AN: Little kid told me a joke. Started this same way. Made me think of other things. Stephie, this is for you. I don't understand how you could be so depressed to do a thing like that but, here, I'm trying to.
Notes: Nonsensical drabble of Naruto reaching his breaking point. POV changes in second part and then again in the third part. Readers, you all can figure out the couple, you're smart. R&R please.
Black and blue and red all over.
Dripping down the walls and covering the floor.
It's everywhere, a dark shade of fire that also rests in my eyes.
But upon you, there is none.
No crimson blossoms from your golden skin.
No red like that which ornaments my hands.
No scarlet on your clothes like the blood red sunset clouds about me.
Instead, there is that garish glow, a swirl of anger and power and death.
That power, its power, the power that they hate and I desire above all.
That is what I get in place of your blood.
Why won't you bleed?
Don't you want to feel something other than nothing?
You who have suffered, sacrificed and so lovingly given, should you not cry?
Should you not bemoan your desolate fate, with dismayed eyes and sorrowful soul, at your endless torment, your living hell?
They will never love you, not as you love them.
And neither will he.
There is nothing.
No feeling, no pain.
You will come again, won't you?
Another day to cut my flesh, mark my soul, and reave my heart in two.
Because then, and only then, can I feel.
This stain, of you upon me and me beneath you, linked together like lock and key, shall never leave me.
I am yours now, your touch engraved upon my skin, your scent floods my senses, never to be forgotten.
But who can forget the smell of fresh blood in the deep of the night?
Must you leave?
You've only just arrived.
Surely they can wait, seeing as how you have me now.
Their ultimate goal lying within the palm your hand, ensnared and making no attempt for freedom.
So, you are leaving.
Then, you must come soon again.
For without you, I will feel nothing and soon be nothing.
You never make a sound.
Even when I take you, forcefully and unprepared, slamming into your slender, smaller frame over and over again until you bleed from the invasion.
But you never say anything.
No whimper, no scream.
You touch my face, nails raking down my cheeks after outlining the scars beneath my eyes.
Do I look like him?
People used to tell me that he looked quite like me.
My brow furrows and I take you harder.
You let out a small gasp, back arching off the bed as the pain finally reaches you.
This is the only way, the only way I can crack that mask of yours and get you to live once again.
You were strong once, challenging me to a fight after I easily defeated my little brother.
I remember how brightly your eyes shone, the craze of the fox stealing over you.
So different from what you are now.
Your eyes are hollow, devoid of that power and strength, nearly glazed over from the emptiness inside of you.
And that is why I come.
To bring that monster out again.
To make him, make you live.
For me. And you.