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Bullets by Yumi

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Story notes: Suggestion: listen to "Bullets" by Creed repeatedly while you read this fic. It honestly gives you an idea of how angry and meaningless Sasuke feels. Don't worry about listening to the words, just listen to the overall music.
Chapter notes: Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or "Bullets" by Creed. I'm just using them together for fan purposes, and am not making money of this.


A/N: if you can, I suggest listening to "Bullets" repeatedly while you read this fic. It honestly gives you an idea of how angry and meaningless Sasuke feels. Don't worry about listening to the words, just listen to the overall music.
Bullets





So I killed him.

That's it.

Done.

Nothing.

Empty.

Meaningless.

Shit.

Ruined.

Nothing.

Done.

Once I killed him, he smiled at me. Why the hell did he smile? Why the fuck did he flick my forehead again? Was he sorry? Fuck no. He knew what I would go through after he died. He knew he would die, and that's the only purpose I had for him. He had no purpose, but he needed me to kill him. That's all I was. That's all I am.

That's all I am.

I am an avenger. I am a killer. I am nothing.

Fuck. Shit.

Why couldn't he have been sane? Why couldn't he have just left us all alone and let me live the way I wanted? Why couldn't he have been happy the way he was? The way we all were? There's no fucking reason he should have killed them all! Now I am nothing. It's all his fault.

Motherfucker.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I killed Orochimaru. I killed that bastard assistant of his. I killed all his followers. I even tried to kill that Akatsuki member that was with Itachi, but he managed to escape. I scared him with my rampage of death and destruction. I didn't care. I didn't want anyone to hold me down to that fact that I was nothing.

That's when I decided that I wouldn't be nothing.

I'd kill until I was something.

I felt something when I killed. I was angry. I was vengeful. I was something when I killed. I was that something I was when Itachi was still alive. That something was everything to me. It was my last shred of sanity.

What a fucked up sanity.

I didn't care, though. After a month of meaningless murders I saw a wanted sign with my face on it. So, I wasn't just a Bingo Book face anymore. I was a wanted criminal. I smiled. Good. More people to kill. I didn't care.

Fuck.

A half a year went by after that, and I came to the Land of Rock. It's much like something out of a bad cowboy movie. Guns replace kunai, and they're much more accurate than a kunai. There's no skill involved, and that's what makes them so dangerous. Any stupid bastard can pick up a gun and shoot. That's why I got myself one. I only carried one, and didn't have any spare bullets on me. If the first bullet didn't kill the shitface, I'd just slice his head off.

Killing became. . . fun.

By this point I hardly remembered why I was killing. It just became habit, and with a gun in the Rock country. . . Hn. It was like a carnival game.

Another few months run by, and I've become quite accustomed to drinking openly in the saloons. Outlaws run the place anyway. I don't have to worry about anyone wanting to turn me in. I don't hide myself anymore. It's pointless. Not like I did in the first place, but not it doesn't cross my mind. It doesn't matter.

Nothing.

Shit.

Then I run into you. You're standing there, cocky bastard. I'm drunk and drugged because you wanted that bounty on my head. My katana, kunai, gun, and shuriken are all gone. I'm defenseless, and here you are standing over me with my own gun pointed at me. What good do you think it'll do? I don't give a shit.

You step on my chest to keep me down, and shout something about revenge.

I scoff.

No, I laugh.

We're the same.

You're just a meaningless creature.

So am I.

You shut your eyes and start to cry. I must have killed someone dear to you. Your mother? Father? Lover? Who the fuck cares? You're the only one who cares in that entire saloon. Everyone looks on to see what you'll do. I just sneer.

"Look at me."

You open your eyes, confused.

"At least look at me when you shoot, fucker." I say, challenging you.

Our eyes lock, and your anger rises.

You shoot.



But I know you understand it.



You're nothing.




Owari.
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