Melancholic Daydreams
I do not own Naruto. Enough said.
This is kind of a drabble-ish introspective on Naruto. It's kind of set in the universe of my other AU Naruto story, Monster. Rest assured, I am working on chapter 5 of Monster.
He stood there watching silently, unseen, an invisible specter. He watched the young blond haired boy, a grin so wide on his face-he wonders if it hurts to smile that broadly-, bounding down the street, laughing raucously.
His laughter is loud and bold, the electric blue eyes alive, the childish rebellion in them evident.
He's bounding across street, wearing a hideous, blinding orange jumpsuit- he winced at the horrible color coordination- or rather- the lack of it. The color is too bright, too orange, too noticeable; the antithesis of what a ninja should be.
The boy is shouting now, hurling some insults at his harried-looking pursuers who look severely annoyed and highly tempted to throttle the rascal they have to chase.
It appears that the boy has vandalized the Hokage monument; the Shodai and Yondaime sport bleeding noses, the Nidaime a swirly pattern on his cheek and lines all over his face, the Sandaime is given a very becoming blush and lipstick.
He cannot help but be fixated, watching the boy elude his pursuers, leaping across the rooftops, that broad, foxy grin never leaving his face. The boundless, hyperactive energy he seems to possess. Where does he get it all from, he wonders, watching the boy transform into a curvaceous, naked blonde woman; a crude joke and also leveraging on the fact that his pursuers may be ninja, but they're undeniably hot-blooded, healthy males.
The boy laughs again- he can't ever seem to stop laughing or shouting- amidst the two fountains of blood his two unfortunate chasers have succumbed into.
The chase goes on, but eventually the prankster is caught by his teacher- an apoplectic, but kind-faced chuunin with a pony-tail and scarred face. He remembers the name faintly, it escapes him- but then he grasps it. Umino Iruka-sensei.
The unfortunate boy is forced to clean off his artwork on the Hokage monument, all the while sulking and pouting petulantly and grumbling as he scrubs down the Shodai's forehead. He's unapologetic, his blue eyes gleaming with defiance. He mutters something about not even having parents to go home to, there's no difference even if he has to stay for this stupid detention because people can't take a harmless joke.
That sentence seems to soften the chuunin instructor, who smiles and offers to take him out for ramen.
He's surprised how the boy's mood does a complete one-eighty, the wide, blinding, sunburst grin replacing the morose expression there. He's amazed that a human being can have that many expressions on his face, at the easy openness the boy displays with his emotions.
The various expressions flicker across the boy's face, he can be read like an open book. He's surprised how the boy doesn't seem to mind at all.
Not having to hide under a facade. He wonder why he feels jealous.
Briefly, he traces the cold porcelain animal mask he's taken off only briefly.
And so he watches, an invisible observer, as the boy noisily slurps up his ramen- so unhealthy and loaded with sodium, he thinks disapprovingly- not to mention that the boy seems to have mysterious ability to inhale the noodles by the lungful, but also somehow manages not to accidentally kill himself by choking.
The boy asks to wear Iruka-sensei's hitae-ate; he can see the childish hopes and dreams in the boy's eyes, the eyes that are not opened wide to the ugly side of the ninja world, still full of childish hope and innocence- unlike his.
I want to be Hokage! The boy proclaims, full of bright determination and vigor, brimming with confidence, building his castles in the air, blissfully unaware of the difficult path that lies ahead.
What kind of dream is that, he wonders? Does the boy know the struggles that lie ahead, the pitfalls, the blood sweat and tears he'll have to shed for his dream? Perhaps he does. Perhaps he does see beyond the rose-tinted view of the world children possess. Perhaps his strength is just in his never ending optimism.
Still, he can't help but be jealous of the simplistic outlook the boy is able to look at the world through- the way he never was able to. He never had a chance. He had been forced to grow up so fast, against his own will.
The boy's ninjutsu and chakra control are so awful he cannot help but flinch in faint horror. The poor quality of the two half-dead looking bunshin he produces are simply terrible, terrible. Is he incapable of mastering even the simplest of jutsu? Naturally, he fails the genin exam; which in his opinion, is already infuriatingly easy. Oh well, he supposed that was what the secondary test he heard of was used for.
