In memoriam.
One night, I had a dream. After endless weeks of silent, empty sleep (causing me to dread going to bed) I dreamt of a boy. He was blue-eyed, evenly tanned, with wild and sort-of long yellow hair. His entire being spoke of warmth and energy, a happiness that seemed to block out anything relatively evil in the vicinity.
Against a white background, he appeared to glow. The orange clothing didn't quite help with that, but instead added to the joyful demeanour. Slowly and meaningfully, he raised a glowing hand that radiated a welcoming feeling, and held it out to me.
I wanted to take it. I wanted to reach out and bask in the boy's sincere affection for whatever he looked at. It was there, in that bright, smiling dream that I wanted to stay for eternity.
But the thing that made it so warm and amazing was the feeling that I had to hold onto it for as long as possible before waking up and going about my daily business. And as much as I willed my hand to be enveloped in his, my alarm clock rang, and I rubbed my eyes, wanting to cry from the loss of such beauty.
Nevertheless, I went to school in a happier mood. For weeks, I hadn't slept well, fearing the awaiting darkness that would swallow me whole every night. And yet, I'd had a sunny, vividly dazzling vision the previous night, and as I looked in the mirror before heading to catch my bus, the dark bags that had sat heavily under my eyes for a good month already seemed noticeably lighter.
Andrew, my step-brother, remarked upon this, saying something about sleeping. It was still the morning, and I hadn't heard him properly. Just because I had a good dream (and remembered it for once) didn't mean that I had to be fully awake at 7:30am.
Ugh, the horror of that thought caused me to shudder, and do my best to suppress it. Living with Andrew in Colorado had strengthened one of my most prominent habits; show nothing that would greatly bother others. The previous year I had lived with my father and his girlfriend, Krista, and that had been the birth of such actions of mine, for back then it seemed that everything I did had gotten me a glare around the dark-haired woman. In my mother's and step-father's house, things were a bit more lax… the step-father himself was incredibly humorous, and my mom was in good spirits daily. The only thing that I had to worry about was them asking too many questions.
I was a girl of few words, and would much rather be left to my own devices. In a close-knit, loudly outspoken family, that was quite hard to achieve.
The school day following the barely-acknowledged bus ride was boring and sleepy. I couldn't remember most conversations with the people who attempted to talk to me (I tried not to make any friends in the area, knowing that I would be moving back to Canada after this 'trial period'. Although I told mom that I would test out living in America, I'd already made up my mind that I would head back to Ontario by the end of the school year). During lunch break, I'd used a computer to check the internet, looking up my dream and any possible interpretations. It was more of an interest than to actually use the strange knowledge, and it was also an excuse to waste time.
Despite this, I dwelled much on the subject.
According to the dream moods site, seeing a blonde person in a dream states that I need to 'enjoy life and live it up'.
I heartily agreed. My life certainly wasn't going anywhere. Well, nowhere that I attempted to go, at any rate.
So school was a bore. The bus ride home was occupied by a book. When my step-brother and I arrived at the house, we split our separate ways. I headed to my room (decorated in tan, blood red, and black) and he headed for the TV—typical teenage boy behaviour, in my opinion.
Dinner that night was spaghetti. I participated little in the dinner conversation, except to join Andrew and defend our love of anime and manga (mom thought we needed to get a life). I dreaded sleep, and remained on my laptop until around 11, when I finally decided that I should get SOME sleep.
The dream came back. It was the boy again, but older. He still filled the air with his grin, but this time there was an underlying current of experience. His bright blue eyes were close to shut, squinting above his smile. A black headband was around his forehead, a metal plate in the centre, partly covered by his blonde hair.
There were three other people this time. They looked the same age as the boy in the previous dream. All were dressed in black. The blonde boy— well, he was more of a man, now—had his arms around the outermost two. A brown haired girl, and a black haired boy. Squished between them was another boy, this one with silver hair that stood on end.
