White Eyes [ E D I T I N G ]

19 - Lost Warmth

If I picked you up from the bottom of a deep, dark sea, will you do the same for me?

Mori gulped as he started to run back home. He just happened to arrive at Konoha Hospital when he got a call from his caretaker. A single ring from a simple telephone can ruin a person's day.

When I turn from this block, our home will be three minutes away...

But was it enough?

Will three minutes enough?

His foot lightly echoed as it hit the dirt road, large beads of sweat excessively rolling down his forehead. He clutched the red and green scarf as he recalled that he almost argued with Haru-san.

'Leave?Why?' Sakura asked,' You just arrived! What about your patient?'

Mori tossed her aside. 'Pardon my rude behavior, but it's urgent.'

He felt like running was the only thing important to him now.

Why? Why?

why?

Why...

Why now?

WHY NOW!

His breathing became heavier with each step. His eyes twinkled as he spotted a house with blue paint and red roof. It sure did look childish, since he was the one who chose the colors when he was younger.

He pushed the wooden door aside, and saw the grim expression of the caretaker.

"Is it...true?" His voice was barely an audible whisper but it seemed that she understood and he received a nod as an answer.

He chuckled bitterly as he entered his mother's room.

And there she was, displaying the picture he always feared ever since: a non-breathing person. Her lips were pale and cold as he brushed his fingers upon it. The lips that once told him sweet, loving words as she encouraged him in everything he does. Her eyes were closed, shut, as if she was simply sleeping. Her eyes always watched his acts and corrected them with her heart. Her hair was matted messily against her pillow, her soft, silky tresses that he once tried to braid.

Was it all for naught?

It's quite mysterious how you used to enjoy with them, then at the drop of the hat, they now remain nothing but a mere memory. A remnant. Nothing more. Many people try to prevent death, but no matter how many times they try to, even if they succeed . . . Death gets what he wants. No matter how you pray, how you defended yourself, how you use other bodies . . . That day will surely arrive; the day when Death steals a soul.

He often told himself he was prepared for this, but he wasn't. All those days, all those days he spent thinking that he can accept this kind of loss-all those efforts were futile. Futile, ever since his tears started to drop.

He spent hours training to be a good medic ninja. He cooked part time in a food stall. He spent nights without sleep to research about his mother's illness.

All for naught, huh?

He suddenly remembered Hinata, who was hopelessly waiting for Naruto, who was desperately looking for a cure. Despite being so positive, he blurted out,"Useless. . ."