[NARUTO][Pillar Madara] short story

It is no longer necessary.

That morning, Hashirama mentioned Uchiha Madara's name.

At the beginning, it was just an ordinary business conversation: Tokama brought a letter from the daimyo of the Fire Nation, asking Konoha to send someone to escort the envoy of the Fire Nation.The list had been drawn up before he came, but it had to be confirmed by Hokage in the end.

There is no opinion between the pillars.His injuries are still not fully healed, but he has recovered enough to be able to take a short walk in the yard - such injuries are very rare for him, and those who have seen his injuries think that he is still alive. People are surprised.Fortunately, everything has passed, Hashirama has survived the most dangerous time, and the rest is slowly recovering.This is the luck of misfortune.

Hashirama sat at the table, read the list, and said, "Did you tell Madara too?" But the next moment he realized it, smiled, "I'm sorry."

Tokaima's expression froze for a moment.Soon he nodded, said something to heal his wounds, and left.

Hashirama was left alone in the house.This place was originally a place he was familiar with. Every beam, column and floor grew out of his wooden shelter, and its image was fixed over a long period of time: an inadvertent scratch, a tiny dent, A door frame that has become smooth due to long-term opening and closing.These small places have become a reminder of the person who once existed.

However, Madara has not been here for a long time.

He had to admit it to himself slowly, had to see that vacancy, that corner no longer filled, that eternal absence.

He has to realize that nothing is ever the same again.

Madara always prefers the shade over the sun.When he came to his house, the man always sat on the side where the sun would not come in, so Hashirama was used to placing his cushion in that direction—even though Madara was not sitting upright, but was idly leaning on the At the table, occasionally exchange some words with him.Those important or unimportant things have long been forgotten by Hashirama.All he could clearly remember was Madara's standing there.

Men exist here.This fact is everything.There is such a dense weight to this presence that conversation would wash it down and lose its vivid joy.Among all the pictures he has painted since he was a child, that is the one point that has not changed.

Him and Madara.

the villages they built.

the country they guard.

All of this is condensed in this moment: he is sitting here, and Madara is half lying half lying on the opposite side of him, looking at the scroll in his hand in the afterglow of the setting sun.Those half-built houses, still unnamed villages, vast cliffs and jungles all exist on the invisible backside of this simple picture, the dark patterns surrounding it, the meaningful meaning hidden under the surface. Meaning makes everything in sight a symbol of everything.He watched all this, savoring a deep joy in his heart.

"Hashirama, here..."

Madara looked up, eyes flicking across his face.

"Are you listening?"

He leaned over to look at the scroll in Madara's hand, and reached out to take the soft end of the paper.At this moment they seemed to be infinitely close: he could clearly feel Madara, his downcast eyes, his tightly pursed lips, the momentary tenseness and immediate relaxation of the muscles on his back, even the narrow gap between them. It has also become the bond of connection, making the heartbeat call the heartbeat, and the breath meets the breath.At this moment, Zhujian suddenly realized a fact that he should not have known. This fact has been integrated with his mind for a long time, because it is too close to become the object of cognition; , the unspoken fact was like a flash of lightning, instantly illuminating all the thoughts hidden under the fence of reason.

It turned out that this moment had already been ambushed in his past, only waiting for a decisive moment to stand up and stand in front of him.

It turned out that this moment was already doomed.

"... between the pillars."

Madara called his name, put a gloved hand on his cheek, and turned his face to hers.

Now he's looking at him.

"What are you thinking?"

There is no way between the pillars and the mouth.He was still in the shock of the discovery, and the words would have cut off the sudden ecstasy once spoken.Madara met his gaze inexorably, inquiringly at first, then sliding to the determined side.

"spot."

He was finally able to squeeze out the short syllable.And Spotted nodded.

That moment is forever.

That moment has passed.

This is not a contradiction.

Hashirama thought he should have gotten used to the emptiness.

