Disclaimer: Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto.
Possible Trigger Warning: Mild mention/depiction of attempted suicide.
I.
…Thump...
… …b-b-buzz… …
It echoed. Loud, steady and monotonous. Beating.
…Thump…
... …b-b-buzz… …
Pumping life energy into each and every artery, vein and capillary.
...Thump…
… …b-buzz… …
It thrummed. Soft, sporadic and weak. Riveting.
…Thump…
… …b-buzz… …
Coiling around every organ and limb, leaving wisps of warmth that faded into nothingness seconds after.
…Thump…
… …b-buzz… …
Her eyes opened sedately, taking in sharp light, shapes, colors and objects. Tiny, stubby, achy limbs flexed and stretched, brushing against coarse, knitted material. Her nose and ears twitched minutely, picking up indistinct noises and the calming, tranquil scent of lavender. Her tongue was heavy, tasting faintly of citrus.
…Thump…
Her eyes closed slowly.
… …b-b-buzz… …
Together, the two life energies intertwined, animating the tiny, insignificant, abomination of a being that laid swathed in her mother's embrace.
Her first memory had been one of consciousness.
"Frail, lil' ol' thing. Prob'ly won't make it past the winter." The old, gnarled woman sneered at the tiny girl clutched in a young boy's embrace.
"Ma, please!" A voice gasped out, scandalized.
"Look at 'er. Won't even make a peep, not even when she needs changin'." She spat out a mouthful of chewing tobacco, dried lips twisting as she threaded another needle. "Jus' be glad ya got a strong, healthy son."
"Grandma, just… Just leave 'er alone. Please." The boy whispered softly, hugging the Girl closer to his tiny chest.
For an indeterminate amount of time, she dreamed of dying.
(—black starless sky illuminated by otherworldly hell fire vicious and flesh melting unfathomable pain there were no words comparable in the human language that could describe it her body was torn in two bisected like a flailing fish chopped by a butcher's knife held together only by the heavy smothering smoldering metal pinning her in place BLOOD on her hands and pooling in her mouth she could taste it screams screaming yelling wailing her voice his voice their voices together anguish agony—)
It played behind her eyelids like a broken record, refusing to abate no matter the amount of time that had passed for the Girl. The days, weeks, months and years seemed to blend together, making it difficult for her to separate the conscious from the unconscious, the peaceful from the grotesque—the dreams from the reality.
Day by day, she lived.
Night after night, she died.
Not alive. Not dead. Dreaming? She couldn't figure out which was the truth.
Her mother cried loudly, hysterically as she squeezed her weak body in an iron hold. Her grandmother glared from the doorway, beady eyes sharp with anguish and fury.
The Girl patted her mother's back absently, wet, bloodshot eyes staring at the covered tarp that held her brother's cold, lifeless body.
He died at age six to disease.
The sickness struck fast. Combined with years of tobacco decay and no available medical help, her grandmother's clock stopped ticking as they watched, powerless.
The Girl closed the door of her parents' room silently, muffling the cries, pleas and screams of her broken mother. She shuddered violently, hugging herself as wisps of ice cold hands brushed against the skin of her arms.
Please spare me. She prayed, biting her lip until it bled. Don't take me at this age.
It had only been a few months since the passing of her brother.
"You're it!"
She turned away from them, eyes closing as she mentally counted to fifty. The small congregation of children scattered like cockroaches discovered by light, hiding in any nook or cranny they could possibly find. Their laughter and jeering gradually faded as time passed and, before long, the Girl had finished and had announced her declaration to find each child.
The game did not last long. One child hid among the branches of a tree next to her house and another tucked away into a small dirt alcove. One hid in the crawl space beneath a neighbor's hut, another hid in an empty barrel in front of the village leader's house. The last used a short stick of bamboo to aid in hiding in the river that served as a border for Sakuragaoka.
"You cheated!"
She huddled away from the outraged children, eyes trained on the clear, gleaming water of the village's river. "B-but I—"
"Why is it you always know where we're hidin'!?"
