Oneshots

The Battlefield

(Put the song above on loop)

The warm breeze threaded through his blond locks. The sun glaring at the pale boy, while the birds sang their morning tune.The young boy laid on his back seemingly glaring back up at the sky. The scene would've been peaceful if not for the mountains of dead bodies that was scattered on the bloodied and charred ground.

The blood covered boy laid in a large crater panting. From afar it would seem as if the boy was peacefully cloud watching -If one could ignore the disfigured bodies that is- however from a closer look, one could see the clothes he was wearing was in tatters. His blond hair was caked with a mixture of dirt and blood with a few twigs and leaves added to the mix as well. At first glance the clothes he was wearing could easily be mistaken for brown, but was actually what seemed to be bright orange but was worn out due to excessively long battles and one too many washes.

The wounded boy laid there quietly wondering if this was all worth it. All these endless battles in war, all for what? Peace? What good was peace now that everybody's dead?! His blue eyes glared up at the sky silently cursing at it. He was cursing for his horrible and cruel fate. He was cursing for this damned war that just had to happen. Tears silently fell down his cheeks. He was crying for his fallen friends. He was crying for his fallen comrades. He was crying for the village and the people he failed to protect. Most importantly, he was crying for himself. He never had an easy life. His eyes were dull and lifeless. It was filled with anger, self-pity, and regret. They no longer held that spark in them. It was almost as if it was never there at all.

The boys vision started to get fuzzy. He could feel himself getting weaker. He could feel his heart beat getting slower. He could feel his life slowly slipping away, and he could do absolutely nothing about it. Except lay there and watch as he slowly bled. His pale face going ashen white. He was numb. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Not his feet not his hands, and not even that huge hole in the middle of his chest that was gushing out litres of blood. 

He was soaking in his own pool of blood lost in thought. He was thinking back to when he made his first friends ever. A pink haired obsessed fan-girl, a blue haired revenge seeking asshole, and a silver haired lazy old man. They were his team, his comrades, his friends, and most importantly his family. Something he never had until he met them. He was scorned at by the villagers for a reason he never knew. Kids were told to stay away from him by their parents. The orphanage didn't want him. Nobody wanted him. He was always at the centre of hate wherever he went. His life was filled with darkness. That was until he met his team, and his teacher. For once he was actually happy. For once people were actually laughing with him and not at him. For once people were eating with him and not throwing food at him.

However that happiness was short lived. His blue haired friend ran away and everything started to brake apart. The blond ran after him, hoping to grasp what ever little happiness he had left. He was desperate. When he failed, he was blamed by the villagers. Saying how he was the reason his friend ran away. Everything went back to those dark days, the only thing this time though, was the people he had called 'friends' and 'family' turned their backs on him leaving him alone. 

Alone. He had always hated the word. He was alone then and he was alone now. Although they turned their backs on him,he still wanted to believe that somewhere deep down inside they still care about him. They might not, but he still does. Watching his comrades die in front of him absolutely tore him apart. He mourned for their deaths for everyday through the war. However he doubts that any of them would have given him a single glance if he was slaughtered. He knew for a fact some would even celebrate his misfortune.

When his blue haired friend came back, he was on cloud-nine. The blond thought they could go back to when they were kids and he could be happy again. But before he even open his mouth, the blue haired boy had put his hand through the blonds chest. His old friend looked at him in the eyes with absolute hate and disgust. It hurt. It hurt more than the wound in his chest. His friend looked looked at the blond one last time before he himself collapsed. They were the last people alive from the war, they were both fighting for different sides, before his friend died of exhaustion before his eyes. The very same person who tried to kill him. The very same person he called his best friend.

The blond smiled pitifully at the memories. They might've scorned him, hated him, despised him, but he would still like to acknowledge them as his friends. Till the very end.

They all died, and now here lays Naruto Uzumaki-Namikaze also dying on the battlefield filled with regret and sadness...