The colors are inverted red and gray and white. The moon is unforgiving. There's something wrong about the smell of the smoke, but it's too thick to see the source.
He steps over glowing coal remnants of wood and dirt, following the smoke. Underneath his foot, a charred plank cracks, falls apart; his family crest is split down the middle before it breaks into pieces.
"You're a failure."
He whips his head to the left and looks down at the child, himself, seven or eight and cruelly smiling. The nasty twist is out of place on his soft features, still full with baby fat.
"How could you let this happen?"
To the right, it's The Avenger, taller and stronger and prouder even at twelve, dressed in his old black jumpsuit and radiating anger so strongly that a beam next to him explodes in fire. Sasuke tries to put his arms up to shield his face from the shower of sparks, but he can't move.
It burns.
"You failed them." His child-self points and the smoke clears, revealing the source--what looks like a hill, a pile of old clothes. Sasuke steps closer.
His mother, eyes wide and unseeing, is at the top of the pile, her body stiff and unnatural. His family's corpses, hundreds of them, are stacked and burning.
The smoke tastes like spoiled, charred meat.
Sasuke gags and falls to his knees, and his hands splash in hot, sticky black fluid. Blood, pooling from their bodies, seeping close to him, staining his clothes.
He tries to back away, but he can't move. The child laughs and The Avenger grabs Sasuke's hair.
"You'll never be clean," he growls, and shoves Sasuke's face into the blood. It's halfway up to his elbows, now.
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The colors are inverted red and gray and white. The moon is unforgiving. There's something wrong about the smell of the smoke, but it's too thick to see the source.
He steps over glowing coal remnants of wood and dirt, following the smoke. Underneath his foot, a charred plank cracks, falls apart; his family crest is split down the middle before it breaks into pieces.
"You're a failure."
He whips his head to the left and looks down at the child, himself, seven or eight and cruelly smiling. The nasty twist is out of place on his soft features, still full with baby fat.
"How could you let this happen?"
To the right, it's The Avenger, taller and stronger and prouder even at twelve, dressed in his old black jumpsuit and radiating anger so strongly that a beam next to him explodes in fire. Sasuke tries to put his arms up to shield his face from the shower of sparks, but he can't move.
It burns.
"You failed them." His child-self points and the smoke clears, revealing the source--what looks like a hill, a pile of old clothes. Sasuke steps closer.
His mother, eyes wide and unseeing, is at the top of the pile, her body stiff and unnatural. His family's corpses, hundreds of them, are stacked and burning.
The smoke tastes like spoiled, charred meat.
Sasuke gags and falls to his knees, and his hands splash in hot, sticky black fluid. Blood, pooling from their bodies, seeping close to him, staining his clothes.
He tries to back away, but he can't move. The child laughs and The Avenger grabs Sasuke's hair.
"You'll never be clean," he growls, and shoves Sasuke's face into the blood. It's halfway up to his elbows, now.