The girl's hair hung just past her shoulders. Purple rectangles were painted on her cheeks, and accented her facial structure. Next to her, the silver haired one had covered his face with a dark mask, but somehow managed to scowl with only his eyes at the blonde man. Finally, was the black haired boy. Skiing goggles sat atop his head, and he was grinning along with the blonde man, happy to be there. His dark eyes shone with delight, as if he were happy just to be alive.
Something gave me the feeling that he was. That they all were.
The silver haired boy noticed me first, and without a hint of surprise, nodded in an encouraging manner in my direction. The blond man took hint of this, and directed his sky-coloured gaze to me, smirking as if I were the most important and cool thing in the world. The last two spotted me simultaneously. The girl waved, and the black haired boy stuck his hand out enthusiastically, welcoming me to their group.
Like the last dream, I willed my hand to lift, wished it to go into the boy's grasp; but I didn't budge. An overwhelming sadness flooded through me as I felt that I wasn't supposed to mingle with these dream people. These forever-smiling wonderful people.
As if I were watching a movie, the silver haired boy broke off from the group and walked towards me, heading a bit to my left instead. As he passed me, he seemed to grow, turn into a man, the sorrow a torrent of emotion in his eyes. He patted my shoulder, said something I couldn't hear, and was gone, out of eyesight.
In slow motion, the blonde man and two children—who couldn't be older than 13—turned, waving at me and the out-of-sight silver man, and faded into the white.
I was alone again, and awoke earlier than my alarm clock.
For the entirety of the next day, I wondered who those people were. My imagination took me to new worlds, sprawling out stories in my head. I spent the second half of the day out on the roof, skipping classes. It didn't matter; I wouldn't be able to concentrate with this strange line of thought anyways.
I didn't bother with the internet this time; these dreams felt different, as if they were dreams, but they weren't. A reality that was detached from my own.
The only thing that stood out in my life was those dreams. The third one had all the previous members, but the silver haired person was missing. There were also more… way more people, multitudes of beings that I hadn't noticed before. The white background of the previous two dreams seemed to have disappeared, giving way to many new faces, clothing styles, and a soft murmuring that could only be voices long unspoken.
A wrinkled old man in white and red robes, a wooden pipe sticking out of his mouth, had his hand resting on the blonde's shoulder, in a comforting and grandfatherly way. A redheaded man with an expressionless, seamless face sat in the corner, appearing to have no atmosphere about him whatsoever, except one of stillness. A feminine man with straight silver hair and two red dots on his forehead looked like he was meditating in the middle of the floor. A tanned, muscled guy with short spiky brown hair had half his face covered in bandages, his forehead hidden by another one of those metal headbands. A large sword sat on his back, and his hand rested on the head of a kid with long brown hair, who looked a lot like a girl. A broken mask was at the kid's feet.
There was a group of men, with varying facial features and hairstyles and clothes, who all had the same purple sash with a kanji mark in a circle on them. They stood together, talking and laughing, definitely old friends. There was someone with two head that gave me the creeps, and an incredibly large populous of dark haired and dark eyed people (that seemed to be related to the boy from before) that floated around.
So many faces. My sight got confused trying to pick out individuals, and there was no one recognizable. My imagination was pretty good, but I knew for a fact that I couldn't come up with this many people.
"Who are they?" I tried to say. When it seemed that no one heard me, not even the group of three in front of me, I guessed that in dreams like these, you weren't supposed to talk.
But I was answered.
The silver haired man from the second dream was beside me, and this time I was able to turn my head and look at him. He was grave, his one visible eye (the other covered by a headband) looking out upon the many people, some looking like they weren't even fully human. His voice, muffled slightly from the mask, said, "They're the dead."
"But," I countered rationally and evenly, "My great-grandparents aren't here. No one from the newspapers is here. None of these people are recognizable."
"And because you don't recognize them, they didn't once exist?" He asked, not once glancing at me.
I turned my gaze uncomfortably back to the people.
