trixiesix

  For years Kakashi had been trying to hide from the light. Whenever he dared to face it, his shadow hid behind him. One day he understood what the light had been telling him all along: having a shadow didn't make him one, and from then on he knew he could never evade the light again.  I  Little Scarecrow, what have you done? Kakashi's right leg had fallen asleep, leaving him with the uncomfortable tingling sensation of pins and needles that was urging him to readjust his position. He complied, standing up and awkwardly joggling the tired limb to relieve the pressure in his arteries, but the strange tingling only intensified when his leg

They say everybody hates themselves at some point in their lives. It's understandable, of course, especially when you're the cause of the deaths of two people who were so precious to you. Or when someone pushes your bed into the ward and you slowly open your eyes and stare into that familiar bright light you know don't deserve to see. Sensei is kneeling beside your bed, holding your hand in his, and even in your state of threshold consciousness you hear him whisper—  "Little Scarecrow, what have you done?" —and you will remember these words forever. You hate him for finding you, but you hate yourself even more. It's your own f