#sachida

“Mama. Boruto’s there. Just no.” “I’m old enough to stay at home without a babysitter. Pls mama.”

“Mama, it’s your fault for leaving me here. I didn’t ask for ANY of this.”

“I wish I knew. Please, don’t look. Go to your room and read. I’ll bring you lunch in a little while.”

Jontron Starters || Accepting

Send for a drabble || @sachidaMourn Me

No.

No, this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t true. That–that wasn’t her body, it couldn’t be. It was someone else, someone else’s daughter, someone else’s death; Sarada was alive.

The unspeakable sorrow in Konohamaru’s voice told of more than she could handle. 

Days later, Sakura couldn’t remember what she did. She had no recollection of putting her fist through the wall of the hospital room. She didn’t know that it took both Tsunade and Naruto to pin her to the floor to keep her from finding a physical reflection of her grief. She couldn’t remember the sounds of her screams that echoed through the hospital, of the broken sobs that silenced the halls and told the village what happened.

The Uchiha heir was dead.

She cried through the funeral, tears silently streaming down her cheeks hidden behind a black veil. Her home remained empty that night as she curled herself around the tombstone of her daughter, sobbing her sorrows in a pathetic attempt to apologize to the dead.

She should have been there, she claimed to the newly planted grass. She never should have let her go.

Konohamaru visited a week later, moving around her kitchen as he made tea. The sake was already out, but he insisted she have something else that morning. Boruto and Mitsuki came by later, the son of her best friend hugging her with all the strength he had. She crossed paths with Kakashi-sensei more often on her way to the grave.

Sakura didn’t cry during those interactions anymore. She didn’t cry when she passed by her daughter’s room, nor did she cry during her first hospital shift when she returned. She didn’t break during her first mission, or the one after that. In fact, after more missions than she’d taken in years, Sakura couldn’t recall the memory of her pain.

Do you like my Sakura? || @sachida

Ask a killer // @sachida // Open♙ : Most malicious act tied to your name

                  There’s a period of time, a couple of months, maybe even years, that leave Tenzo continuously on edge at all times.  He’s out of his mind literally––– constantly twitching, searching, roaming. Nothing in this damn world seems to make sense. Not when it’s like this, not when he’s deaf to the breathing of forests, numb to the warmth of the sun. He’s disconnected. From everything. If there were parents to despise, he’d yell at them but funny enough, there aren’t. Maybe his teenage years were stained with less blood, if it were the case.

                  There’s a lot of things Tenzo craves to undo. Atrocities done by his hands, born from his bottomless anger. Innocent he didn’t grant the mercy they deserved and targets that left their life more gruesome than necessary. All because Tenzo doesn’t know what to do with himself.