Hello everyone. This is my first NaruxSasu fic, so I hope you all like it. This first chapter is just a prologue, so it'll get better I promise! Please review to let me know what you think and I will give you all cookies and dedicate the next chapter to you! YAY!!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto... yada yada, you've all heard it/wrote it.
The blonde boy darted into a deserted alleyway, trying to shake off his pursuers. In his hurry, he slipped on the slick cobble stoned street, and he landed on the unforgiving ground with a dull thud. The wind was stolen from his lungs and made a hiss of air escape his lips.
The shouts of men were fast approaching which made the boy scramble back upon his feet to dive further into the darkness and out of sight. He crawled underneath a wooden crate and waited. Trying desperately to hold his breath, he became afraid they might hear his panting and gasps for air. His mind was wrapped in terror which made his sweat covered body tremble and his mouth run dry. The voices came to a crescendo and then died down after a few minutes.
The blonde did not know how long he stayed underneath the crate, but when he reemerged the sun had already set and the bustle of city life had died down exponentially. Different shop's paper lamps were beginning to be lit so that late night customers would be welcome. The boy sat at the edge of where the alley ended and the street began, watching an occasional bicycle or miniature carriage pulled by a young man roll past.
He crouched down low, trying to conceal his head of hair beneath the collar of his shirt so as not to attract attention. Women clad in bright hues with obi's around their wastes were led by men in business suits and cigarettes dangling from their fingers. The smell of chicken cooking at a nearby food stand wafted across the usual fetid atmosphere of the streets. The blonde inhaled the scent, trying in vain to gain some sort of sustenance from it but only made his stomach growl louder in protest.
He clutched his abdomen trying to comfort its wailing but to no avail. Knowing he would have to resort to what he hated most, he lowered his head in shame. Only eighteen-year-olds were given jobs around here, and being sixteen disqualified him from the possibility. There was also the option of street performing or begging, but his mess of blonde hair could turn stranger's attentions to a much less needed pursuit.
He could not count how many times he had been chased, beaten, mugged, ridiculed, and even molested because of his blonde locks. When he was still a toddler, he could faintly remember a faint memory of a family that cared for him and cherished him. He remembered it was a safe place where he was free to laugh and play and be affectionate.
The boy chuckled darkly and looked around himself. There were dead rats strewn about, the smell of urine in the air, and he noticed he might be sitting on some broken glass as he shifted his rump to sit at a more comfortable angle. He was not a toddler anymore, he was not in his fuzzy memories, and he did not have the comfort of safety.
It is funny how simple that word may seem, safety, and how much people may take it for granted. To live in fear of your life, every single day, is hell. To sleep only ten or fifteen minutes at a time, afraid that some crook or pervert could sneak up behind you and have his way with you, is hell. And this boy's life, equivalent to the previous examples, was hell.
After one more gut wrenching hunger pain tore itself through his stomach, the boy pulled himself off of the damp ground and made his way down the street, eyes on the lookout for an unsuspecting person who could most likely be able to spare a few pennies.
A man with shoulders slumped and a thin long face passed by. He looked sickly and his mousy brown hair stuck in tufts to his forehead and temples as he chewed on a precariously long toothpick. Pass, thought the boy.
The next person he saw was a woman with milky white powder adorning her angular face being escorted by an overzealous man with long gray hair that almost reached his knees. The boy registered the fact that the old man kept trying to grab the woman's posterior as they conversed and he suppressed a shudder. The old pervert was laughing boisterously as he fawned over the woman, and the boy saw his red tear-track tattoos crinkle with the effort. As he began to pass, the distinct jingle of change rattled from the man's pockets. The boys ears pricked in response. He gently made a U-turn to start, unsuspectingly, following the old geezer-of-a-pervert. Deciding the best way to approach the man would be to "accidentally" hit him as he passed, the boy went in for the kill. Picking up his pace he acted like he was in a rush to get somewhere, by nervously twitching his hands around and panting on cue.
There was about two more feet to go before he could make payday. He upped his speed and pretended to stumble, making his chest press into the old pervert's arm. Just as he had made contact he said "Excuse me," and retrieved the coin purse tucked away in the pervert's pocket. He continued his hurried pace up a ways farther and then down an adjoining street. He slowed down once he knew no one was after him. The purse now hid beneath his armpit, a perfect hiding place in that it produced no bulge to give it away. Sitting at a deserted porch, away from the light of any lamps, the boy retrieved the purse from underneath his arm and unhooked its clasp. Altogether the change was about enough for a few meals.
"Uzumaki Naruto, you are a genius," he exclaimed to himself. Grinning triumphantly he shut the purse and tossed it in the air in order to catch it, but he then realized the purse never came back into contact with the palm of his hand.
"Yes. You sure are," came a sly voice behind him. Before he could turn around to see the bastard, a blistering pain erupted in his skull and everything went dark.
I'm sorry if my grammar is horrible, but this is unbetaed (so bear with it a little pleasey weasey)! Please R&R.