Spoilers: None, unless you've never seen Naruto… ever.
Summary: And the blood still throbs in the old, old scars and they pulse again with a keener sting. I know why the caged bird beats his wings.
Word Count: 464
Disclaimer: If Naruto were mine, Kyuubi would be a sexy, redheaded fox that looked like Yoko. The summery is from a poem called Sympathy by Paul Laurence Dunbar.
How long he had been alive, he could not remember. Endless processions of years and centuries. Since the very first shinobi had lifted a kunai. So many years…
And so many sins. He was not stupid. He was not, no matter what the humans thought, some mindless animal with no thought or reason in his head. He could think. Feel. He knew a lot of the things he had done –most of the things he had done- were evil. The humans had every right to hate him. To kill him.
He would have rather they'd killed him. As opposed as he was to dying, he would rather that endless sleep, than this cage they had placed him in. When the boy died, he would die anyway. Why they could not grant him a warrior's death in battle, he would never know. And surely, surely if there were no one strong enough to do such a thing, honor dictated you wait until you were worthy enough to face him in battle.
It would not be so bad, he mused, if he could see outside the bars of his cell. But he was trapped inside the farthest, darkest recesses of the boy's mind, with only his own company to keep him. And when one is alone, one tends to remember all the things in their life they would rather not remember. Every rampage, every killing spree, every drop of blood on his paws, on his fangs. And for almost twenty years he got to relive that image in his head, of the Forth Hokage's brief, victorious smile, when he sealed the demon away.
And with each passing year the demon realized that what he missed the most was not the battles and the killings and the wars. It was life. The sun. The breeze. The feel of sand beneath his paws. The smell of the ocean. The sound of birds. Here in this cell, the air was dank and damp and still, but for his own breath. There was no air, nothing to see. Just nothing.
And every time the cage grew too suffocating, every time he screamed and fought and tried to tear down the bars that constrained him, every time he poured his demonic chakra forth into the boy whose body was his prison, that's what he thought of. Sun and sand and oceans. He fought to escape with tooth and nail, fought against seal after seal. He knew he was a sinner, he knew he was justifiably imprisoned. But he'd be damned if he would waste away in this adolescent's mind like some obedient child.
He remembered wind. And he remembered meadows full of birds. And he would live, if only to stand beneath the cerulean sky, in his own body, once more.
A/N: Yeah, so Kyuubi is this big evil demon. What of it? I think it would have been nobler to kill him (and if you're too weak, well too bad) than to lock him in a cage. Besides, can he even see through Naruto's eyes? He is trapped inside a body, inside a cell, in the back of a kid's mind. That's just wrong.
And who else finds it ironic that I wrote about him wanting to stand beneath a sunny sky when Naruto has hair like the sun and eyes like the sky? Lol. I amuse myself.