By hook or by crook, or perhaps a simply forceful and iron will, the boy does end up graduating- in a rather round about manner which involve a to-be missing-nin and the theft of the Forbidden Scroll.
Still, in spite of the boy's poor standards, he's struck by the fierce determination and the will of fire he can see in the boy's blue eyes. The will to persevere, to do well, to become strong.
He knows he will never be able to compare to the boy in terms of possessing such a strong spirit, despite the fact that he's many times more powerful than the young blond. That he's been called a prodigy and genius of the highest order, a weapon.
He himself holds a higher and far more important rank as a ninja to the Hidden Leaf, but he'll never possess the level of passion and dedication of this boy towards his village. He did not see Konoha as a home, and thus a place to be protected.
He did everything only because it was his duty.
He hated the naivety of the boy, the way he embraced the village that had so cruelly pushed him away during his childhood years, for something that had never been his fault. For something beyond his control, people irrationally hated and shunned him. But then, the boy had a purpose in life, despite his personal opinion that the village didn't deserve it.
A clear, defined purpose, unlike himself.
Was his life a hollow and meaningless existence, then?
No, the boy was foolish and stupid for holding dear and vowing to protect a people that had shunned him. They would never appreciate it. He was just making himself unnecessarily weak, unnecessarily putting his life at risk for nothing.
For nothing.
Then, why is it when he looks at the noisy, orange-clad boy, another obnoxious grin on his face, he feels so empty?
A meaningless and hollow existence.
He turned away; he had seen enough.
Duty calls, and he does not have time to sit here, day-dreaming about what could have been, he thinks. The orange-clad boy vanishes, as the illusion is broken.
For twelve-year-old Uzumaki Naruto, the loud-mouthed and boisterous genin, prankster and Hokage-wannabe is nothing more than a creation of his mind, a figment of his nostalgia and imagination.
The real twelve-year old Uzumaki Naruto does not smile as he replaces the ANBU mask over his face, the mocking face of a fox painted on the cold porcelain. Yes, he is the same age of the students who only just graduate from the Academy, but he is already an ANBU. The elite of the elite.
He has seen far more blood and death then the chuunin instructors in the Academy twice his age. He has interacted with and tasted death far more intimately. He's not like the other children his age; carefree, their greatest goal in life to get that treasured hitae-ate, the stylized symbol of the Hidden Leaf etched into the metal.
Blood already stains his hands and his weapons. He is a remorseless, cold killer who does not possess some inflated sense of morality or the troublesome sentimental attachments. He does not have the legendary Will of Fire fueling him, or that illustrious, burning love and passion for his village driving him. He does not wish to become Hokage, nor to prove the people of the Leaf wrong. He sees now purpose in doing so.
He hates the Leaf, yet he works for it, allowing himself to be wielded for their purposes. He is good at his job, nonetheless, and that is enough for the bloated and senile bureaucrats who only need an emotionless soldier who will take all orders without hesitation.
He despises the naivety of the boy he knows he might have become. The pointless fire and determination, the dedication to a people who would never view him then being anything more than the dirt beneath his feet. He sneers, he scorns the stupidity of the boy, but he tries to deny the admiration he cannot help but feel at the boy's doggedness, his strong-will.
And even as he finds himself scorning and spiting the foolish boy who can love so whole-heartedly, he feels an overpowering sense of emptiness.
He knows that deep down, he wishes that he could be that boy.
He doesn't want to be the impassive, detached soldier who is dead inside, who can't feel passion or love. He wishes he could have been that noisy, annoying boy who wore too much orange, that boy everybody calls the dead last.
The boy who is able to see the best of humanity, the boy who is complete, and not hollow and empty like himself.
The boy who does not go through the motions of everyday life like an automaton, who has a dream and a goal.
But he knows no matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape. He will never be able to become that Uzumaki Naruto. He has gone too far down the path he walked, beyond the point of no return.
For him, there are no vibrant colors of life, no overarching purpose and principles he lives up to. Nothing but a bleak, everlasting present.
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