It was like canvas tearing. A straight line of ripped fibers. Very little fraying along the edges. Poetry in motion.


This is the same scene that has played out in schoolyards across every country. Every generation. It transcends race, gender and religious affiliation. It's strange how these times can seem so singular to those involved, but so repetitive in retrospect.

Some of you reading this can relate. Some of you can't. I'm writing for everyone.

It's classic mob psychology. Poetry in motion.

My name is Yamanaka Ino, and I introduce myself as a monster because I have two bloated eyes that can't see and an exploding heart that makes it just so hard to breathe.


The scissors resisted because they were rusted. Ino struggled with them but continued her task with the same furious gleam in her eye.

The crowd was breathing softly. Anticipation lined their throats with silence. The scent of wet pavement, pungent human sweat, humidity and the fevered, heavy odor of brokenness hung in their nostrils.

Sakura was weezing for air. Her hair fell around her softly and lay still and dead.

She tried once to move from her position on the wet cement of the basketball court but her left leg was in a strange position and her knee was in horrible pain. Ino landed a swift blow to her back and yanked her head up by her pale pink locks.

Sakura cried out and reached up to push Ino away from her bleeding scalp and butchered hair but the girl snarled and kicked her again.

"Fuck! Please! Oh god, please stop!," cried Sakura.

The scissors caught in Sakura's hair and couldn't be ripped out. Ino threw Sakura down roughly. Her head cracked against the pavement.

"SHUT UP," Ino said shrilly. "Fucking shut up!"

The spell on the observing crowd broke and someone sneezed. A fat water droplet hit Ino's brow and rolled down. She wiped it away furiously.

Sakura lay still.

Thunder rang out on the horizon.

"She isn't moving," someone said.

"She's faking it," murmured Ino.

"She not faking it."

"Look, her eyelid twitched, she's a fucking fake."

"I didn't see her eyelid twitch."

A nervous bystander who had been backing off slowly turned tail and fled with a whispered "I'm getting out getting the fuck out of here."

"She faking," urged Ino. "She always fakes."

"I don't know ab-"

"She's faking."

"I'm getting out of here too, man."


"Dammit Ino, did you fucking kill her? Is she even breathing?"

Ino breathed heavily and backed away from Sakura's prone figure. Sweat prickled her back and her hands itched.

"She's fine."

"Fuck this shit- I'm not going to jail for this."

The crowd was gone. Ino was left alone with Sakura.

She moved toward the pink haired girls body and stood observing it until her feet hurt. She was rooted to the spot, painfully aware of her vertical position. She felt as though she were falling backwards, or to the side, and wouldn't be able to stop her fall.

Her gaze was unfocused.

Another rain drop hit her cheek. The pavement was dotted with the newly fallen moisture. A drop hit the top of her head and trickled down the back of her neck.

A sob erupted out of nowhere from deep within her chest. Her lungs constricted and her eyes teared immediately.

'Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god', she thought.

She ran. Poetry in motion.


"We Are the Dawn" read the crudely scripted graffitti on the subway. Sasuke blinked and stared at it.

The train pulled to slow stop at the station.

He shouldered his bag and stepped lightly off the train. He wandered upstairs silently and with a practiced ease that comes only to those who navigate an area so often that they walk it in their dreams.

The rush of humidity that hit him as he entered the upper world blew his fine black hair out of his face. He turned sharply left and began his walk home. Rain threatened on the horizon. The clouds were moving quickly.

Summer was Sasuke's favorite season because the air hung heavily and was charged with a brutal energy. Sasuke viewed summer as the anxiety that didn't break with a crecendo, but a whisper so low that it was heard only as an after thought.

As he walked he let his mind run freely. He thought of work. He thought of his brother. He thought about deep sea fish and the blackness and thickness of salt water.

Sweat stuck to Sasuke's back and trickled down his temples. A rain drop fell directly in front of him. He shifted his bag and a rush of air cooled the skin underneath his heavy backpack.

He came upon the schoolyard.


"We are the dawn. We are the start. We are the break in the fever of night.

This is just the beginning. Every fire that burns moves us closer to our goal.

We are the youth. We are the new. We are the dawn.

We are Akatsuki."

The windows on the building blow outward and smoke curls out, reaching upward into the vast expanse of blue above.

Itachi breathes in. Breathes out.

The blonde man next to him smiles.

"That, my friend, is art, yeah?"

Itachi closed his eyes contemplatively.

"It's poetry in motion," he murmurs.


My name is Yamanaka Ino and you'll find that the more I talk the less you have the urge to hate me. That's because while I am technically the antagonist in this story, I am worming my way into your squishy heart. I enter your skin if you shower at the pool with no sandals on; if you pet your dog and forget to wash afterwards; if you read this section of text ...

Now I am in your bloodstream and it's so warm and wet in here. I am smiling, can you feel me?

