°My Lamentable Misery° | Boruto Oneshot

A Pathetic Life

As the sky was painted with delicate hues at dawn, a gentle breeze swept through the air. Carrying a sense of calm and anticipation. Amid this tranquil morning, a young boy with frizzled gold hair found himself face to face with a moment he thought would never come. The rising sun cast a warm glow on the horizon, illuminating the scene as the boy's azure blue eyes met the figure of his long-sealed parent. His current emotional state defied succinct description, he slowly raised his hands toward them, his outstretched finger trembling as if reaching out in a desperate plea when he abruptly stopped. As the harsh truth crashed into him like a tidal wave, he felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under his feet, leaving him stranded in a sea of uncertainty. Paralyzing him once more in the face of an unfathomable reality.

"What if they were-."

The soft breeze grew in aggressiveness, transforming from a slight caress to a forceful embrace to his dishevelled sharp features. Unanticipatedly, a woman in her 30s came dashing right next to him, pounding down her footstep getting desperately palpable with every thundering step taken then immediately stopped. He anxiously turned his head around, awaiting a scene he hoped for those 3 eternally harrowing years would have never transpired, he truly hoped, maybe it was him being childish but his heart ached, the sudden bitterness menace his mouth across the play that was unfolding in between his vision, it didn't felt right, he truly hoped it was a dream, a dreadful nightmare that lived on for too long, he wanted to wake up in the peace of his home, asking his mom for an embrace he tenderly needed for all those years, he missed it, he needed it.

So why was he the one that deserved it?

For years, he had waged an arduous battle, grappling to endure each excruciating day of the past three years. Oh kami, how he longed to bring it all to a close. Did his existence hold any purpose at all? What happened to his will to live? The urge to release the pent-up torrent of emotions, perpetually on the brink of eruption, gnawed at him like a ticking time bomb, threatening to consume him at any given instant. The weight of it all, the relentless strain, the sacrifices made at the expense of his own well-being, rendered him incapable of even articulating a single syllable. It felt as though he was suffocating under the crushing burden of his own existence. Maybe he should have let that forbidden alien consume every single cell of his pitiful cratered soul evanesce from this dilapidated body.

The scene unfolds as he gazes upon the individual embraced by his mother, observing the mingling of deep brown and blonde hues within the slightly frizzy hair of the figure before him.

"Kawaki..."

he utters with a sense of resignation as if acknowledging the irrevocable nature of the situation. At that moment, a solitary tear threatens to cascade down his cheek, a poignant manifestation of his overwhelming despair. Overwhelmed by an acute sense of abandonment, he yearns to flee from the desolate anguish that surrounds him. As he surveys his visage, he becomes acutely aware of the toll exacted upon him – his hands marred by crimson-stained scars, a testament to the battles he has endured, while his dishevelled attire bears witness to the tumultuous trials he has weathered. In stark contrast, his gaze falls upon Kawaki, garbed in an ashen, immaculate ensemble, as though untouched by the ravages of conflict. His attire remains unblemished and devoid of any shadowy taint, serving as a juxtaposition to his own ravaged state, at this juncture, he finds himself grappling with a profound sense of bewilderment. What manner of mother would rush to embrace a 'sibling-slayer'? What manner of mother would enfold a lifeless, trembling being who had sought to bring harm to her own 'son'? Gazing upon this scene fraught with remorse, he is consumed by a cascade of "what ifs". Perhaps, had he been more attentive to Kawaki, this tragic turn of events could have been averted. If only he had been a more dutiful son, perhaps none of this sorrowful culmination would have come to pass. If only time could unravel and grant him the chance to rectify his past missteps. He shoulders the weight of his own perceived inadequacy, drowning in a sea of sorrow unlike any other he has experienced. In this moment, he is ensnared in the intricate dance of yin and yang, grappling with the juxtaposition of light and darkness, of virtue and vice, within himself. In this sorrowful moment, he gazed skyward and pondered,

"What would have been a more fitting end to my lamentable misery...?"

fin.