Ah, the hunger games. I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed reading the books. Especially the first one, so I thought I'd take a crack at writing a fic.
Hope you guys enjoy this prologue!
"We do not remember days, We remember moments. The richness of life lies in the memories we have forgotten."
—Cesare Pavese
Remnants
Past the veils of smoke and smog, past the desolate landscape and the bodies of the fallen, he stood.
Blue Eyes dull with exhaustion and grief, he stood his ground against the man before him. His clothes were all but gone, tattered, torn, clinging to his body by mere threads. Blood covered him like a shroud, leaving with him a sinister appearance that could only send men's hearts racing at first sight.
He trembled from the pain, sharp sparks of agony rippling up and down his damaged body. Never had he been in so much pain. He could barely think, let alone move, but his eyes stayed fixed on the man hiding behind the thick smoke.
Against the agony he willed his weakened muscles to move, because something was racing towards him.
Something big.
Tongues of fire, red and hot, raced toward him, turning the very ground beneath his feet to ash. It traveled mindlessly, uncontrolled and senseless, searing the air around, singeing the surface of his stinging skin.
Before it could engulf him, HE was in the air, weaving through seals faster than the eye could react, molding the little energy left within his body. Golden energy surround him.
He breathed out a torrent of wind so harsh, it tore through the ash and fire, banishing the flames like the rising sun.
Smoke blanketed the landscape like a cloak.
Almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, he ducked out of sheer instinct alone, narrowly avoiding a glinting staff as it sailed overhead, where his neck had been just moments ago. He felt a light swish of air as the obsidian staff soared past him and struck the ground behind, dark shaft chirping with electrical energy.
He, a boy hardened by war, finally collapsed to the ground, knees smashing painfully against the rocky surface.
But he ignored it.
No physical pain could compare to the emotional trauma he was experiencing.
He took in a shuddering breath.
HE had lost so much. So many people. Those who had been fighting for his sake were gone, trampled beneath the feet of this man…
No, this monster he was facing.
Because what else could he be called?
He had traded his humanity, bonded with a creature that was the very embodiment of destruction, and for his own selfish motives.
The sky above him was darkening, gray clouds rolling across the night sky, as though the earth was preparing to weep for the countless that had perished in this bloody war.
It was his birthday.
A hallow chuckle escaped his lips, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth.
He was dying. And on the day of his birth. He could feel his body shutting down, his heart slowing, his breath picking up, struggling to keep oxygen entering his lungs.
If he could just close his eyes, then this nightmare would be over...
No.
He wouldn't, couldn't give up. Even if most of his comrades had perished in this lifeless land, there were still those that were placing their faith in him. Those too young to fight, or those too old to stand up and fight. Those too wounded to continue, and those who had trusted him to end all this suffering.
He could never give up. And if not for his sake, then for theirs.
He looked up once more, painstakingly lifting himself from the harsh, unforgiving ground. The smoke was clearing, and rain was falling, washing the blood from his skin, pelting his body without end.
His godly opponent emerged from the smoke, purple, rippling eyes piercing into his very soul.
He felt a wave of fear rising in him.
Sasuke was gone, and only he and Madara remained.
This was it.
One last chance to end this war.
And he took it…
…just as he appeared before him, cold, lifeless hands wrapping painfully around his throat, squeezing the life and energy from his body. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't react. Blood rose from his stomach, forcing its way up his throat as a fountain.
His eyes were closing, shutting out light forever.
Too late.
But still wouldn't give up.
The young man awoke with a strangled gasp escaping his lips, body lurching upward violently, shattering the tranquility of the silent room, and forcibly tearing him from the land of slumber and into the waking world.
Sea blue orbs eyes snapped open.
For a time he sat there, still and unmoving and confused, resting against the softness of his bed, panting and heaving as though he had run around the world and back.
His eyes were wide with fear, his parched mouth parting in a soundless scream.
What's happening?
Blue eyes blurry and unfocused, he searched his surrounding area frantically, wondering dimly where he was in the suffocating darkness. His clothes were drenched in sweat, his golden hair matted against his forehead.
A moment passed. He could do nothing but sit still, staring into the darkness. He could still feel those hands, those cold, lifeless hands tightening around his throat, squeezing the very life from him, threatening to crush his windpipe in an unyielding grasp.
Slowly, tentatively, he raised a trembling hand to his neck, half-expecting to find those fingers sucking his life away.
Nothing.
No hands. No unbreakable hold.
He breathed a sigh full of relief, wiping the sweat dripping down his brow.
"It was just… a dream."
Even though his voice was sure, his mind was not. When he closed his eyes, the fire, the smoke, the dismembered bodies; they still filled his mind as though he was there.
It took him a while to calm his raging mind, and a moment longer to realize it had been truly just a dream—a terrible nightmare, one that he was relieved to have awoken from.
The sun's piercing rays struck his eyes the instant he reopened them, eliciting an unsuppressed yelp. The young man lurched backwards in alarm, shielding his retinas with a single palm. The sun was rising. It was dawn, signaling the start of another day. Light flooded into his room, filtered through white curtains. As his eyes adjusted to his slightly illuminating room, he sighed, and tossed aside the covers on his bed.
"That same dream again…" He told himself with mild surprise.
