((Hello my wonderful readers! I'm trying my hand at something a little different with this story! Please leave a review and tell me what you think of this prologue! Thank you so much!))
The first time he'd seen him, he had just been another face in the crowd. Sasori Akasuna had stepped off the bus just like he did every morning, on his way to University. The thing that caught his eye was the boy's long, blonde hair. The thing that kept his eye was his round, sweet face. But there was a forlorn, far off look in the boy's piercing blue eyes. It was almost as if he was being sucked down into the depths of them. They almost looked like they were brimming with tears. Of one thing he was certain.
The boy looked scared.
The second time he'd seen him, it was in the newspaper two days later. No, he hadn't won some prestigious award. He hadn't been interviewed about his political views, or about his opinion on the state of the local wildlife. He'd caught a glance of the boy's face in a completely different section. His picture, which was in black and white and showed him sporting that same frightened stare, was on every ones least favorite page. The obituaries. Sasori couldn't help but cover his mouth with his shaking hand as he read the paragraph underneath the picture of that cherub face teen.
'Deidara Iwa, aged 18, died in the early hours of September 13th, just two days ago. He took his own life, but the reason why is unknown. He is survived by his mother, Konan Iwa, and his father, Nagato Iwa. Deidara was senior at Konoha Valley High, who enjoyed spending time with his best friend, Itachi, and most of all, art. He was a sculptor, a drawer, a dancer, and an aspiring pyrotechnic. He had been accepted to the Crane School of Performing Arts for the Fall of 2012. He was going to major in Contemporary Dance and Drama, with a minor in Pyrotechnics. Services will be held Saturday, September 18th at the Seymour Funeral Home in Potsdam.'
By the time Sasori finished reading, it felt like there were a vice gripping his head. He had just seen that boy, alive and breathing, two days ago. That frightened look in his eye…that same look was staring up at him now, from his picture in that god awful newspaper. Sasori had to swallow to calm himself.
The third time he'd seen him was later that night. Sasori had just woken up from a fitful dream, and the boy was standing at the foot of his bed.