Even in small villages they can avoid seeing them, or they will embark on a journey alone, without letters, and without an appointment to return.Waiting is long, but waiting is not negation or despair, waiting is connected with firm hope, knowing that another person still exists somewhere in the world, knowing that goodbye is at an uncertain point in the future.For such a long time he devoted himself to this anxious waiting, and even made the waiting fill the gaps, weaving some sweet virtual image: about the promise of "someday".

One day that wine glass will be picked up by a familiar hand.

One day that set of bowls and chopsticks will be used by familiar people.

One day, a familiar figure will appear on that cushion.

one day.

Even though he was familiar with Madara's character and determination, he knew that what the man said had never changed.Even if he understands that the prolonged waiting will only fall into the void, the sound of passing footsteps will never belong to Madara, and the occasional voice will never be the familiar one.In the end, he just got used to putting wait on his body, like adding a little weight to the precarious balance.Put a handful of snow on a hot day.

Sometimes everything that is so familiar can betray you.

The house would suddenly appear strange to the horizon.The store I found suddenly has stood on the street for many years.The tree that looks at it day by day points a wrong way that does not return home.Sometimes the dog would stand up suddenly, look warily at the void and bark, as if aware of the moment when words cut and defined the world. *

What they don't realize is that once named, the name in turn becomes the speaker, throwing them into silence.

Konoha no Sato and Hokage.

They gave such a name and pinned their future and ideals on it.At that time, they didn't know their names yet. Once they leave the dialogue between two people and enter the field of speech, they will become new norms and models, and mold new meanings and souls.Little did he know then that he would become Hokage, that Hokage would redefine him: he was Senju Hashima but no, he was a name called by people, a symbol on Kagerock, a hat, a cloak.He is the hope, the model, the duty to be fulfilled, and all that is not properly done.

He was wrapped in one name after another.On the contrary, Madara removed the names one by one.

Not Uchiha's patriarch nor Konoha's ninja: he takes only his original name with him when he leaves.

Senshou Bashima may be able to catch up.And Hokage can't.

By the time he realized this, he couldn't get rid of the name.

Occasionally, when looking at his own mirror image, he would see Madara's gaze behind the name: cold, dark, and difficult to decipher, looking from a certain memory in the past.They were still close then.Yes, he still remembered that night by the river, the body of Moonlight Spot was translucent, with a pale dark light emitting from under the skin.He hugged the man tightly, possessed by a panic that could not be explained by reason, as if he would lose him otherwise.Madara knew what he was thinking: he always knew.Yet the man met his gaze without any relief.

He could feel something weighing heavily on Madara's heart.In the peaceful daily life, men are fighting it to the death, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose.However, Madara's pride made it impossible for him to ask for help.Words just passed between them in vain.

"Stop thinking about it." "I'm not thinking about anything." "Like this, forget about it." "I'm not thinking about anything."

The more you deny, the more you exist.The more you forget, the more you are remembered.Hashirama suppressed a sigh, pulled the man towards her, kissed the deep crease between his brows repeatedly, until Madara impatiently moved her body to ignite the just silent desire.

The river flows past their temples without stopping, making it impossible for them to step into the simple past. At that time, they still dared to dream and outline grand ideals.But now that they have realized their ideals, the ideals are passing through their fingers.

"Everything will be fine from now on."*

the end of the story.Unattainable perfect stillness.

Because they are all alive.

Slowly, he started to lift Madara.

It had been a long time since he had called him that way.It's not based on the sense of responsibility not to bring up rebellion, but to not remind myself of the length of the wait.But all this is irrelevant now.The virtual image of waiting has dissipated, and the vacancy began to clearly reveal its own existence, seeking some kind of filling in words.

"Aren't you going to ask Madara?"

"It would be of interest to Madara."

"The oranges are very good, give some to Madara."

Words like these came out inadvertently, causing a moment of silent embarrassment.People looked over with a little pity, and everyone knew how close they had been.Hashirama smiled apologetically.Then he would talk about their past, those things when Konoha was not Konoha, the innocence of childhood, the years of fighting, and the final reconciliation.exist