He let loose a wary breath and shifted from the bed onto the floor, feeling the soft carpet swishing beneath his feet. The room was still slightly dark. It wasn't quite morning yet. But he knew he couldn't drift back to peaceful slumber. Not after his dream. The young man rose his arms in a long stretch, back arching and arms trembling with relief.
He sighed, scratching at his blond hair. "I'm not going crazy, am I?"
He soon found himself thinking on the dream, and realized vaguely that he had been having the same dream for the past few months. Each time growing worse and worse every time he slept.
It was always the same. It ended the same. He was always in a world of smoke and dust, bodies littering his surroundings, and his body covered in blood. Each time, he was staring into the most terrifying set of eyes, purple, ringed and cold as ice. But it was the pain, the immense pain that frightened him the most. Even in his dreams, it felt all too real, like he was living a nightmare.
He reached down to his stomach, and with one hand, trailed the strange scars that occupied the base of his abdomen. Jagged lines. A broken pattern. It pulsed lightly beneath his touch.
His past.
These dreams were somehow linked to his past, a past that he could no longer remember. Save for his name, he knew nothing of who had been before, or where he came from. Or how he had come to be in 12th district.
Naruto Uzumaki.
That was his name. He was certain of it—as certain as the ground beneath his feet. Among all his uncertainty, it was the only sure, constant link to the past. He felt no doubts cross his mind. But when he tried to probe further, deeper into his mind for answers, answers to his dreams, there would always be none. Nothing but darkness, flickering images, and a feeling of queasiness.
I need to get some air.
He was breathing heavily again.
The crimson rays of dawn streamed in through closed curtains. It was bright enough to go outside now, at least. Flinging on a dark jacket and black trousers, he grabbed a small bag in the corner of his room and promptly exited, eager to leave it behind and escape to the outside world. The only place he felt a peace.
The hallway outside his room was vacant and dark, with no source of light in sight. He shut his door and moved silently through the hall, careful not to make too much noise as he climbed down the stairs, bag held tightly in hand.
He stopped when he had cleared the flight.
A door to his right was wide open, revealing a room of great size. He peered inside, searching out the occupants within. Two figures were there, lying in bed, side by side. One snored lightly. The other was eerily silent, trembling lightly beneath the dark sheets.
He felt his heart sink at the sight, and a frown etching his chiseled features.
The young man strode stealthily into the room, expertly avoiding obstacles that could awaken the room's occupants. He didn't want that. They both needed rest. Especially for today's events.
He chose to stand beside the person sleeping at the left side of the bed. A woman. She was beautiful, but worn. Her blonde hair was long and curly, spilling over her head and onto her delicate features. But her expression was the opposite of peaceful. It was scrunched up in pain. Almost as if sleep did nothing to ease her daily suffering.
Sadness made his legs feel heavy. He hated seeing her like this. So weak. In constant agony. If only he could do something to ease her suffering. Leaning over, he brushed the hair from her face and pulled the sheets gently over her trembling body. Her face seemed to relax at his touch, if slightly. He glanced at the man next to her and smiled faintly, then cautiously exited the room.
"See you later," he whispered with a smile, and closed the door of the people who had taken him in when he was but a child, waking with no memories of who he was.
Making for the back door was his next option. He never used the front entrance when he went out early in the morning. That would attract some wandering, curious eyes. Eyes that he did not want. And the last thing he wanted was somebody spying on him. Especially not some rule-abiding Peacekeeper.
Compared to those of his district, his home was certainly one of the largest. As he scanned the decorative interior of the house, he could not help but feel a touch of guilt. Guilt for having things that many didn't. Like a working Television. Running hot water.
And a moderate supply of food.
Because of this, he had grown to be far stronger and taller than most of the boys his age.
But he never enjoyed seeing people in need... or in pain.
Suddenly, he felt an image crawl to the surface from the depths of his mind, prompting him to take hold of his temples. A young boy, dressed in orange, sitting alone against a swing set flashed before him, and a feeling of loneliness flooded his being.
Who?
He blinked the image away, confusion, as well as nausea, welling up in him. But he forced both away. Now was not the time to daydream. He had some hunting to do.
Making his way past a few more rooms and stairs, and swinging the pack around his back, he finally arrived at his destination.
The door.
And when reached for knob, he was discovered.
"Naruto?"
He froze at the handle of the back door, slightly surprised but not alarmed.
Did I wake her?
He turned, already knowing who it was. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, blue eyes clouded with sleep and blonde hair matted against her forehead. Her delicate and pale skin seemed ghostly-white against the dimness of the room.
Madge.
She descended the stairs silently, concern evident in her features. "What're you doing? It's barley morning yet."
"I couldn't go back to sleep," He admitted, hand still gripping the silver handle. He attempted a smile. "Just wanted some fresh air."
Madge nodded, eyes landing on his hunting bag. "Just don't come back late…" She hesitated. "You know we have to be early for…"
"Yeah, I know." He turned around.
It was that day.
It was reaping day.
He really didn't like this day.
"And Naruto?"
He paused with a sad smile.
"Yeah?"
"Happy birthday."
And that's a wrap!
Something damaging happened to Naruto, and he can remember his past no more. As you can already tell, he was taken in by Mayor Undersee and given privileges that most in district 12 never had. How? Why? And When? Better yet, what did he do with these new-found privileges?
What happened to him will be explained if I continue. And that's up to you guys.
So what do you think? Good idea? Bad Idea? Don't be shy, tell me :)
Until next time.