"Yeah! We can't never get 'way from you!"
The Girl doubted she'd be able to explain that she always knew where everyone was—it had always been that way for her, no matter how she tried to stop it. Their warmth, the heat they so constantly emanated… She could sense it no matter the distance and, like a moth to a flame, she was inexplicably drawn to it.
Beneath their scrutinizing glares, she wilted and, after another moment, she merely turned tail and ran.
After that, the children stopped asking her to play with them.
The Girl was not unlike the many peasant children that resided in the Land of Fire.
Her parents were hard workers—farmers that tilled the fertile soil of Fire Country from sunrise to sunset. Food was not scarce but, far too many times, the Girl could recall the sharp, uncomfortable aches and pains that heralded the need for sustenance. The Girl had no pretty, fancy kimono or yukata, merely the clothes stitched together by her deceased grandmother and the secondhand garbs from her brother that had succumbed to fever winters past. The Girl had minimal time for playing—her hours were spent assisting her parents in the fields or attempting to make their laborious life a bit easier by completing the mundane chores of washing clothes or cleaning their small, humble, shabby home. Her parents themselves were decent folk, not particularly affectionate but attentive enough to give her proper care.
No, the Girl was not unlike the many peasant children that resided in the Land of Fire.
Yet, there was something about her that was distinctly different.
"You been doin' well?"
"Yeah."
"Hiroshi been doin' well?"
"Yeah."
"I don' know if I coulda been as strong as you—losin' ya boy and ma in one swoop...! I just don' know what I woulda done..." A pause, followed by a soft whisper, "Ya girl been doin' well? Lil' thing looks like dead walkin'."
She felt her mother's gaze roam over her bowed head, saw her hands hesitating minutely in their folding from her peripheral. "…Yeah."
Without further preamble, the two women descended into a light, aimless conversation about turnips and bells. The Girl remained silent, tiny hands slowly scrubbing mud-stained clothing against a dingy washboard. Through slightly murky water, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection.
Her pallid skin was an oddity, considering the time she spent outside in the sun and Fire Country's temperate climate. Short, inky hair framed her round cheeks, choppy, uneven ends barely brushing against her shoulders. Sable eyes that were much too large for her face peered blankly from the watery surface, the dark bruises under them telling of her numerous victories over slumber.
It wasn't hard to see why one would think she was breaching the threshold of death.
The Girl dunked another article of clothing as she shuffled closer to her mother's side, absently relishing in the warmth she provided.
She smacked into a solid form with an inaudible groan, body flopping onto the ground painfully. The collision was a disorienting one—the human-shaped form danced before her vision as if performing a ceremonial kagura.
"Sorry, little one." A deep, rumbling voice said apologetically.
She murmured something illegible as she struggled to pick herself up from the ground. A soft, surprised squeak left her lips as large hands slid under her skinny arms and easily pulled her up, setting her on two feet with surprising gentleness that belied the strength evident in them. Her vision cleared just as her feet touched the ground and, towering above her, was a person she'd never seen in Sakuragaoka—but she knew that she had met him once before, oddly enough.
"You live here, little one?" He chuckled at her awkward nod, onyx eyes sparkling with amusement. "Could you point me towards the village leader's home then?"
Her arm extended, pointing in a direction west of their position. Again, he chuckled at what she assumed was her gauche actions before he placed a hand on her head, mussing up her already messy hair. Her small hands instinctively shot out, clinging to one of his larger ones before it moved out of her short reach. The action elicited another hearty chuckle that made heat travel from the palms of her clammy hands to the tips of her chilled toes.
"First time meeting a shinobi, huh, little one?" He squatted down to her level, making her feel like an insect in comparison despite his attempt to lessen the height difference.
She nodded absently, eyes focused on the bit of metal tied around the man's forehead. Tentatively, she reached towards it, something about it giving her a strange sense of familiarity—just like the man who wore the headband.
