FREEDOM FROM THYSELF an introspective look - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Have you ever had that feeling where the things you do don't seem real? You're speaking evenly, your vision is clear, you can hear all things in the Heaven and in the earth. But it all feels like a dream somehow.
Recent events have planted the seeds of this thought into my mind recently, but perhaps I'm getting too far ahead of myself. Allow me to take you back to when it began. Then, maybe, you will understand.
My childhood was one that can only be described as unusual. The youngest of three, I was never particularly close to my siblings. Nor my father, for that matter, but that is something that cannot be helped. I was merely a puppet to him.
Me, I was raised primarily by my Uncle. I had always believed him to be a kind man, the only one who truly loved me. It wasn't until later that I discovered he had always harbored a furious hatred for me. He blamed me for the death of his sister, my Mother. Looking back, I suppose I cannot really begrudge him that, though I did for a very long time. It was my birth, after all, that my Mother's life was sacrificed for.
That, however, is an entirely different story.
When these things were revealed to me, everything I had thought to be true shattered into fragmented memories I sought to bury. I lost myself in loathing for all manner of being, swore I would never love or be loved by any other than myself. That was my way, the one deeply scarred into my very flesh so that no one may forget. Myself, least of all.
I do not hope to boast about the abominations of my past, but truth be told, I was the best. There was no man I could not defeat, no mission I could not succeed at. What I lacked in physical strength I made up for with sheer force of will. Those who cannot fight deserve to die. This was my mantra.
Countless battles. Faceless beings. I didn't care who they were, where they came from, or what purpose they had in opposing me. I only wanted to hear them scream. See them writhe in unfathomable agony. At that time of my life, it was all I lived for.
By now, I imagine many who read this may fancy me mad. It's to be expected. Even having been the one to live it all, I still think so as well sometimes.
I knew nothing of regret until I met that boy. I came dangerously close to my first defeat at the hands of a boy they called Lee, and in the end I never had the satisfaction of watching him die. Injured, immobile, but still alive. I tried so hard to finish him, there in his hospital bed.
He stopped me. Naruto.
In his eyes that day I saw something familiar. Loneliness. He had the same look in his eyes that I had as a child. For a moment, I wondered how his eyes could be so like mine, yet he himself was so very different. But then I understood. He still believed in humanity. Cared for others before himself. I hated him. My destestation for Naruto then outweighed even my desire to do away with Lee.
Forgetting Lee, at least for the time, I made a silent vow to destroy Naruto.
My chance came not too long following. My initial target had been one named Sasuke, a boy whose strength could very well become a threat to me. It was Naruto, again, who intervened.
Our fight was long and difficult. No matter what I tried, he would always get right back up. Toward the end, I was forced to use the one move I, on some level, had come to fear. By putting myself to sleep, I was able to summon the beast which dwelled within me. Shukaku, demon of the sand.
Even still, I suffered a crushing defeat. As I lay bleeding and unable to move, he came for me. Talking of compassion and loyalty. These things I didn't understand. At that moment, I saw my death by his hands.
This is my past. As you can probably tell, I did not meet Death that day. T'was my siblings who rescued me, and from that day I don't believe I was ever quite the same.
So often I look back on it all, but none of it seems real. Do you see now? Do you understand? The motivations which drive us should be the things we seek to protect, the people who care for us, the person we wish to become.
Long was I driven only by anger, by sorrow. That me, from what seems like an eternity ago, is gone. A memory, not unlike a dream which wakes you, screaming, in the night.