Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
The Good Ship Called Fate
They call me blind.
Of course, they have good reason to, if one judges by their standards. I will not deny it. They who have 'mastered' their bloodlines, they who see all that they care to see, and no more—to them, I am sightless. To them, I am helpless as a newborn kitten; without the use of my eyes or ears, without a coat to protect me from the frigid world.
They think that they know my helplessness, and they think that they make good use of it. They think that punishment will entice me to look at things the way they do, to see only what they see. They do not understand. They will not understand. They do not know how futile their efforts really are.
And I, I have known. Since before the birth of what they call my mind, I have known. I know that I am not meant to use my sight in such trivial ways. I am not meant to be the obedient puppy, guard-dog and servant rolled into one convenient and easily-sated package. I do not intend to fetch their sticks or catch their Frisbees.
They call me blind, because that is what I am. Blind to their physical world, open instead to the wider realm beyond. I see things that they could never comprehend; could never so much as ponder without losing what remains of their sanity. What would Father think if I spoke to him, across that long white expanse of tablecloth and silverware, telling him that a giant evil snake-man was coming to kill us in the Chuunin Exams?
Hanabi would have laughed.
They call me blind, because they do not know what I know. They do not see, nor do they want to. I am the only one who observes the sword that hangs over our collective heads. Why else do you think I am always so nervous?
Even if I did find the strength to say something, would they listen? My words would fall upon closed ears. They already have their image of me, pre-requisitioned to the box labeled 'useless'.
Of course, they would never dare speak this aloud. They protect their truth well, assigning me titles that they hope will throw off suspicion. 'Hinata-sama'. 'Hinata-san'. The titles mean nothing here. They are lacking the attachment, the respect and honor that should go past the syllables and echo in the voice. Here, they are just dead-weight, dragging painfully through pointed formality.
I may be blind, but I foresee the demise of this village. We are rotting from the inside out. It becomes more apparent with every passing day.
I watch in silence as the 'kunoichi' is reduced to no more than an indulgence, if it ever was more than that. Nothing but a meaningless word, a pretty, rosy little façade of peace, love, and happiness built by well-meaning men to enshrine their women in the beauty of eternal weakness. Like the busy-work that we used to get so often in the Academy. Just a distraction from the harsh realities of life.
Watch closely, and it becomes obvious, how hard they work to keep us from succeeding. They urge us to strive for perfection, and then tell us not to overexert ourselves. They stress the importance of being a strong ninja, and then tell us we should avoid the danger.
And I know their reason.
Why train us at all, if we will only be ordered to throw it away? The answer lies in certain history books, ones that have been quietly blacklisted as 'banned' by the elite string-pullers, ones that have wandered into my hands entirely by chance. In these books, one may find a certain chapter, on a certain ancient culture known as 'Sparta'. In this culture, men and women alike were trained in the art of war, scandalizing other countries who made a point of keeping females 'in the home'.
But the motive is overlooked more often than not; a little, almost non-existent fact. It has often been said that those who are ignorant of history are condemned to repeat it. And it repeats here. On page seven-hundred thirty-four. Third paragraph. Second sentence.
'For Sparta remained a country run by men, and defended by men. The Spartan diplomats knew that healthier women would breed healthier male children; therefore, women were instructed to exercise vigorously, but were rarely permitted to fight."
It makes sense, in a twisted way. But it is also a mistake. By taking the Spartan path, Konohagakure will become like the Spartans. Lost, forgotten, labeled as a failed civilization. A lesson unlearned.
Mine is a family that puts their stock in Fate. They rely on destiny, writing engraved in stone. I abandoned that familiar prison long ago.
I prefer to see Fate as a ship. We are all riding on it now, because we do not know any other way. But I think I am beginning to see. We are all beginning to see. To see that there is an ocean under this ship, and land in front of it. And that there is always the option of jumping overboard.
When I build up the strength, that is what I shall do. There are no guards at the rail, and the man at the helm is a sightless robot. We are trapped only by fear of the unknown, and that is all.
This oneshot was formed from the combination of a suggestion from 'BrokenAngel, ForgivenDevil'-sama and a blitzkrieg-style assault from my muses. It's also my first Hinata-centric fic (did you guess?) Anyways, I hope it was, at the least, a somewhat original perspective.