A finger was raised, pointing to the yellow-haired man I first saw. "This person here is Minato. He was my sensei, and he was also the fourth leader of our village. He gave his life to protect it." The finger drifted downwards slightly, to the two children not many years younger than myself. "These two are Rin and Obito. They were my teammates." Apparently the subject of their deaths was too painful to say. I respected that, and listened patiently as the direction of his finger changed to the old man with his hand on the shoulder of who I now knew as Minato. "He's the fifth leader of our village, and his name's Sarutobi. He died defending the village as well."
I didn't quite willingly accept that these people in front of me were actually dead. After all, I'd never heard of such things; who the hell dies for their town? It wasn't something that happened in the current century, which was for sure. And who was the silver haired man next to me?
The man continued to point out people. Zabuza and Haku. Sasori. Hidan. Kakuzu. The twelve elite guardians, whom the man's comrade, Asuma, was a part of. Kidoumaru. The list went on.
Eventually, the man dropped his hand to his side.
Something had been bugging me, though. "…what about you and me? Are we dead too?" After all, not much of the past few days had really registered in my mind. Anything could be possible, at this point.
"I'm still alive. I'm pretty sure you still are too. However…" He paused, trying to shake the weariness in his voice before I caught it; he was slightly too late, though. "I feel my time is growing a bit close."
A.K.A., he was going to die soon.
"If that's the case, then I'm probably going to die too." I whispered, more to myself than to him.
In the same fashion as before, the dream faded.
I skipped school the next day, getting on the bus but not entering the building. I instead headed to town, where I bought a pretty pen and paper, and sat at a café drinking juice (I wasn't a coffee person) and writing letters.
Goodbye letters to friends and family. I didn't know what to say to them, though. The letters for my family were written as if I were just bored, and felt like I should write as 'insurance in case something actually happens'. To my friends, I included an account of my dreams, so that they could try to grasp why I did such a thing.
I write names on the envelopes, then when it was time, hopped on the bus to head home. The letters were set in a stack on my closed laptop, and after dinner I went straight to bed.
The fourth dream was spent in a similar fashion as the previous. The silver haired man—he told me his name was Kakashi—mingled with the dead people for the duration. Obito again lifted his hand to me, as Rin waved and Minato beckoned. This time, I was able to move. I linked it with having something to do with acknowledging that I was probably going to die.
The warm, family feeling enveloped me, and I fell asleep in my dream, to wake up in my bed.
I got up, brushed my short hair, ate breakfast, got dressed, the usual routine. Andrew and I headed down the paved street towards the bus stop, and we waited.
On the way to school, the bus was involved in a car crash. The scene had stretched and drawn itself out, until I could see where the immediate danger was—the crumpling metal, the spear-like piece that had flown through the window and was heading straight towards one of the younger kids across the narrow hall.
Without thinking, I threw myself in instinct at the flying object, purposefully impaling myself so as to save the kid. Blood stained the nearby faces and clothes of teens and children, the horrific sight of my death reflected in my eyes. A word was shouted, loud, but swift. I fell to the ground.
The world was on mute, like watching TV. I could see, behind my eyes, the world with Kakashi and Minato and Obito and Rin, and everyone else. The world of the dead.
"On… my desk." Were my last words. The people around me, huddled with fear in the crushed yellow vehicle, had heard me, and that was all I needed to know.
I closed my eyes, and took Minato's hand.
A/N: I think this is the first oneshot I've ever done that's NOT based on one of my stories. Though I may create a story off of this one... The idea for this came to me when I found a picture of young Minato, holding out a hand that seemed to glow. It was a very nice picture. A spur of the moment thing, though.
If I let this sit anymore, I'll turn it into a full-out fifty-chapter story, and I don't want that to happen just as the new semester starts.
I just realized I never mentioned the girl's name. Ah well, imagine it's you if you want. It makes it easier on me, I never came up with a name in the first place.
This is tribute to all dead anime characters!
Sarii