However, before she could touch it, the shinobi's hand caught hers. "Now, now, little one. It's impolite to put your hands in another's face without permission."
There was a subtle hint of warning in his voice and a sharp, rebuking glint in his eyes that made her body seize in embarrassment. Her head nodded rapidly, jerkily as her body fought between cowering away and moving closer to the shinobi—it settled for remaining rooted in the same spot.
"Do you want to know what it is?" He asked after a tense moment of silence. He continued at her slow nod, "It's my forehead protector—proof of my status as a shinobi and my loyalty to Konohagakure no Sato." He brushed away a few strands of hair, revealing the hidden emblem. "If you encounter a shinobi with this mark on their headband, you can rest easy. They—we—will protect you, little one. It's our job."
The Girl nodded wordlessly, watching the retreating back of the shinobi and quietly committing his words to memory.
The shinobi stayed in Sakuragaoka for three days and three nights.
The Girl encountered him only once more, on his last morning in the farming village. Like an obedient puppy waiting for its master, she lingered around the bridge that spanned over the river border and, when the grey-haired shinobi approached, she held out her arms, presenting him with a delicately wrapped farewell gift.
"Hm?" He blinked, taking the small package. "What's this, little one?"
"Onigiri…" She mumbled quietly, inching closer to the man. "Four of 'em. One wit' katsuboshi; one wit' umeboshi; a-another, salmon; and tha last wit' konbu."
His expression remained indiscernible as he eyed the package. At that moment, it occurred to the Girl that the man was most likely wary of her gift—she may have been a small child but it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she could be an enemy assassin.
"U-um!" Without a second thought, she snatched the gift away and took a large bite of the umeboshi-filled onigiri, swallowing loudly before stating, "…No poison…"
"Ah." A flash of alarm flitted over his features before it was hidden by a benign, somewhat strained smile. "Thank you, little one. I'll make sure to enjoy them."
He accepted her gift once again, wrapping it back and storing it into one of his packs. The silver-haired shinobi's face softened as he gave her one final pat on the head, followed by a playful, exaggerated bow. "I thank both you and your village for your kindness and cooperation."
With colored cheeks, the Girl bowed politely while fighting the urge to wrap herself around his leg like a heat-seeking imp. "…Good bye, Shinobi-san."
("Rat. Ox. Tiger. Hare. Dragon. Snake. Horse. Ram. Monkey. Bird. Dog. Boar. The twelve basic hand seals, named after each of the twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac. Learn them. Remember them. They are your foundation for the ninja arts.")
Following the shinobi's departure, a sense of tension and emergence pervaded the usually tranquil farming village named Sakuragaoka.
The adults gathered nightly, growing increasingly agitated and tight-lipped. The children responded in kind, causing mischief in order to garner the adults' attention. It formed a pitiable cycle—the more trouble the children caused, the more the adults closed themselves off and the more the children did for attention.
The Girl remained reserved, keeping herself sane by practicing each of the twelve hand seals every night while listening to the cicadas sing.
She had had a bad feeling on that day, deep in the throes of summer.
The day had progressed as it always had—in a rather monotonous manner that made her want to pull out plugs of her own hair for the mere change in routine it would bring. In the morn, she greeted the neighbors with a short, polite bow before going on her way to pull up weeds and water the crops. When afternoon came, she enjoyed a brief break for a lunch of rice and steamed vegetables before splitting from her parents to gather dirty clothes for washing. After another meal of rice and vegetables, evening had begun to encroach and the Girl wrapped up the day by folding clothes and helping her mother prepare a dinner of rice, boiled vegetables and grilled fish.
"Go on ta bed, girl." Her father muttered gruffly, exhaustion and irritation coloring his voice. "And stop huddlin' so damn close ta me—I can't stand tha heat this time o' year."
Her hands clutched together, nails digging into the knuckles—an attempt to keep herself from both sobbing and passing out. Her stomach knotted together with paralyzing anxiety and deep, clenching, painful guilt gnawed at her rapidly beating heart.
