Hello fanfiction. Goodness it's nice to be writing again even if very leisurely. I've been writing fanfiction for some time albeit under a different pen name. I have no interests in divulging my previous account name on as I'm looking for a fresh start and one with a separate identity. I haven't written on here in so long anyway. I hope you all enjoy this story which I've been working on for a couple of months just for fun. I plan on finishing it but don't see it being quick. I write for fun and for the people who enjoy reading my work but those things can come in conflict when I become strained on time and my poor readers must wait for an update. Hopefully we can find that sweet sweet balance. Please enjoy and review.
White Ravens of Oni
by GreenMonarch
Chapter 1: Hell Froze Over
Frozen.
It was a frozen wasteland. There was no warmth in this village nor was there much left in the people, whose bodies, hearts and very souls often froze over with coldness. If you were able to endure the thick cold, there was always plenty more struggle and hardship to overcome.
It wasn't easy living in such a cold and harsh position, especially when you were as poor as the rags you wore, yet, there was strength even in such an unlikely place. People found the means to survive and even to smile occasionally. Still, this place was hell, and the weather was hell. A cold one.
There was hardly a time he hated most, the boy had noted to himself when the snowfall had drifted down for the first time in a few months. The chills that took his body were always so much. The teen held his body as close as possible. It was an attempt to impede the falling soft coldness from stealing the little warmth he had left in his shivering frame.
It did little to help, but perhaps it was a better attempt than what the tattered cloth that was his clothing could achieve on its own.
The boy reached down to grasp his shirt, trying to keep one of the larger holes closed. There were half a dozen smaller to fill its place easily, and a sigh of defeat appeared before him as another terrible chill shook him.
After walking the icy streets for so long, the cold was starting to get the best of him and he found himself losing autonomy of his on stiff muscles as they tried to generate some warmth of their own. He couldn't go on longer, so he decided that it was rather best if he stopped for the night. Looking up at the gray sky, he let the frosty flakes touch his pale face. Cold air brushed across his hollowed cheekbones blowing the messy raven hair out of his face.
The snow fell steadily, gently.
To Sasuke, it seemed like an almost never-ending stream this time of year. Strangely, as much as he despised the cold, he actually liked the snowfall, or rather he liked the look of it; the feel of it. It was soft and delicate and not yet ruined by the dirty, soiled earth.
The snow seemed unflawed as it fell on his face, the flake quickly melting. The cold drop of water caressed his cheek as it rolled down and off his jaw-line. It looked far too pure to be falling in a place as dingy as this...on a face as stained as his own.
Sasuke stayed that way for a while, mesmerized by the snow until a familiar pain tugged at his stomach and drew him away from his thoughts. He grabbed his stomach as another hunger pain braced him, causing him to emit an audible groan. There was no food. There was hardly ever food. He lived off the streets and the streets rarely provided. As hungry as he was, there was no hope of scavenging up another meal or any semblance of one. He was worn, and cold, and simple didn't have it in him keep going. He reserved what was left in him to find a suitable place to sleep and stay warm.
He walked the next few blocks, avoiding mangy mutts and mangy people who had even less hope and health than himself and had resorted to begging. He arrived as his usual hole in the wall...quite literally. He looked the weak infrastructure up and down; it was a ruined building that he'd become familiar with. An old school or library he supposed as it was full of old books and scrolls even while a good portion had already been used for burning material. With cracks in the exterior and a gaping hole in the roof, it looked like it's been through war. 'It probably has,' he thinks. Most of the
inside is ruined from the elements.
He crawls through one of the holes he's found on the side of the lower foundation into a crawlspace. Closing the hole with some plywood and cement blocks, he gets a good look. It's dark and it's cold, but it's mostly dry and somehow much warmer than anything else he has access to and he's taken the time to make it as comfy as possible.
There is what he has of his clothes here. It's not much. Strange items and etched stones litter the corners. They are all things he finds interesting or odd. A cloth bracelet, a kaleidoscope, a lucky tallon, A blood red marble. They bring him comfort to observe on particularly cold days he decides to stay in.
Crude drawings are scribbled on the walls but a few nice ones as well: a sun colors his ceiling reminding him that it exist though he's hardly seen it around. Some of his favorite books lie wrapped in plastic, protected from water and mildew. Besides them, is a radio and he remembers that there's a decent pair of batteries he's recently placed inside.
He's not comfortable or calm enough to read or draw so he pulls the radio out from it's plastic and lies down, pulling a worn blanket along with him. It was old, and smelled odd, but it was warm.
He fumbles with the antenna for a couple of minutes and has maneuvered part of the thin wire through a small hole in his makeshift door. When he switches the battered device on and turns the knobs, he hears all the sounds he expect. He hears the hum of white noise. He can't remember the last time he's caught a decent signal but he doesn't mind.
The static is somehow soothing and he prefers it to the silence of the dead of night. He turns on his back and faces the ceiling as he listens. When he closes his eyes, sometimes he can hear a woman singing soft lullabies, or a couple singing a duet. He wonders if he will ever be able to hear the shocking conclusion to crime thriller he imagined up a few weeks ago. He heard his stomach..
Out of the snow, and into the quietness and mock protection that he's decided to make his own, he settled down into thought, searching for the quiet music in the static, and the peace to find sleep but his stomach reminds him of his hunger.
"Shut up" he mumbled only half consciously and turning on his side; his fatigue finally coming in the form of drowsiness. He looked around tiredly as if looking for someone. Of course he was alone, but sometimes, it's as if he actually expected someone to be there. He was alone as always.
His thoughts drifted to another time; a time when there were others beside him who were there for him; a father, a mother, and… and a brother…
But all that was gone, and it was just him. They were gone and he was alone in a strange world he knew he didn't belong but couldn't understand or remember why. Every time his memory was dulled, he felt the need to remember...
He hated when his mind drifted to thoughts like these. Always occurring as his senses fogged. He shuts his eyes tight, attempting to avoid the conscious dreams of his past, and hoped for more pleasant dreams in actual sleep.
Sighing heavily, he pushed every physical sensation; every mental thought away, allowing the buzz in his head to die down, replaced by the whispering of the radio, and soon he fell into a deep sleep.
End.
GreenMonarch
I'm out of the swing of writing, not that I was ever any good I suppose. Anyway, I hope many are interested and will leave reviews. Thank you for taking the time to read and please leave any feedback no matter how negative it is.
