- Alright, when I wrote this, I was pissed off at my family. Hence the.. angriness of it, I suppose. It was originally just supposed to be something for me to vent, but I turned it into a Gaara fic. This is the first time I've actually liked something that I've written- even if it is only slightly. Take note that this is when he was a young child, right after his uncle died. He's looking back on everything, and yeah. It's boring, if you ask me. But you didn't. Besides, I never like my work. [Wow, how ironic. xD I just said I liked it and now I'm saying I don't. Hmm.. I dunno. I guess I don't like it, and I do like it. Don't mind me, I'm stupid. XP]
It's not too long, not good at all. I honestly couldn't care less if someone read it or not. This is just until I get off my lazy a** to get a fanfiction account.
- Defenseless. Limited intelligence. Insecurity. Weakest. Youngest. Those are the traits one most have to be blamed for everything. No matter the occasion, no matter how cruel, no matter how impossible it is for those people to have committed the act, it is instantly their fault. No one bothers to think twice of the accusation, nor how that person shall feel, what this will mold one into. No one takes into account the terrible consequences destined to happen. One confined by such factors is instantly getting fingers pointed at them, blamed for even the smallest of mistakes.
He was all of those, save weakest. Weak was the last label to be placed upon Sabaku no Gaara. He was not a weak soul, nor could he be injured. The bijuu did not allow that. Still, the young child could not bring himself to understand why he was at fault for other’s mistakes. He hadn’t done wrong, why was he suddenly being blamed for everything?
Ever since people had been aware that Gaara was the bijuu container, they turned their backs on him. Every single person in Suna. His own family was ashamed of him. Day in, and day out, whispers floated throughout the village, their main focus on Gaara. “He’s a monster, stay away from him,” they all insisted. Insults thrown left and right at the boy only resulted in ultimate confusion.
His only sense of security was his uncle. His uncle claimed he loved him, told Gaara he was special. However, this sense of security turned out to be false when his uncle was assigned to assassinate him, which he attempted both willingly and graciously. The red-haired bijuu container sat there, tears rolling down his face, as the sand both protected him from harm, and stole his uncle’s life. The real truth- not those wretched lies he had been fed so often- was let out then. His uncle hated him, his mother died hating the village hidden in the sand, hating everything that was her life. The Kazekage, his father, planted the bijuu inside of him to have the ultimate weapon. This plan backfired when Gaara was labeled as an outcast.
Still, the young boy could not comprehend why the villagers hated him so. How was it his fault that his father implanted a demon within him? How was someone else’s crime suddenly his fault? It didn’t seem right or fair. He was only a child, and already so emotionally scarred.
But he had plans forming in his head as he watched his uncle’s dead body, a sudden glint of twisted joy dancing in his sea-green eyes. A sudden blood-lust came over Gaara, a new experience for the young boy. He wanted revenge for all the pain and suffering Suna had caused him. He wanted it now. He would kill them all. There was nothing stopping him. With the idea planted in his head to eliminate all of Suna, Sabaku no Gaara slinked off into the silence of the night.
No one ever bothers to take into account the consequences of their actions.
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