"…P-Pa…?" Her tongue darted out to lick dry lips. "…Can…we leave…Sakuragaoka?"
"Nope. We ain't got no money ta go nowhere." He replied simply but there was a sharp, terse edge in his voice that left no room for any further pleading. "Don't ask no stupid questions like that again. Got it?"
The Girl turned to her mother for assistance, only to find the woman watching her with a guarded expression. "…Go on ta bed now."
She nodded jerkily, tears pooling as she quickly shuffled away from her parents' presences to tuck herself beneath rough, quilted blankets, leaving them to an evening of timed peace and quiet.
"…Chakra is tha…combination of spiritual…and p-physical energies…"
She stared up the high ceiling of her small home, eyes tracing over the old, worn wood supports holding up an equally shabby straw-thatched roofing. Slowly, her gaze traveled to the windows that provided her darkened room with warm, evening air and soft moonlight. She noted idly that the walls were relatively bare, save for a few pictures pinned up, each of various images drawn in sloppy, childish scrawl—not her scrawl but her brother's, as a gift to his little sister.
Her eyes closed sluggishly, ignoring the tears of shame because she felt no love for the boy that had passed away years ago.
"H-hand seals…are used ta manipulate…tha amount of chakra used for…tha ninja arts s-save taijutsu. There are twelve basic…hand seals…each named after tha twelve animals of…tha Chinese Zodiac…"
Her hands formed the seals with clumsy, unhurried movements. Each held a certain difficulty to it but the Girl formed each without fail, refusing to move onto another until she had correctly completed a current one.
It was dull. It was mechanical. It was mind-numbing. It kept her occupied. It kept her from falling asleep. It staved off the dreams. It kept her grounded in what could be considered reality.
"Monkey."
She breathed in.
"Bird…"
She breathed out.
"…Dog."
Her eyes opened.
"Boar."
She felt them before she saw them, before they had even stepped foot in Sakuragaoka—it was one of the reasons she had managed to escape the chaos unscathed, along with the premonition of danger that followed her throughout that day.
Ignoring the inherent, almost uncontrollable urge to move towards the rapidly approaching plumes of warmth, the Girl swiftly pushed the thick, smothering blankets from her body, slid on a pair of trousers and gathered a few necessary items ideal for travel that she'd covertly hoarded. Packing the items in a worn furoshiki and tying the ends with tight double knots, the Girl made to leave the house, lingering only for the briefest of seconds to utter an inaudible apology and prayer for her slumbering parents and deceased grandmother and sibling. With deft, uncanny stealth and agility, she weaved through the various houses and plots, barely making it to the village's outer limits before her small, weak body demanded rest.
The first shockwave sent her to the ground in surprise. The screams came mere seconds afterwards.
Blades of sharpened wind sliced through crops and houses alike, as if they were nothing more than hot butter. Explosions sounded loud and clear through the once still night, creating a cacophony of noises, smells and sights that had her brain reeling and body trembling from the intensity of it all.
Wind ninjutsu? Could it be...enemy shinobi!? She realized almost deliriously, picking herself up from the ground and cautiously dragging her tired body further from the carnage. A surprise raid on a farming village, attempting to dent food supplies—or create a supply line through enemy territory! T-This isn't good…!
Knowing that she could've, should've done something more to change the fate of her parents—of Sakuragaoka as a whole—the Girl could only turn her back as she did her best to forget the memories of demolished homes, screaming innocents and burning corpses that worked to bury themselves permanently behind her lids—along with the rest of the demonic images that occupied her mindscape.
"P-please forgive—please forgive me…for r-running away…" She wiped away the tears and snot with the back of her quivering hand. "Please f-f-forgive me…for being…weak…"
Her first night as an orphan was spent in the hollow base of a large tree several miles from what was once the farming village of Sakuragaoka, silently, tearfully running through the twelve hand seals as she uttered a prayer for each and every life that had been lost.
