Time.
Time has never been on my side. It has passed too slowly for my taste. Inside, I have aged, and with this newfound age has come bitterness. This rapid aging has brought not only the bitterness, but a maturity of sorts, a wisdom. I have been called a genius. Then again, I have been called many names in my time in my "home," Kumogakure.
I say "home" sarcastically. This is not a home. I consider myself homeless. Though I wear the Cloud Village's emblem upon my headband, visible as it wraps around my small head, overlapping my long, black hair, I hold no preference to this village. A village is a village. It matters not who lives there; they are still the same, and therefore none should bear any special favor.
My pale-skinned hand rises to my eye. Typically it is abnormally round but today it is jaggedly shaped, some parts swollen and blackened. The most recent sign of my conflicts. I wish the other children would just leave me to myself. I like to hide away in my darkened room, the lights off as if maybe if I am unseen, I am forgotten. Maybe my mindset is that if no one hears or sees me, I am not there. A girl can only hope.
A knock on my door startles me. The voice that follows calls my name-"Enkai!"-which alerts me as to whom said voice belongs. It is that of Yotsuki Yumi, one of my elder sisters. I can tell it is her and not Kazan, her twin, as she is more cheerful, and her voice radiates warmth and joy. Without being told she could do so, Yumi opens the door and enters.
Yumi, like her twin, is rather tall for her age of fourteen, although Kazan was still slightly taller. Their looks in general are very different. Examining my sister as I have time and time again, I feel a familiar jealousy. Public opinion is that she is the most beautiful girl in the village, with her blonde cascade of hair falling down onto her deeply tanned-and all naturally colored-shoulders, bright, enchanting blue eyes beneath feathery eyelashes, an already-developed body, and an award-winning smile. Yumi can make any sort of clothing fashionable, and she is often a trend-setter. Occasionally after returning from a mission with blood-stained clothes, the next day, people have wandered the streets with purposely red-stained outfits.
As she flicks the light on, my pupils sting, having not seen that much brightness in a while. "I know you don't really care to talk to me," she says, her adorned lips in a semi-contradicting smile, "but Mother said to get you. We're going to Konoha for a while. There's a Chuunin exam. She thinks we're ready."
"Tell her I said 'no, thank you'," I return quietly, my developed animosity flooding over in my voice, my dark aura battling with her shining light. There is no hope for me to succeed in this sort of exam; I have accepted the fact that I will more than likely never pass the rank of Genin. My ninjutsu is an embarrassment at best, and I lack all ability in the fields of genjutsu. Well, to be fair, my ninjustu is decent, I suppose, but no where near that of those I would be testing with. I can never even faze my sisters with it. My taijutsu is my best bet. I am small and appear sickly because of my pale skin and thin body, but my strength is not proportioned to my body size, and I am quick like the lightning for which my village is known.
"Not going to happen," Yumi retorts. "Get packing. I believe we're leaving today or tomorrow." With no further word, she exits, forgetting to turn the light back off as I wish she would as if she's hoping leaving me alone with the light will either cheer me up, or make me sizzle until I am no more. In all sincerity, that is probably not her intention, but I am a glass half-empty kind of person. I often see things in their worst possible way.
As I slowly stretch my short legs to stand, I sense a presence in my doorway. This person was darker than even I, and the eyes burrow into me hatefully. They belong to my eldest sibling, my brother Hayame. He is considerably tall for his twenty years, but unlike some other boys his age he knows, it is confirmed that he has finished growing. Hayame is a well-rounded Jonin, and he possesses a deadly combination of ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu. Though considerably young, he is sensei to a squad made up of three Genin who shared the Yotsuki name: Manami, Yoshiro, and Jaiden. The three of them are siblings; Manami is the same age as my twin sisters, Yoshi my age, and Jaiden about a year younger. My own squad, made of up of Yumi, Kazan, and myself, has the luck of having our own mother as our sensei.
I try to ignore him now. That is usually what he wants of me, so I don't understand why he stands before me. His black eyes follow me as I try to move across the room to pack, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his dark upper lip raise in a loathing sneer. Feeling awful with eyes upon me, I turn to him and demand, "What?" as forcefully as I can.
My own brown eyes locked on him, I take the time to observe him. He needs to dye his hair again-the inherited red from our mother is beginning to show at the roots of his falsified black. Sometimes I think he envies my black hair; if I could, I would give it to him. I hate it. It reminds me of my father, just like my eyes. "Let me set a few ground rules," he began in his unexpectedly deep voice. Puberty had done well for him. "In Konoha, we do not interact. We are not close. I am just a sensei who happens to be from the same village as you. Got it?" Without waiting to hear my answer, he departs.
Fury swells inside my frozen heart. Hayame has always hated me since I came here. I never asked to live with Mother and my siblings. It just happened. Formerly, I lived with my paternal grandmother-who, by the way, never told me anything about my father, a bum I haven't yet had the displeasure of meeting and am hoping is dead-in Sunakagure. If anywhere has ever been my home, Suna is it.
In Suna, all is sand, and there is little water. That might contribute as to why I, with water as my chakra type, have always had difficulty with my ninjutsu. It was challenging to practice growing up. In fact, the only thing that had kept me going was not a thing at all, but a person. It is safe to say I would not have made it anywhere without that person. He means everything to me, even now, after I haven't seen him for three years. I'm not sure that means much, however; "everything" to me is not all that much.
