Polarized (P, Solo)

It wasn't that simple to say, but some days, Amaterasu didn't recognize herself. A searing heat resided in the center of her chest, pushing outwards uncomfortably. What was this feeling? The thought of murder had never bothered her before, and still the thought of killing the chihuahua near the gates did not result in anything other than a twinge of disgust towards him. She could have screamed. She could have cried. She could have let out waves upon waves of blue napalm to coat the village, burning a large portion of the damn place and the remaining civilians to the ground. Instead, however, she let loose a weary sigh and sat down on a nearby rock. It had a smooth texture, likely worn down from years upon years of battering via a combination of sand and strong winds. She ran the texture under her hand, feeling every minute crevice and convex with the pads of her fingers. It was cold, at first, but rapidly increased in heat to accommodate her higher than average body temperature. It resembled herself, in a way. Formed and polished under great strain and pressure... Yet if you applied enough direct force, it would shatter into a million pieces. Was this the direct force? Or was this simply the furnace? She wasn't quite sure what this was- or the name of the feeling. Frustration laced her being, and she clenched her smoking fist. The rock was heating up exponentially, but it wasn't at melting point- she had never yet been able to reach that point, no matter how much she tried. After a few moments, the feeling abated, leaving her feeling an unfamiliar emptiness that had been plaguing her all afternoon. She wished that Toshizou were here. She'd know what to do. She'd know what to say. She'd... 

She was gone. 

A muffled scream exited her mouth as she yelled, covering her face with one hand pale and one hand scarred. Fuck this. She was in the middle of the ocean, surrounded on all sides by black water lapping at her lifeboat, sinking down, down, down into the unknown. She tried to muster up rage. She tried to muster up every last ounce of her hatred. But she couldn't. Instead, she felt nothing at her companion's passing. And somehow, that was worse.

She knew, hypothetically, that she was likely going through one of the stages of grief- she had moved on from denial and anger. Now it was time for depression. Her face was hot and dry- not one tear streaked down. Any civilians that had been around were now nowhere to be seen. She had a poor reputation on the best of days- a murderer, a freak, and to a naive few perhaps a poor lost child who was being abused for her power. But to see her melt down in a relatively public area? It not only made others uncomfortable, it likely would've made them afraid as well. And had she given them a reason not to be? She had killed at least two people during her stay here, and was aiming for a third. Of course, she would do it again if given the chance, but for once she didn't want solitude. And the only person who could relieve it wasn't here anymore. 

In truth, she knew what she was feeling. She just didn't want to say it. 

There was a conflict between who she was, and who she wanted to become- or, more accurately, who she couldn't become. And it drove her nearly over the edge. For a moment, she wanted to see how hot she could burn- how much punishment could her fire resistant body take before it was inevitably reduced to ash like everything else. She lingered on the thought for longer than she was proud of before she let out a shivering sigh. Shame rushed through her body, and she made a quick note to never wander down that path again.

She held out her scarred hand and watched as a blue, hungry flame ignited over her open palm. It was bright and blisteringly hot, not quite damaging the skin but making her sweaty and uncomfortable. Was this her? Was this all she knew? 

It was harder, she realized, to build up than it was to burn down. She had built herself over the course of many years, but she needed to expose herself to the anvil to truly become someone she could be proud of. In truth, she hated herself- and she was taking it out on other people. She stopped feeding chakra to the fire, watching as it slowly dwindled in the afternoon breeze into nothing except what existed in her own memories. Was this her? She thought to herself.

Yes.

But it didn't have to be.


[WC: 800]
[Total WC: 800]

(Exit)

Claiming: 4 staterinos
800 words to uhhhst http://naruto-role-play-rpg.forumotion.com/t42338-burn-up#336048

Bump.