Her goal was a simple one: survive alone in Fire Country long enough to locate the distant sources of heat—which she identified as human, simply because of the sheer number in a single, concentrated area.
There were no companions for her in the wilderness of Fire Country—not any of the human sort, at least.
Trees were plentiful and of various sizes—some were towering, solid things with thick, sturdy vines and leaves the size of her torso while others were small, thin twigs that may as well have been nonexistent in comparison. The Girl preferred the middling trees, the ones that were a perfect combination of each extreme that allowed her an ideal place to rest and observe her surroundings. She kept to the trees often, to remain out of sight though she doubted she could do much if she were spotted by a wild, hostile animal or a large, hostile human.
And, she would admit, the trees made good listeners. They kept her secrets, her dreams and promised never to tell another soul of the horrors she endured when her eyes closed.
Food wasn't difficult to obtain after her supply of onigiri ran out on her fifth day in the wilderness. Water sources were plenty, housing numerous freshwater fish for her to eat and she knew of edible berries that grew in the general area that her grandmother was fond of. Hunting wasn't an unfamiliar concept for the Girl; she was grateful for her father's disregard of her weak body, unsuitable for strenuous physical activities—he had spent an entire summer teaching her the various ways to catch and prepare fish and small wild game.
Hand line fishing had been the most convenient for the Girl; it simply required a hook, a reel of wire and patience.
"Lunch an' dinner... Thank you, Pa." The beginnings of a small smile teased the corners of her lips as she pulled in her fourth fish. "…Now to clean 'em!"
In theory, survival alone in the wild of Fire Country for a child as young and small as her was slim but, in practice, the odds didn't seem so lopsided to the Girl.
She fell asleep content, surprisingly warm with a full belly but she awoke when she nearly drowned on a mouthful of her own thick, coppery blood.
"…P-p-please, go a-a-away!"
On her eighth day in the wild, the Girl found herself in a predicament.
Her blunted fingernails anchored into tree bark as harsh, devastating quakes ripped through the base of her temporary perch. She bit her lip in a futile attempt to keep from wailing, drawing blood as her teeth involuntarily ripped through soft flesh. Tentatively, she tilted her head, glancing down at the goliath that threatened her person. The Girl huddled in on herself when the beast released a furious bellow at the simple glimpse of her.
Wild boars. They were not a common sight but were notoriously dangerous when encountered. She had heard stories of them, idle prattle from farmers seeking to while away the time when working in the hot fields. Only the most skilled of mercenaries and shinobi were able to take them unscathed—or so the rumors and tales went.
The Girl was not either of those things. She doubted she ever would be.
Is this—is this my punishment for abandoning my family? For abandoning Sakuragaoka? Her eyes clenched closed, lips trembling as bitter, blood-stained tears invaded her mouth. Am I m-meant to suffer like t-this…?
It was inevitable, her death on that crisp, summer morning.
The boar would be the catalyst but there were several different ways death could be wrought upon her weary body. Mauled by the raging boar; crushed beneath the felled tree she rested upon; plummeting to her death, breaking every glass like bone within her body on the way down—hers was a rather bleak end, especially for one as young as she. Another tremor vibrated her once safe haven and, vaguely, the Girl noticed a hot, uncomfortable stream of liquid going down her leg.
…Or it could be on your own terms. An insidious voice whispered into her ear, prompting her once petrified body into uncontrollable action.
Her quivering hands slowly reached into the depths of her furoshiki, almost as if possessed. She stopped when her fingers brushed against cool metal; a deep, remorseful whimper escaped her lips when she pulled out the iron kunai she'd stashed for preparing meat. Looking at the tool filled her with such a sickening sense of finality that she had to swallow down hot bile that burned her throat the more she thought of it.
There is no need to be afraid. She could see it from the corner of her eye, looming over her shoulder with long clawed hands layered over her own. Come back to where you belong.
Tiny hands held the kunai with an eerily steady translucent grip as numbness flooded the entirety of her being. Her breath came out in harsh, gravely huffs as the cold metal bit into the flesh of her stomach.
