Soft footsteps resounded through the dank stone corridors, soft as they were; this place was drearier than a graveyard and could out hush the silence of one too. Sasuke shifted slightly, the lumpy bed poking him irritatingly in different places. He gazed lazily through the strips of cold, hard metal to meet a silhouette, with peculiar glowing eyes. It was dinnertime.

With a painful whine, the empty silence was broken as a small metal door hesitantly opened, its hinges stiff with age. The silhouette hastily shoved in a tray through the small opening and locked the little gate shut again. Today's special was a bowl of heavily watered down soup, a few chunks of unidentifiable food resting at the bottom of the translucent soup. A piece of toasted bread, that had long gone cold, and if he were lucky, it wouldn't be stale and a small cup of water. Sasuke eyed the food warily, jail food never tasted good.

He sat up momentarily, slouching heavily at the side of the bed, drawing a small squeak from the very pokey bed springs. Reaching toward the tray, he snatched the spoon, the only eating utensil provided, and scratched another line into the already heavily scarred walls. Another week had gone by, and like clockwork another whining screech could be heard as one of the inmates rusty door eased open, another one gone. The silhouette passed again, this time with another shadow, that slouched over in defeat as he took his lasts step before everything would end. With a small flick of wrist and a little plop, something landed in Sasuke's food, disturbing the little pieces of food that were so peacefully resting at the bottom of the bowl.

Sasuke smirked, something he rarely did these days and drew out something shiny, hard, and rectangular from his cooled soup. A small worn harmonica, passed down from inmate to inmate, from the person at deaths door, to the person on the step right behind them. Sasuke had one more week until it would be over.

For a fleeting second, he wished maybe that he hadn't listened to his brother, hadn't ruined his own life in the hope of destroying another's. He so desperately wanted to see the sky above his head again, feel flowing water, hear birds sing, but that was only for a moment. He had done what he did in honour for his family, they could rest in peace, while his bastard of a brother would rot in hell, and he would soon see his family again, one way or another. He had done the honourable thing, in his eyes anyhow, and he had finally avenged his family, one half of his dream, his ambition. Now all that was left was to revive his clan, but that would never happen.. He sighed, shaking the harmonica of some of the watery soup that it had been previously drenched in. Reaching over for what little water he had, he carefully poured the water into the little crevices and holes in the well worn harmonica and shook again, cleaning it thoroughly. Activating the sharingan, and began to blow a sorrowful tune, as if he'd known how to play his whole life.