, red, and purple from the signs lining the alleyway, and he bristled with the knowledge that he was under Sasuke's same sky, ". . . If--" he managed, his voice sullen, "I don't want to make up my limitations, Sakura-chan." He thought of Konoha as it cackled brokenly amongst flames, and was reminded that consoling yourself with optimism was one thing-- believing blindly in idealism was another. It was pitiful when humanity took something like the future and turned it into an iron chain to choke him with, but it was pathetic when he created those chains himself.

Sakura's reply was the creaking of old wood, drywall seeping with the chill of midnight and weighed with poverty. She pulled the covers tighter around her body, smothering herself in their nostalgic comfort-- and, as the wind whispered to the world outside, she found that she desperately hoped she could find the strength to wish again.