Author's note:

I'm baaack! School's out so I'll be writing some more drabbles! And of course, I return with a Sasori drabble.

This one wasn't supposed to have a plot, it was targeted as a typical short drabble about coming home and all, but as I went on to write this for the last 3 days, ideas came up that may be put to use to continue this story. Initially, I thought of this as just a theme of returning home and what 'home' means to some people (using Gaara as like a contrast to him) but finishing this piece, there may be ideas I have that will continue this.

Again, I tried my best to make the man as close to his character as possible. Part of the reason why I love writing about Sasori is because I find him so complex as a character because of the events that happened in his life that led him to be the kind of person he was as an adult. That's how I find most Akatsuki members anyways but Sasori (& Itachi) always stood out to me. I also assumed initially that Sasori was living in the Rain Village as an Akatsuki but I don't think he actually did in the show/manga? So I scrapped it out.

In any case, I'll stop babbling. This is "Arrival."

Enjoy!

Ging

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

He had passed through the entrance, the same old staircase gate that had once escorted him out upon his betrayal. He sighed when his eyes wandered around the circular and cylindrical shaped houses, all seemed to be creations of sand.

"Same old shit, I guess." He reflected to himself, remembering the exact picture he had taken of the entrance just minutes before he stepped out of his birthplace some decade ago. The weather had been the same as well: sandy – if that makes sense to describe it. The Sand was notorious for its sandy weather, you know, when sand is the air, the ground, the mud, the leaves? Yet, he was smart enough to travel in the evening, since it was much cooler and the added bonus that no one was really outside in the dead of night, save for some security guards on rotation duty (though to be honest, they rarely secured the village since they spent too much of their time sleeping). Not safe enough as an S-class criminal easily managed his way inside and back into the land that once housed him.

Those of the sand village are tough people who've dealt with the grudging, unique weather that poured through their town since its creation. It is without a doubt that Sand villagers are the 'toughies' of the ninja world, the underdogs, and as Darwinian believers would love to call them, "The survivors, the fittest," in a world so harsh and utterly cruel to them. And as with any considerable and influential village, the Sand happened to birth some of its most powerful, most prominent and most instrumental figures in the known world.

Figures such as the Fifth leader of the Sand village and the current traitor known well throughout the town are given epithets respectively: Gaara of the Sand Waterfall and Sasori of the Red Sand. The former coming to terms with his disastrous childhood by accepting his uniqueness and difference to help his own, while the latter came to terms with his by abandoning the destruction of his young life and felt the overwhelming guilt and burden released from his dead shoulders upon starting a new life somewhere else. The two share an inevitable beginning in which they were ostracized, lonely and snubbed. They walked through different paths in their attempts to better their lives. They were examples of fighters, survivors, representations of the Sand.

Master Sasori exhaled and opened his eyes to see the same house standing as cold as ever. What was once his home remained identical to all the others in the village: round and ugly, he thought. He always hated the way the village looked. He stretched his arm out to gently rest his hand on the front wall of the house, his eyes following the sliding of his hand downwards. He pushed himself inside as he walked in complete darkness and vergedinto his former bedroom, the sole photo of his family that used to sit beside him, gone. His grandmother must've taken it. He ran his hand atop the ledge where it once rested and sat on the bare mattress beside, his eyes attempting to adjust itself in the frigid and lonely chamber. The lonesomeness of his childhood lingered through the air, and he felt his heart break the same way it did when he realized years ago, while ogling at his puppets that resembled his parents, that they were never coming back. He turned his attention the ray of orange light that shone through the window outside his former room. Tucking in his duffel bag under the bed, he bit his lower lip and yawned, rotating his head in circles. His eyes grew weary from the travel and the sudden change in temperature. Since living outside of the Sand, he'd gotten used to the cool, moist dew mornings, sunny afternoons and wet evenings. He forgot the humidity and dryness of the Sand which disappointed him even more upon his return.

He stared at the white ceiling with his head on his hands. His eyes blinked as he listened to the growing roar of the wind and the faint steps of sandals trudging through sand.

The footsteps led to the front door as the figure stood outside, hung his head to gaze at the height of the house. An exhale and a smirk.

"Master Sasori has arrived."