Crazy Inspirations

Ah, much joy, happiness, and rapture! AFF appears to be working again, and I can post my stuff! I am busily working on the other projects as we speak (and this chapter was written during the time aff.net had to switch sites), but it probably won't progress very fast. Besides, these are random stories that speak of what I feel happened when the inspiration came to me. The actual fiction (hee hee hee) will come later.

I don't own Naruto, because that would involve owning Itachi...and putting a collar on him is probably not a good idea.

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“Well, at least I know it isn’t the o-chem homework,” I said blankly, staring at my unexpected guest.

Uchiha Itachi looked back at me impassively. “You are already aware that these strange shapes and arrows of yours could not possibly carry subliminal messages you could not consciously perceive.”
“Yeah, but if they did, I might have been able to plead insanity to get out of doing it.” I paused, blinking rapidly. “You know, you really don’t look anything like him.”

He glared at me.

“On the other hand, I see where he gets his taciturn nature.” My good humor vanished. “I don’t want you here.”

He smirked at me. “You are hardly in the position to command me otherwise.”
“Ignoring you would be easy.”
“You could, but don’t you wish to understand me?”

I glared at him, turning away from my computer. “I’m not really sure I want to know how a murderer operates,” I growled.
“Is that so?” He said, voice going strangely smooth. “Is that why you're are having such an easy time writing the next chapter of your Kakashi story?”

Oh, how I wished my eyes could screw up his brain at that moment, the way his could. “You,” I said coldly, “are damn well aware that this story is already far longer t han I had originally intended. As an inhabitant in my somewhat unconventional brain,” I continued, “you are also aware that I am not in a good mood right now, and that trying to be funny and insightful when not feeling like either is freaking hard--”

“I actually don’t.”

“...what?”

He’d stopped me in my tracks with those three words. Suddenly, despite my disinclined emotions, I had to know what he meant. “...what do you mean?”

He looked at me steadily. “You don’t know much about me.” It was not a question. “No one really does. Since I’m as much a figment of your imagination as I am my creator’s, I am, at this moment, your theory about my personality embodied.”

I nodded, and he took that as an invitation to continue.

“Having said that...I don’t feel much of anything.” He mutely held out one of his hands and clenched it into a fist in front of me. “I feel my strength,” he said, baring his arm so I could see the exposed tendons and muscles coiled sleekly there.

Relaxing his arm, he brought that hand to his lips, kissing the limb softly before running his fingers over the sensitive flesh. “I feel pleasure.”

The hand trailed down his chest, stopping right above his groin. “And I feel desire.” He looked at me again. “But those are all I feel, and I already know, from sharing your mind, that I don’t feel anything the way you do.”

He’d sufficiently kicked away my emotions enough to let my curiosity come through. He may have claimed himself to be a part of me, but it wasn’t a part I was aware of. I knew that I had to know more, and that writing more about Kakashi and Iruka would have to wait.

“Why did you kill your family?”

He blinked at me lazily. “You do not waste time, I see,” he noted.
“Thanks to you, I don’t think I can,” I grumbled. “You’ve fully awoken more than my curiosity; now, beyond all else, I need to understand you!”
He nodded. “Very well. I am fortunate that you are willing to listen now.” He paused, presumably to gather his thoughts, before he began.

“I am a genius,” he said tonelessly, “but you know that already. For my successes, my family made much of me. I had the highest job short of the Hokage. Everyone admired me. As you know, my brother practically worshipped me as a god, and strove to emulate me in any way possible. Women-”--he momentarily sneered--”-flocked to me in droves, much in the way they flock around my little brother.”

“I think I see where this is going,” I said when he paused for breath. “You were getting bored, weren’t you? Everything just fell so easily into your hands--”

”--and what was worse was that I did not even have to stretch out my hands to catch it,” he finished, nodding to me. “I took to exploration and experimentation. I dug in the vaults of the Uchiha dead and did not beg forgiveness for it. I created new jutsu and tested them on enemies who would attack Konoha. Nothing did anything, until I began to research the origins of my family’s bloodline limit, the Sharingan. Cruelties abounded in this talent, let me assure you. The head of my clan was educated in all the ways of making the Sharingan more powerful, and I realized that, here in the most ancient of Uchiha tombs, was the way I could make my life more challenging. First, I killed my closest friend to obtain the Mangenkyo and waited to be caught for doing so, but no one could catch me. Every day, I came home to see my little brother workking himself to the bone to impress our uncaring father and myself. Every day, I grew more powerful. Nothing could stop me.”

He said it in so matter-of-fact a tone that it didn’t even sound like arrogance.

“Finally, I became tired of it. If the world knew just how the wielders of the Sharingan came by their birthright, I doubted they would continue to adore their precious Uchiha chuunin, jounin and ANBU.”

“So you killed them,” I said softly.

“So I killed them,” he agreed. “Sasuke had been at school that day. I took my time in killing them all. It was easier than breathing.”

I made sure to keep as still as possible. He couldn’t touch me, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt me, as I well knew.

“I had planned to make a trail to lead the ANBU I knew would investigate directly to the vault containing the secrets of the Sharingan, but Sasuke came home unexpectedly early and saw everything I had done.”

“I think I can guess the rest,” I said. “You scared him shitless, mentally fucked him up, and told him to hunt you when he was old enough. You hoped that he would be your challenge.”

“I believe he will be soon,” Itachi confirmed.

“Do you feel that your life has been worth living?” I asked him after a great deal of silence.
“At times,” he answered.

I examined him mutely, noting his blood-colored eyes, pale skin, and dark hair and clothing. “You’re like the embodiment or avatar of Death,” I muttered.

He looked at me blankly.

At last, I nodded. “I think I understand,” I murmured. “Okay. I will write you a story.”

He inclined his head to me. “Thank you.”

***||***

This actually did happen to me. There I was, sitting in front of my comp perusing the websites I frequent while simultaneously trying to find some happiness and humor in my depleted form to put into "IDTYU." I had had boy troubles (enough said, right?), and the pleasure in life wasn't really there except for when I was envisioning bloody mayhem...predictably, that was when "Itachi" came to me and gave me the idea for that insanely angsty one-shot.

I may believe in free will, but everything in every good story out there happens for a reason. Why, for example, did Itachi kill everyone in his family except for Sasuke? So far (and I'm not totally current on the manga at the moment), there has been no real explanation for this, and it's one of the ideas that I most often see worked into stories. Backstories on the original Uchiha genius have gotten pretty creative...but very few of them actually explore the more psychological aspect of the massacre.

Everything happens for a reason. What was Itachi's? If everything was as damn easy as it looked like it was (and if he didn't have a homicidal streak the size of the United States), he'd have been Hokage during the beginning of Naruto and bored to tears.. Who knows? He might have killed Konoha then.

Any thoughts? As an aside, I apologize for not making this chapter even mildly snort-worthy. It never was funny to me either.