There is no turning back now.
With a sharp cry, the Girl lifted the knife into the air and brought it down—
Her eyes snapped open at the spontaneous appearance of scorching heat. Her fingers flexed absently above her head as her brain registered that her kunai was no longer in her grip. A glint of metal caught her eye before her attention was drawn to a rapidly descending amalgamation of white light and heat. Before her eyes, the behemoth wild boar let out a guttural croak as it toppled over, making the girl's form bounce with the impact of it.
"What are you doing out here?" A familiar voice called from a branch above her.
The Girl let out a scream but muffled it with her freezing hands. The source of heat—the human—had disappeared, only to reappear directly above her. Her head tilted back with such speed that, for a moment, she thought she'd given herself a new form of whiplash.
"S-S-Shinobi-san!?" She squeaked, tears invading her vision at the sight of the man. "W-Wha—"
Her words died off as she watched the familiar shinobi pull her lost kunai free from the tree where it had been pinned by one of his own weapons. The dark look that passed over his face made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear from existence. Unable to do that, the Girl pulled her legs to her chest, pressing herself against the unyielding tree and away from the simmering shinobi.
"What did you think you were going to do with this?" He demanded, dropping down to her location with unnatural grace and balance.
The Girl hoped that the question was rhetorical but the tension that hung between them was thick, waiting to be sliced by her words. Licking her dry lips and averting her gaze down to the dead beast and four other shinobi, she stuttered out, "I-I was—I was g-g-g-going to—I—"
"You were going to stab yourself." He interrupted, eyes narrowing as he clenched the knife in his hand. "You were going to kill yourself."
"I-I was—"
"Under no circumstances should a child have thought about doing such a thing!" He berated her, fist slamming down on their branch and making the girl curl in on herself more as she heard a suspicious cracking. "Do you even know the consequences of what you sought to do!?"
She swallowed several times, trying futilely to rid herself of the lump in her throat. The Girl wanted to scream and spit at the man staring at her with such a piercing, soul-rending gaze. How dare her reprimand her. How dare he glower at her with such disappointment. Had he done his job properly, had he protected her and her village—like he claimed shinobi were supposed to do—she wouldn't have had the need for such drastic measures. He had the nerve, the complete and utter gall to question her ability to comprehend her actions—had she lingered in Sakuragaoka, she would've perished; had she simply waited for the wild boar to knock down her tree, she would've suffered. Did he think her without common sense?
"W-w-where were you?" She choked out, clutching the fabric of her tattered top. "I was—I was so scared! 'm not strong like you! I needed you and you w-weren't there for me! So what was I supposed to do!?"
She cried. She shrieked. She sobbed like the small, weak, insignificant child that she was. Somewhere between nearly choking on her tears and wiping snot all over her shirt, she felt a gentle, comforting pressure fall on her head and a hard, sturdy grip wrap around her thin shoulders. The Girl allowed herself to be smothered in the shinobi's overwhelming warmth and she clung to him as if he were a rope keeping her from descending into the darkness of death.
"Don't cry, little one." He whispered softly. "You did well."
She had done nothing that was worth praise. "…Everybody's g-g-gone…"
"…Forgive me…for coming too late, little one." He replied just as softly, remorse evident in his baritone. "But never let a shinigami tempt you again."
The Girl didn't question his words, instead muttering a soft, sincere prayer of gratitude for divine intervention.
A/N: This was supposed to be my project for NaNoWriMo 2015, however, I am a procrastinator deeply in need of aid. Please excuse if things are vague—they will (most) likely be explained as the story goes on. I doubt I've been very clever but, if one catches the references, one can probably guess the "twist" of the story rather quickly. In regards to the unnamed shinobi (though we all know who it is), when he said "But never let a shinigami tempt you again," look at the Wikipedia article for Shinigami—it should explain his words without difficulties.
Please leave constructive criticism, questions and reviews—I can only get better through feedback.