Disclaimer: I own nothing of canon Naruto
Warning: Eventually it will get rated M for Blood, Violence and maybe a few other things. I mean, the Naruto-verse deals with war so be warned that if you couldn't handle the canon show... then you probably won't want to read this.
"I don't ask you to like reality. I only ask you to be strong enough to face it. There is nothing beyond this. There is only the perfection we attain by becoming weapons, as strong and merciless as a sword. There is no essential good in living. Life is nothing in itself. It's a place marker that proves who's winning, and we are the winners. We are always the winners. There is nothing but the winning. Even winning means nothing" -Brent Weeks
I've long since come to the conclusion that my death is an inconvenient occurrence. It almost always happens without warning. Imagine my plight: suddenly, you're stolen away from your life, your family, your friends, your culture and country -and above all: those few whom you love and are loved by in turn. Just to face it all over again.
Truly, death is a forced separation, though I've heard some call it a temporary parting of ways.
I shouldn't scoff at the notion... It's a pretty hope, if nothing else. I can see where some might be comforted by it. And who knows? For them, it might even be true. But personally? If that possibility exists, it obviously doesn't apply to me.
I can't help but wonder, here in this grey fog of potential and possibility between lifetimes, if there was ever a time when I truly believed that? I think that during my first life, I might have -it's a wonderfully saccharine idea, after all. And I suspect that if there ever was such a time when I was young enough to have believed that, then it had to have been then.
My fading memories of my first lifetime are few and far between, but from what little I cling to, it was a carefree life of indolent luxury. I can't recall all that much of it, but I'm confident that it was my most peaceful life. I doubt that I'll ever have one like it again. War follows me… or maybe I follow war?
I once knew a boy who chastised me for being too reckless with my life. The genuine concern in his azure-sky eyes makes me want to smile even now.
He didn't know about all the lives I've endured, and the many more I'll come to face. One time I was a poet of moderate renown who died in war, and before that I was a child soldier who dodged puberty before it could damn me with acne. What my name was that time escapes me -it was one of my shorter lives, and the details blur can together sometimes.
At one point, I distinctly remember being a xenobiologist. I died while working with my peers to try and recover after a disastrous First Contact scenario. Humanity had been well on her way to being the only intelligent species in the Milky Way. She ensured it. The interplanetary ban on biological warfare was deemed not to extend to aliens; human rights were human rights, they preached in the streets. I don't remember where I stood on that divide, and I try not to linger on that life's memories on the off-chance that I might remember.
Because I don't think that I've ever really been a kind person. I've been courteous and polite, of course. Even generous wherever I could (this affliction of mine makes martyrdom a bearable option, if no less painful). But kind? I haven't been genuinely kind in a while.
The most recent kindness I can recall is the time I was a frontline soldier who fought on the Terra side of the Earth-Mars civil war. I had volunteered for war, faint melodies of liberty and songs of freedom urging me and spurring me to action from the hazy recesses of my first life. By then, Earth had changed into something far from the one I had held loyalty to. I wouldn't find out until it was too late.
My participation in that particular military campaign is… not something I'm proud of. I had been doing so well before that! However it might have started, I can't find it within myself to regret pushing Victoria -who was little more than a child with a child's zeal and a child's recklessness -out of the way. She had her life to live, and I could always move to the next one.
Because if there's anything that I can count on in this weird life of mine where eras and gender are as fluid as the names I wore, it's the fact that (no matter what) my life will go on. I'll wake up at some point in Earth's history with a new body and a new name… It's almost as nice as it sounds.
Still. Trapped as I am in the wheel of samsara, all things seemed to take on a particularly… skewed look. The longing for knowledge and the desire to understand became my hunger and thirst. I crave intellection like a Haze addict craves their next fix and I want to hoard wisdom like I imagine a dragon would hoard gold.
Slowly, people are becoming less important. A few dozen lifetimes will do that to you, with faces and names blurring into one another. That's not good, I know. I want to stop this seed of apathy from growing, but it seems like this… disease of mine is catered to nourish it to fruition. I fear for the day where I stop caring about it. I've seen too many horrifying things happen when such a mindset is encouraged.
Luckily, I still care about the younger humans. Children and babies make my heart smile and I'm almost tempted to have my own. But I can't. I can't allow myself to have children. I just wish I could remember why.
OH! The grey fog's turning black, and I can feel my consciousness merging with crude, infantile flesh. Ensoulment isn't a pleasant process, I assure you.
I feel restless, and I had lips to smile then they would be smirking a vulpine grin of eager anticipation. I can't wait to learn everything that this lifetime -this world- will have to offer me.
xxx
I felt weak and cold -so very cold. My frail, newborn limbs responded poorly to my demands. That's okay. Aggravating, yes. But okay. Given long enough, this body will mature to meet my mental demands.
Warm, rough hands lifted me and I opened my eyes to a world of bright, blurry colors. Like a kaleidoscope just out of focus, I couldn't begin to hope to make sense of my surroundings. But judging from the lack of white in that kaleidoscope, I… don't think that this is a hospital.
Oh. Oh no. This isn't another pre-medical care era, is it?
A thick, coarse cloth was wrapped around my tiny body -rough on this body's red, sensitive skin -and, involuntarily, I mewed in protest. Cool air caressed my face as I was placed in a second person's arms.
This person's arms were warm and damp with… sweat, I think. Ah, this body's mother? I relaxed in her embrace as she spoke to the one who held me earlier.
Their chatter was unlike any of the languages that I've encountered before. It didn't seem like one of the variations of English that I'd been raised with during my last few lifetimes. Their words and style seemed almost like twenty-first century Japanese, but the words were too different for that. Maybe it's an offshoot?
"Shima," I heard my mother coo softly as she gently pressed a kiss into my forehead. Lulled into sleep by the metronomic beating of my mother's heart, I drifted to sleep.
Hey all! This is my first Naruto fanfic and I've decided to do a sorta new take on the Reincarnated Self-Insert idea. My own twist is mostly because I don't think that I could do it anywhere as well as Miss Nanami-chan or Silver Queen.
Honestly, I'm still kinda ironing out my planned plot but I wanted to go ahead and get this chapter posted. Please leave a review and let me know what you think about this!
I mean, if nothing else, it's definitely a start…?
Have a nice day,
-R