I, According to Me
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. That copyright belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
I don't want to be perceived the way I am
I just want to be perceived the way I am
-"Chap Stick, Chapped Lips, And Things Like Chemistry" by Relient K
Arc I: The Lonely Ones
Part I: They Murder Him
"I'm not a monster, just a kid. I house a demon due to circumstances beyond my control; however, the demon does not control me. I am me. The Kyuubi is the Kyuubi."
That is what he would like to say to those scornful gazes. Blind villagers, for they do not see the truth of what's before them: a scared little boy with joy to spread, though his life is void of reason for it. Yet they cluck their tongues, befouling a name that knows no blood, has seen no battle, has held no blade, and splatter it with patron crimson he holds no deed for.
And what of their shinobi logic? Their esteemed minds, capable of decrypting the most tangled subterfuges (and of creating such vile trickery), cannot seem to comprehend the blatant truth of his unwanted mantle: he is not the monster.
Animosity without reason is therefore a familiar companion to Naruto. A childhood comprised solely of hate-filled interaction---if any exchange occurs at all---has taught him a harsh, though valuable lesson that few adults even comprehend: shame of self and the resulting self-pity, becomes the true ultimate downfall of any shunned one. No great man ever stood on his platform and led the masses with plaintive cries of self-debasement and concession to the illusory claims held over him by the spiteful, ignorant mind.
And he will be a great man someday. Therefore, wallowing in the public-imposed misery, that the villagers ensure saturates his life, is not an option for him. He will show that he is more than a dark scar of painful remembrance for Konoha; that he is more than what they tell him he is; that he deserves more than what they see fit to give him; that he is worthy of a hero's title.
Worth. That is what he obsessed over as a young child, and still does today: the recognition that he deserves to exist; that he belongs; that he is a human child who has a place of merit in his world; that he is worthy of life when others have died.
This last statement is the focus of much heated emotion for him, when he encounters people who believe their life is no longer worth living and deserves to be thrown away, for the simple fact that someone else has died. It has become one of his many inner mantras; that no life is worth throwing away. It is a conviction meant to stir the will to live within a defeated soul; but it is also an order to himself to value his own existence all the more, for no one else will appreciate or love it quite as much as he will; no one else will govern his worth; no one else will tell him when to die. More importantly, no one else will tell him when to live.
Because his life is his own, no one else's. Though many will try to tell him otherwise---through the painful actions they seem to favour over words---he carries his own fate within himself.
The villagers, still haunted by the mobile hell that is the Kyuubi, try to manipulate him; control him. They will delve into his very soul and shatter him beyond recognition, if it means keeping that which they fear the most locked deep within the confines of its living, breathing prison, and their own scarred memories.
He is a necessary insurance for Konoha's safety, in the eyes of some villagers; a ticking time bomb that should have been dismantled years ago, in the eyes of others.
But whatever way they skew it, the fact remains: he is a sacrifice. The proverbial scapegoat, offered up to their ignorant and fanatical gods. The bleeding heart of a persecuted stranger, for they do not even know him, yet they rip at him like wolves.
Because all they know---all they ever needed to know---is that he holds darkness within him, and he veils it with his sunshine smiles and his innocent laughs (too innocent, some villagers might say), attempting to blot out the abysmal content of his body with the radiance of his own soul.
But what soul can outshine such a beast as the one he contains? A candle alone cannot illuminate the dark side of the moon.
They murder him.
Every day, in any and every way imaginable, they murder him. They throw rocks and sticks, rotten food and even kunai. They break his skin and bruise his soul. They ransack his (pitiful excuse for a) home, destroying his personal space; his sanctuary. They toss about words that they cannot even begin to fathom the true meaning of when such terms are placed upon one so innocent as he.
And they kill him. Everyday, they kill him. With their hate and spite and malice, so unjust, they kill him.
But everyday, he rises again. Back from the death of his soul. Back from the small deaths he feels inside, every time he meets eyes that reflect the image of a monster. (They identify him with a demon fox, but really he is a lamb. An innocent lamb, led to the slaughter, each and every day of his life.) He comes back, alive to be crucified again. And tomorrow, he will do it all over anew, never screaming the words that he knows in his bleeding, yet pure, heart to be true. Those words that he will never, never be made to rescind:
"I am innocent. You villagers are wrong."
And today, he walks to his own funeral, yet again…
End of Part I, Arc I
Guttersnipe's Word: This is a short project I'm working on. It will be written in arcs, of three chapters each. Each arc will deal with one team, with one chapter devoted to each team member (senseis not included). This is the first arc, dealing with Team Seven. The next chapter is Sasuke's, and after that is Sakura's. After those, a new arc, devoted to a different team, will begin.
Ramen is to Naruto, as clicking is to the review button, Mr. Clicky. Please don't deprive Mr. Clicky of his one true love. Please review.