Just One More Birthday
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,194
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,194
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I don't own Naruto nor do I make a profit from my stories. What a lucky day that would be. *Needs to pay bills* D:
PROLOGUE
Hello again, dear Readers. That is, if anyone is reading this. Anyways, I am a writer, and as such I must write, or my head will explode in a flurry of randomosity and purple. Why purple, I don't know, but that's the way it is. And we all don't want a purple randomosity shower, now do we? What's that? You do? Too bad. I like my head the way it is. Intact…. Mostly. Thus I have decided to write yet ANOTHER fic, adding on to the load I have already accepted and this time it is loosely based on the treatment I am receiving for a condition. Granted it's not cancer, but they use the same drugs for it and therefore I can whine about it however much I want. Take that. Any update on this story will be because of something that happened in my life because of my treatment. Basically, whenever I'm feeling angsty, I'm going to take it out on Naruto. :D
On a lighter note, I have decided not to update my other stories because I am not pleased with how the first chapter of I'm the Angriest Boy, and the second chapter of Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches have turned out. They are therefore being edited and revised and what-not and will be returned to you shortly! Anyway, for the probably lone person who is still reading the ramblings of a young woman, thank you. And kudos unto you, reader. Kudos unto you.
_xtabularasa.
Pale fingertips brushed the limp hair from a sunken face, the small movement nearly draining the owner completely. It would never cease to surprise him just how exhausted he'd been as of late. The simplest movements would leave him completely wiped. He had ceased to visit his friends, simply not having the courage, energy, patience to do so anymore. He loved them, that much he could not deny. But coming face to face with the pity they showered him with made him come face to face with his condition. He really hated having to do that. Feeling sorry for himself was simply not an option. So, unsurprisingly, he had smiled his worries away, refusing to wallow in his self-pity, although he did grant himself a few tears when he woke up in the morning. As much as he hated to admit it, he was afraid to die. Terrified. But who wouldn't be?
His aches and pains had slowly drained the life right out of him, his veins ran black with the toxic chemicals the doctors pumped into him, and he slowly, surely, agonizingly—lost himself to the treatment. His skin lost the golden hue it once contained, leaving him pale, sickly, damn near translucent. He would have scowled had it not become such a feat to complete. He had to hire a nurse to assist him around his own damn home. How much more embarrassing could this get? He refused help from his foster parents, knowing it would eat away at him if he saw the constant sadness he knew was in their eyes. And because of his lack of energy his friends had become distant, no longer being able to stomach being around the dying man. He couldn’t blame them. Death was a force to be reckoned with, and if he were to be completely and totally honest with himself, he would have realized that he wanted his friends, needed them. But, alas, he was able to convince himself he didn’t need them. He could get through this on his own, right? Some had to have done it before, right? Right.
He frowned. Who was he kidding? He missed them, dearly. His social life had been destroyed by the damn disease, and he was left with nothing but passing phone calls and short ‘hello’s and ‘how do you do’s.
His heart ached. His boyfriend had left him, fearing he wouldn’t be able to take it if Naruto left him alone in the world. His foster parents had even grown distant, but that he could blame on himself. Whenever they came to visit, he didn’t bother to get out of bed, just sat there and let them watch him waste away. He supposed he would get away from that were he the one forced to watch, as well.
God, Naruto thought, his thin fingers tracing the jutting cheek bones, When did I get so whiney? He frowned at his reflection. He looked like a corpse. Hell, he felt like a corpse. He was numb and the drugs clouded his mind, leaving him feeling as if he couldn’t think. He was throwing up constantly, and because he could no longer stomach the idea of food, he had lost a good thirty-or-so pounds.
I look like a fucking skeleton. His frown deepened and he found himself disgusted with his appearance. His once vibrant blue eyes, eyes that Neji had fallen in love with, sunk into his face, lost their color, and left him with nothing more than a blank stare. Because of his weight-loss, Naruto’s face became thin and bony, his jaw and cheek bones jutting out sharply. His teeth appeared to stick out of his mouth because his once full lips had thinned. His skin was pulled taut against his face, but also had the appearance of sagging. His hair, oh God, his hair. His once blond—yellow would be more accurate—hair paled and thinned, and hung lifeless around his face. It wasn’t even remotely blond anymore, just white and pathetic looking.
He didn’t even want to lift his shirt, figuring he could ration out how small and fragile he’d be if his arms were proportional to his body.
He was pitying himself again. Naruto sighed, and dragged himself back to his bed. He missed his beauty. Though he did hate vanity, he would do anything to get his life back. He knew the only way to that was to get better. With or without his friend’s help, he would do that. Fuck them if they couldn’t handle it. He’d show them that he was better than this stupid disease. That he could fight. If not for their sake, then he would do it for himself. He would rebuild his life. He had to. He couldn’t just sit around and watch himself wither away like a fallen autumn leaf.
Pulling himself onto his bed, Naruto couldn’t help but remember the irony of his current situation. At his last birthday, when he had turned nineteen, he had been depressed and sullen. When his friends had brought him the cake and made him blow out the candles, Sakura had leaned over and kissed his cheek, asking him what he had wished for.
”Death,” had been his simple reply. He had been depressed, damnit. He wasn’t thinking straight.