My hands deftly remove clothes from my closet and place them carefully into my suitcase without my brain's conscious command to do so. It's as if my body is ready to go, even if I am not sure my mind is willing. Of course, I would love to leave Kumo and never look back, but I know I'll be coming back eventually. Still, a vacation would be a nice escape, wouldn't it? Maybe it's just the exam part that I am weary about.
Glancing at the doorway, I spy a familiar smile. It belongs to Kazan. Her appearance floods over me; she is very hard to miss. Kazan has red hair like our mother and Hayame naturally, except that hers is brighter and more of a fiery shade. Her eyes are blue, but not the same as Yumi's; Kazan's are much darker in color. As I mentioned, she's tall, towering over me even from afar. Her skin is a darker brown than both her twin and brother. Of my family, she is easily my favorite. Hayame and I have a hate-hate relationship, and Yumi tries too hard to cheer me up. Kazan is more accepting of my asocial ways, and she understands that I cannot be changed.
"Hey, short-stuff," the redhead greets, her somewhat-abnormally pointed teeth in a blindingly white smile. If anyone else mocks my height, I am jumpy and defensive, but it is different with Kazan. Maybe it's because I do not fear her resentment; I expect her to accept me because she has in the past. I say "expect" instead of "trust" because I do not trust her. That's nothing personal. She knows I don't trust anyone. She accepts this. "All packed?"
"Yes," I deliver a hushed response. My verbalized answer, accompanied by a nod of the head, release themselves before I can think about it. When had I finished packing? It doesn't matter, because I am finished, but I do not recall doing so. Whatever. It means nothing.
"Wicked," she grins and enters all of the way. Her cheery attitude-but not overwhelming, like Yumi often is-tempts the corners of my lips up, but I resist the urge to smile. It might give her false hope. I think she's convinced that I can become normal. I will never be normal.
She observes the broken look in my eyes. I know that's what she's looking at, because hers are locked on mine. Either that, or she's wondering what my father looks like. I know she considers this; I look nothing like our mother. None of us-except Mother, of course-have any idea what he looks like, so I think she's often wondered where I get my dead-looking hair, pale skin, thin body type, and round, brown eyes. In fact, my appearance is almost fish-like. Despite her observation, Kazan clearly decides not to ask any questions; instead, she leaves me to myself. I grab my suitcase and soon follow, turning off the lights and letting the dark soak back into the five navy blue walls that made up my untraditional bedroom.
I took my place in the living room of our elaborate home. It featured warm colors, mostly yellow and orange, Mother's favorite. Even the couch was a brighter yellow than I cared to look at for too long, else irritating dots appear before my eyes and have to be rubbed away. This house dissatisfies me; the brightness only mocks me.
Soon thereafter, we are off. Before the eight of us-Mother, Hayame, myself, Kazan, Yumi, Jaiden, Yoshiro, and Manami-place a single toe outside of Kumogakure, Kazan reminds us that we need to see Yodaime Raikage before we depart. Of course, we all know she just wants to say goodbye to her father. Yumi agrees instantly, also eager to visit him, and Hayame begrudgingly, but mother is slightly weary of the thought. She has not mastered how to interact with him as she would her leader if he was not her ex-husband. Their relationship is strained, and they over-formalize to conceal the awkwardness. Truthfully, I don't feel their father is entirely over Mother, but she has moved on considerably. There's me, for example, but more recently, this is evident in her choice of boyfriend.
We currently drop our bags outside of the Raikage's palace. Sometimes Kazan and Yumi spend weekends here, but for different reasons. I think Yumi enjoys the pampering and lady treatment-they are Ladies, after all, as their father is the Raikage-but Kazan isn't really into that girlish lifestyle. The reason for her arrivals is just to be with her father. Their relationship is better and more whole than practically any I've ever seen.
"Someone should stay outside and guard the luggage," Manami points out. Her silver hair drapes around her shoulders; her bangs, curled over her headband, have grown too far out. She has black eyes that are currently fixated on a point on my mother's forehead, to whom she was speaking. Manami always gives her conversations-like her battles-her fullest attention, so it is no surprise to see the concentration on her face.
"I'll stay," I interject. Everyone except Kazan, who apparently knows more than they thought somehow, is slightly taken aback at the sound of my voice, a sound they so rarely hear. I don't want them to think I've made some crazy metamorphosis, so I add in a dark mutter, "Better than going in there," and take a seat by the luggage with my back against the building. My arms cross in front of my chest.
Mother glanced at me for a moment. I try not to look at her. She turns to Hayame briefly. "Stay with her." Hayame nods, finding himself with no other choice, and she and the others exit from our sight, hidden behind the walls of the palace.
For no reason other than boredom, I find myself wondering about how much I really know about my mother. I know what she looks like: tall, redheaded, blue-eyed, graceful, beautiful. I know her name: Issho Karei. I know I am her daughter, Issho Enkai. I know she has four children from two men, one of whom she regrets meeting. I have accepted this fact. Now that I think about it, I hardly know her. This thought, I wonder if she's had herself. Does she realize there's a stranger living in her household?
They return shortly and uneventfully, and we are on our merry way. We were apparently offered carriages, but Mother has decided we should walk. Apparently, it's some kind of training or something. After we have been walking a while, I glance back at her, wanting to run. When I run, I am not broken, nor unwanted. I am just part of the wind. Mother nods and mouths, "Go ahead," and I think maybe I'm not such a stranger after all.
I lose this thought quickly in the wind. I lose all thoughts quickly in the wind. They seem to rush away, being sucked from my mind and replaced with adrenaline. I feel untouchable, impervious to all damage. If only that feeling could last…If only I could run forever…
But time has never been on my side.