I don't hate Sakura. In fact, I don't even dislike her.

I kind of nothing her.

But she is pretty. And she is smart. And she smiles. And the way light plays in her eyes makes my hands itch.

And she deserves it. She deserves everything.

And she's so pretty pretty pink. I bet her pussy tastes like fucking sugar. I want to hold her tiny waist and cup her painfully small normal b-cup tits. I want to bite her neck and make her scream. I want her so badly that it makes my stomach hurt.

I'm fucking normal.

I'm fucking normal.

It's warm and wet in here, can you feel me?


Sasuke stops just feet from the basketball court under an overhang from one of the portable classrooms. He fishes around in his bag and pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and smokes it absent-mindedly.

The rain is falling so thickly that outside has become a grey world of sheets of water and a melting sun.

He stares off into the distance.

'Akatsuki,' he thinks. The dawn.

There is a lump lying in the distance that he presently becomes aware of. He stares at it for a long while, thinking it's a jacket, or a dog, or a bag.

But this lump is too large. This lump is not navy or black or brown. This lump is pale and soft pink. This lump is...

'A girl?'

Sasuke squats down and crushes the end of his cigarette against the moist pavement, extinguishing the burning tip and stuffs it in his pocket. He rubs his face with an open palm and stands underneath the overhang for another moment before rushing out into the rain and over to the fallen body that breathes steadily just a few meters from him.

What he finds takes his breath away.

She's wet and pale and even though her eyes are closed he knows that they're big and liquid. Doe eyes. She's perfect.

He leans down and brushes a strand of wet hair away from her face. He sees the fallen clumps of carnation locks scattered across the pavement. He sees the butchered hair still on her head.

Puzzled, he tenatively touches her cheek. Her eyelids flutter and then squeeze shut. It takes him just a moment to figure out that some of the rain water must have leaked into them.

He makes up his mind and lifts her easily from the hard ground and into his arms. He walks back to the overhang, now thoroughly soaked, and sits on the ground, the girl's warm, wet form situated snugly in his lap and resting her head against his chest.

Some time passes before he tries to speak to her.

"Hey," he says. "Are you ok?"

He recieves no answer. Something drips onto his arm. He looks down. Blood.

Panic shoots through him.


"Hey. Get up. C'mon, get up. Don't make me take you to the hospital."

The girls eyes fluttered and then opened slowly.

Sasuke was lost.

"Fuck," he says without thinking, and then blinks rapidly, a look of puzzlement settling over his features. So incredibly beautiful. So fucking incredibly beautiful.

Her large green eyes stare up at him, confused.

"Who- who are you?"

He stares at the way her mouth moves, memorizing the way she forms words with her cold, pink lips. Lips burned almost red by moisture.

'Poetry in motion,' he thinks.


"Second building today," murmurs Itachi, as he observes the hospital collapsing into flames and smoke.

His partner, too entranced by the melting framework and crumbling concrete, does not respond.

Itachi's cruel eyes glint like steel. He watches a nurse tumbling from a window through his binoculars. His face is emotionless. He imagines the heat inside that building, imagines it melting the skin off of patients, doctors, nurses, janitors, lab technicians... imagines them falling. He stands in the distance. Safe, and somewhat cool in the post-rain shower moisture.

Akatsuki. Break down the institutions- government buildings, hospitals, schools- and everything else will follow. They were destroying to rebuild, burning to rebirth- a genocide of reason to recreate a logic.

Another body falls out of a window and Itachi's partner turns from the building, the flames and smoke having finally died down. Itachi is enraptured. His mouth is dry.

He is semi-erect and knows he should turn away before things get worse but he can't seem to tear himself away from the gruesome scene.

Something thrums in his veins- a power he hadn't felt in so long. Not since he...

Itachi smiles and savors the memory.

He feels their warm blood on his fingers...

He excuses himself from his partner and disappears off of the roof.

"He's weird, yeah," murmured the blonde, as he looked away from the young man with a grimace.


My name is Yamanaka Ino, and you already kind of like me.

You relate to me because I'm human and angry, and you are too. You see, this, me talking to you like this,is a device authors use to endear an unlikable character to their readers, in order to make their actions easier to stomach.

My daddy doesn't love me. Sing it with me. My daddy doesn't love me. He fucks women who aren't mommy.

Can you feel me yet? I'm smiling, can you feel me?

Sakura is pretty. She's so pretty. She has big, big green eyes and pale skin and she's so pretty.

I like to watch Sakura as she sits eating lunch alone. Nobody sits with Sakura because she's a slut. She fucked a boy last year when she got drunk at a party and now she's paying for it. Nobody likes sluts.

After gym, I watch her in the shower. Water runs down her thin body and she hunches her shoulders against the cold.

Nobody talks to Sakura because she's a slut, but I watch her.

I watch her.

