All in Time

The flowers and grasses were in bloom in every direction. Now and then there was a tree as high as clouds. Rather, as high as clouds were meant to be. No matter how he looked at it there was simply something not right about their appearance. They seemed too short or too tall. He could understand what it was exactly – not. The clouds were too high, too wide. Just as the grass was too high – to his waist – and he did not like it.

Still, the sun was high and he had to move. Water, he had said in his mind, I must find water. He waded through the grass and flowers. It seemed a harmonious day (yet, in many ways, a nightmare). He walked and walked and walked without pause, eyes darting about in yearning. He must find water.

Hours passed, and then he paused, in deep thought and confusion. The sun was equally (or near enough so) as high as it had been when he had begun. The trees he had passed were many. Yet, there was still no end to these flowers and grasses. In his mind, he knew this was wrong. It was very wrong.

He started once more; slowly, this time. He peered in all directions and touched all that he came by. There was no texture out of place. There was no flower not in the height of its resplendent glory. There was no cloud greater than any other in the perfectly azure sky.

He halted, abrupt. He refused to tread any further without understanding it. He knew no reason and wanted no truth. He cared not for lies, nor for illusions. It was merely a silent contemplation that filled him – and he dreaded it. He dreaded the numb thoughts that promised to make sense of this place (or lose all sense in trying) when the voice arose.

He trudged through the flowers and the tall grasses to find a large circular clearing in which the grass was barely old enough to reach his feet. In this clearing was a young girl with bright eyes who glanced up after a short while with a vague smile. There were flowers in her delicate hands and she was threading their stems together lovingly. Her eyes returned to them.

It was a while before words were exchanged. "Good morning."

He watched her, enraptured. He longed to hear more of her subdued words. She was gentle to his ears and seemed kind in all ways.

Thus, he attempted to speak. "G-good morning…"

She glanced up and another of her smiles flickered. "It is a nice day."

He nodded dumbly. "It-it is."

She threaded her flowers with great intent and concentration for a short time. They were no different to the others, these flowers, but she was intent all the same. All of the world was gone, save for the flowers and their pale prettiness.

"How have you been feeling?" she enquired with a murmur. "Sasuke…"

"Feeling?" he stiffened. "I… Who is 'Sasuke'?"

She paused in consideration. "You are, of course."

"I can't be," he insisted. "I would know if I were Sasuke."

She smiled daintily and plucked up some new flowers from a small pile that he had not noticed before. "You are Sasuke, as I am Sakura."

He felt the word cautiously. "Sakura…"

"Yes," she nodded. "I am. How are you, Sasuke? How do you feel? Is this not… nice?"

He glanced about. "Yes, it is… I mean… No. It isn't."

She pursed her lips.

"Poor boy," she crooned. "To be so lost, so confused…"

"Then make me un-lost," he demanded weakly. Then, for good measure: "Sakura."

She paused in her weaving and placed the wreath down delicately before granting him her full attention. "To not be lost you must come with me. We are waiting, me and Naruto and Mikoto. We are waiting for you."

"Why?" he helped her up hesitantly. "Why are you waiting?"

The land turned crimson. The sun was almost gone. The flowers were blown by a harsh wind and the petals took flight.

Sakura stared at him, her face illuminated crimson. "We are waiting for forgiveness."