Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

Author's note: I had someone ask how I got inspired to write through an email. The answer, I listen to music with a beat that suits the story. My stories are more often than not inspired by lyrics in a song, or the way a beat makes me feel. Anyways, yeah.

Sakura went through the motions of her exercise, her eyes distant. One kata after another, her slender form performing deadly arts. Like a never-ending cycle, she began again and again, practicing for hours on top of hours. Not a single sign of fatigue showed, instead choosing to hide in the deep corners of her mind. Not even she could count how many times she had done this. Not even she knew how long she had been dying…

Finally, her body collapsed. With her eyes still far off, her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. She didn't even try to catch herself. Not a single muscle on her face moved when the rest of her followed, and her arm got cut on a large rock. If any had seen her, they would have thought her dead. The only sign of life from the woman was the slow breathing, and her eyes blinking sleepily. The jade orbs were as hollow as any would expect to see from a corpse.

Minutes went by, and she just laid there. As if it had just sunk in what happened, she stood again, and began walking numbly back to her house. Not that it would matter. No one was there anymore. They had all died. And she was the only one left. She closed her eyes, the faces of those loved flashing across her thoughts. How long? How long ago was it?

She could still hear Naruto laugh as he performed some stupid stunt or another. And Sasuke's lean body still found it's way to 'his spot', the one on the bridge. Even her parents' concerned gaze burned in her memory. At times she even believed she could see them all, staring back at her. And she would just stand there, waiting for them to go away. Tsunade would then walk up to her, a peaceful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her arm outstretched to Sakura, and just like that, they would all just disappear, the whole village gone before her eyes. She knew she was crazy, but that didn't bother her. Nothing bothered her much anymore.

At night she would go home, open the door, open her mouth to tell everyone she was back, remember there wasn't anyone to hear, and then go up to her room. The next day she'd wake up at six in the morning, go train for the rest of the day, get exhausted, and repeat. But never did she cry.

These were the motions she went through every day, like a well trained kata, something that was practiced for a lifetime. This was what she had become. She knew that some called it insanity, that other villages thought her a ghost, at times, because of her apparent unawareness. But still, she stuck to her motions, stuck to the things that she knew would never leave her until her body finally just gave up on her and quit, like her soul had so long ago. Because these motions kept her living.