Because Sakura is fucking beautiful. I would fuck her. I would fuck her in an instant.

But nobody likes dykes either so I don't.

My daddy doesn't love me. Sing it with me.


Sasuke never takes Sakura to the hospital. It was blown up.



He does, however, take her back to his home. He lays her on his bed. He tries to console her when she remembers her hair.

He holds the mirror for her while she cuts it all off. Short. A bob. It frames her round face cutely.

The haircut is uneven, but they'll get it fixed later.

Sasuke is enamored with her quiet voice, easy grace. His mouth feels perpetually dry. He wants water but he is so enthused by Sakura's presence that he feels as though he should talk endlessly to her. He says very little instead, because that's the only way he knew he wouldn't burst at his seams and leak out everything inside him all over her.

And there were a lot of things inside him that could dye her pretty pale skin the darkest oily-black.


Itachi stands in the darkest corner of the abandoned building, his hand pumping his dark, swollen cock furiously. His eyes were so blank they were as two liquid pools of moisture at the bottom of a cave, or the eerie, bioluminescent orbs of an angler fish.

He thought of swallowing something whole.

How the weight would feel in his chest.

How it would slide so easily and rest in his stomach.

And it would be his.

Itachi thought about crushing the skull of a girl and fucking her afterwards. He thought of the fire.

He thought about the explosion of pleasure he received when the flames suddenly swallowed the building. He thought about his hands inside someone's intestines, twisting them.

He thought about the fire.

He groaned as he felt himself cumming.

He pictured the flames licking the sides of the building angrily, the smoke billowing high into the sky, shutting down roads and schools and -


The flames licking the sides of the building like a hot-red tongue flicking over his cock.


My daddy doesn't love me, sing it!

And aren't you relieved I'm here? Aren't you glad to see me? Don't you want to fuck me? I'm really fucking hot right now and I want you to fuck me, daddy.

Oops, did I say that?

You feel me smiling now, right? You feel me now?

Should I help you with your own smile?

Ever hate someone so much that you want to eat them alive? You want them inside you forever, knowing that they have to deal with the horrifying reality that they'd just been fucking EATEN?

Don't you want to just hit them until -



Well. Fuck. Does it matter?

I just want Sakura to stop being so fucking bright all the time. She shines like its her job. Fucking happy.

Guess what slut? No one fucking likes you. That's right. You're the brunt of every fucking joke.

I cut your hair because you deserved it. Slut.

That's what you get when you have sex in the tenth grade you stupid whore. Everyone fucking knows, don't pretend to be so high and mighty, we saw the video he took of the two of you fucking on his hard drive. Yeah, he fucking kept that shit. Yeah, Kiba found it. Yeah Kiba posted it on MySpace. You stupid cunt.

What? Like we don't know why you wear your shirt buttoned up high? Like we don't know you fucking did it on purpose. Like you didn't fuck him because I loved him. I fucking loved him!



Haha, can you feel me yet? Can you feel me? I know you feel me inside you.

This is called character development. I've now just gotten to my definition as a rounded character. I'm human now, you can relate to me because somewhere along the line you've felt something similar.

And now I'm fucking deep inside you, hooked like a worm in your intestines. Shit-eating grin, motherfucker.


It was like canvas tearing. A straight line of ripped fibers. Very little fraying along the edges. Poetry in motion.


"Can I- Do you- Can I use your cell phone please?"

Sasuke handed her the device as a series of sirens wailed by the house. Sasuke watched her liquid eyes flicker across the numerals on the touch sensitive pad. The bright green light reflected on her face and illuminated her dazed expression.

Something broke in Sasuke.

"Don't you remember me, Sakura?"

"I do."

There was silence for a moment.

"Why?," she murmured.

Sasuke couldn't answer.

"Why?," she choked out. "WHY!?"

Sasuke ducked his head.

"It was a mistake."

"It was more than a mistake! Everyone knows! You- you- You ruined everything!"

Sasuke didn't respond.

He took the phone from her hands and put it on the bed.

"Give that back, Sasuke, I want to fucking go home!"

"Shut up," he said quietly.

He crawled over her on the bed and pinned her down.

Sakura struggled against him.

"I never stopped thinking about you," he murmured.

"Sasuke, please no, please don't!"

"Shut up, I'd never hurt you."

"Sasuke, let me go!"

"You think I don't see how you've changed? You think I don't regret it? Sakura, I want you so badly it fucking burns. It's physically painful every moment I breathe and I'm not next to you."

"Sasuke, don't... not again. I don't... I...

Sakura's eyes fell shut and she swallowed thickly.

She choked.

Breathed shakily.

Kissed him so softly he swore the ground opened up and he was floating, weightlessly, to the pits of hell.


My name is Yamanaka Ino and, congratulations, you're just as fucked up as I am.

Shit eating grin, mother fucker, this is poetry in motion.