The blond pulled his laptop onto his legs, pressing the space bar to wake it up from its stand-by mode. Clicking the “Mozilla Firefox” icon on his desktop, he leaned back against the headboard and waited for his computer to open the window. With his newly developed dark sense of humor, he found his whole situation hilarious. It was sad, yes, that he couldn’t deny. But it was funny how just seven months ago he had been wishing for death on his birthday. Now he was desperately fighting for his next one. Just one more, which was all he wanted. Just one more birthday. (1)
Well. . . . There we have it. Should I continue?
(1) I was listening to the Say Anything song, “Death for my Birthday.” When I wrote that part.
***PLEASE RATE AND REVIEW.***
You have no idea how happy that would make me.
On a lighter note, I have decided not to update my other stories because I am not pleased with how the first chapter of I'm the Angriest Boy, and the second chapter of Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches have turned out. They are therefore being edited and revised and what-not and will be returned to you shortly! Anyway, for the probably lone person who is still reading the ramblings of a young woman, thank you. And kudos unto you, reader. Kudos unto you.
_xtabularasa.
Pale fingertips brushed the limp hair from a sunken face, the small movement nearly draining the owner completely. It would never cease to surprise him just how exhausted he'd been as of late. The simplest movements would leave him completely wiped. He had ceased to visit his friends, simply not having the courage, energy, patience to do so anymore. He loved them, that much he could not deny. But coming face to face with the pity they showered him with made him come face to face with his condition. He really hated having to do that. Feeling sorry for himself was simply not an option. So, unsurprisingly, he had smiled his worries away, refusing to wallow in his self-pity, although he did grant himself a few tears when he woke up in the morning. As much as he hated to admit it, he was afraid to die. Terrified. But who wouldn't be?
His aches and pains had slowly drained the life right out of him, his veins ran black with the toxic chemicals the doctors pumped into him, and he slowly, surely, agonizingly—lost himself to the treatment. His skin lost the golden hue it once contained, leaving him pale, sickly, damn near translucent. He would have scowled had it not become such a feat to complete. He had to hire a nurse to assist him around his own damn home. How much more embarrassing could this get? He refused help from his foster parents, knowing it would eat away at him if he saw the constant sadness he knew was in their eyes. And because of his lack of energy his friends had become distant, no longer being able to stomach being around the dying man. He couldn’t blame them. Death was a force to be reckoned with, and if he were to be completely and totally honest with himself, he would have realized that he wanted his friends, needed them. But, alas, he was able to convince himself he didn’t need them. He could get through this on his own, right? Some had to have done it before, right? Right.
He frowned. Who was he kidding? He missed them, dearly. His social life had been destroyed by the damn disease, and he was left with nothing but passing phone calls and short ‘hello’s and ‘how do you do’s.
His heart ached. His boyfriend had left him, fearing he wouldn’t be able to take it if Naruto left him alone in the world. His foster parents had even grown distant, but that he could blame on himself. Whenever they came to visit, he didn’t bother to get out of bed, just sat there and let them watch him waste away. He supposed he would get away from that were he the one forced to watch, as well.
God, Naruto thought, his thin fingers tracing the jutting cheek bones, When did I get so whiney? He frowned at his reflection. He looked like a corpse. Hell, he felt like a corpse. He was numb and the drugs clouded his mind, leaving him feeling as if he couldn’t think. He was throwing up constantly, and because he could no longer stomach the idea of food, he had lost a good thirty-or-so pounds.
I look like a fucking skeleton. His frown deepened and he found himself disgusted with his appearance. His once vibrant blue eyes, eyes that Neji had fallen in love with, sunk into his face, lost their color, and left him with nothing more than a blank stare. Because of his weight-loss, Naruto’s face became thin and bony, his jaw and cheek bones jutting out sharply. His teeth appeared to stick out of his mouth because his once full lips had thinned. His skin was pulled taut against his face, but also had the appearance of sagging. His hair, oh God, his hair. His once blond—yellow would be more accurate—hair paled and thinned, and hung lifeless around his face. It wasn’t even remotely blond anymore, just white and pathetic looking.
He didn’t even want to lift his shirt, figuring he could ration out how small and fragile he’d be if his arms were proportional to his body.
He was pitying himself again. Naruto sighed, and dragged himself back to his bed. He missed his beauty. Though he did hate vanity, he would do anything to get his life back. He knew the only way to that was to get better. With or without his friend’s help, he would do that. Fuck them if they couldn’t handle it. He’d show them that he was better than this stupid disease. That he could fight. If not for their sake, then he would do it for himself. He would rebuild his life. He had to. He couldn’t just sit around and watch himself wither away like a fallen autumn leaf.
Pulling himself onto his bed, Naruto couldn’t help but remember the irony of his current situation. At his last birthday, when he had turned nineteen, he had been depressed and sullen. When his friends had brought him the cake and made him blow out the candles, Sakura had leaned over and kissed his cheek, asking him what he had wished for.
”Death,” had been his simple reply. He had been depressed, damnit. He wasn’t thinking straight.
The blond pulled his laptop onto his legs, pressing the space bar to wake it up from its stand-by mode. Clicking the “Mozilla Firefox” icon on his desktop, he leaned back against the headboard and waited for his computer to open the window. With his newly developed dark sense of humor, he found his whole situation hilarious. It was sad, yes, that he couldn’t deny. But it was funny how just seven months ago he had been wishing for death on his birthday. Now he was desperately fighting for his next one. Just one more, which was all he wanted. Just one more birthday. (1)
Well. . . . There we have it. Should I continue?
(1) I was listening to the Say Anything song, “Death for my Birthday.” When I wrote that part.
***PLEASE RATE AND REVIEW.***
You have no idea how happy that would make me.