Madness

Sasuke's Madness

Mentions of murder, suicide, cutting and dissociation.

My brother killed my entire clan and left me alive to lead a life of hate, mourning and loneliness.

The phantoms surround me, hating my every living essence. Every surface of my skin itches to rip it apart, as if it isn't even my own body. I look into the mirror, and every desire to claw my face in which it looks so similar to that mans.

So selfish to leave me alone, alone, alone. Alone to make me this hollow being left of a soul.

Mind being torn apart by screams and blood, bright red decorating the walls, the same colour as the night sky. And no matter how much his nails became chipped and his fingers raw, the same blood stains just wouldn't disappear-

/His parents are nothing but dead, grey ashes, yet a blotch of their real human blood still exists while they themselves don't/

"It's going to come out," he strugglingly reassures himself, even as he doesn't realise how many times he's doused the sponge in water that it's become a murky brown-

But as that bloodstain remains, so dark and stained beneath him, he pauses momentarily-

And tears fall like a waterfall, screams echoing in pain even when nothing is bleeding.

Sasuke loves his mother.

When he trained to the point of exhaustion, it was her he went to for treatment and empathy. When his father and brother continuously neglected him, it was her he seeked for comfort. When he looked at other mothers and their children he felt sorry for them because he knew they could never compare to his beautiful, strong, kind mother.

He passes the dark hours sitting next to the toilet, retching to the point of collapse. He does this because his mind is his own enemy, whispering torturous words.

/If his mother was here, the other deaths would be bearable. Just as long as he had her/

But he didn't.

So he trembled and shook in the bathroom, razor shaking and blood pouring endlessly around him because it kept him alive. Because it was exhilirating. Because it took away the pain, even if only for a moment.

When the villagers see him striding through the village, whispering of mentions of the last Uchiha, they forget that he is still a child.

Sasuke is only twelve years old.

He is trained to be an emotionless killing machine, but that doesn't mean he isn't susceptible to naivety and emotional pain. It doesn't change the fact that he's only twelve.

His thought are overflowing, telling him to calmdownclamdown, as he's pulling his scalp in overflowing rage or sadness he doesn't know.

He is a Shinobi. He is a genius. But he still stumbles on the rug, where he collapses to his side, clutching his heart where he can feel it breaking into pieces.

Wide, stinging eyes look up for a distraction, making the mistake of looking at the farthest wall, drenched in blood and his mothers portrait. Memories stab at him like needles. His mother used to sit there and sew. She used to sew his favourite blue shirt over and over again, laughing in delight when he finally outgrew it.

She's gone.

But her bloodstain isn't.

Sasuke clenches his shirt harder, giving into the outpour of hate and hurt and sorrow.

He is an esteemed Uchiha. The very last. He is meant to be an emotionless Shinobi.

But he is only twelve years old.

His cheeks become drenched with tears, how loud his sobs are in the empty house.

"Kaasan," he sobs, gasping so hard that his chest aches. "Kaasan."

It hurts.

Crying won't bring her back, he knows. But god, he misses her so badly.

/If only she'd survive. If only Itachi hadn't killed her. If only he wasn't so weak/

Then he's starting it all over again, staining the carpet with tears and blood with how hard he clenched his fingers. Eventually he stopped. Eventually his tears dried out.

But their bloodstains didn't.