A/N: Inspiration struck, and here it is. A short oneshot on Konoha, it's shinobi, and others' perception of them. I found it interesting how when Naruto or another character would meet another ninja from a different village they would often immediately expect the Konoha nin to be weak. Particurally in the Land of Waves Arc, we are introduced to some of the more chilling practices of ninja villages (Zabuza and the academy graduations) and the stark difference between Konoha and the Land of Waves.
This fic does mention the darker side of shinobi life. Not a lot, not as much as I had intended, but it's mentioned.
They call them weak. In a way they are. Because they can't wave the reality of shinobi life out in the open like the other villages. They can't be proud of the bloody and sordid deeds committed everyday by people who are no more than tools. They have a conscience.
They have the highest population of civillians. These civillians walk around freely, and they don't have to worry about shinobi from their own village randomly attacking and terrorizing them. They don't sit in their homes, terriffied of meeting the same end as one of their relatives or neighbors. At least one in every three civillians doesn't know the truth about their village, and lives in blissful ignorance.
Their missing-nin are almost non-existent. The mask they wear binds them all together as surely as those marked by the ANBU tattoo share a quiet sense of comradeship and familiarity. Even those who leave are often hard to mark as an enemy.
For this, they are called weak.
A small boy with bright, sunny hair and three markings on each cheek that label him as an abomination, an outcast. The sight of his blue eyes and the peculiar streaks across his cheeks brings back painful memories to all of the villagers of a wise man who died young and the demon that brought him and half the village down. The village of weaklings bury their hatred at the orders of those above them, lashing out at the child when no one is watching but those who would cheer the attackers on.
Scarred faces are everywhere, but one in particular draws the eyes. His casual, laid-back appearance looks no more threatening than a deer. He hardly speaks, never glares or raises his voice in conversation, and doesn't draw attention to himself. His son is almost exactly like him, but within the young boy's face resides an innocence that no one would ever know was missing from the father's visage if they didn't meet his son. The father could hardly tell himself. He controls the shadows, blends in and strikes from the darkness, killing with no more than the dark ghost that flitters around the ankles of everyone, cursing them to be forever susceptible to his attacks. As a shinobi of the weak village, he does as ordered, without question, and kills without mercy from the black alleys and shadowed forests.
A white haired man can be found perched in a tree, reading a book not meant for the eyes of the young. His hair is not white from age, and has been white even when he was a child, promoted to jonin and fighting in a war when the civillians his age were developing their first crush. He lazes about in a tree, reading with one eye. The other is not his: it is a gift from a dying friend, a weapon that makes the white haired man one of the most formidable shinobi in the world. Because he will put his friends and comrades above himself, he is weak. He serves his village, puts his life on the line, and gives his all because of his loyalty. Perhaps the most powerful in the village they call weak, he is the one who wears his weakness proudly.
She can be found in the quiet areas of the room, watching with her pale eyes. The byakugan. She is not a genius like her cousin or even excellent like her sister, but weak. She is the weakest of them all in a clan that despises weakness. The quiet girl takes every insult and every name they shout at her without complaint. She never raises her voice or reacts in anger. She stutters and squeaks and because she cannot kill without cringing, they call her weak. She bears it all with patience and meekness and a determination to become strong in her own way. She holds her head low and weathers it out, not fighting back or giving resistance. The quiet girl with the pale eyes can last out a storm without lashing out, and they call her weak because she will not meet their thunder with her lightening, but waits behind the clouds before her bright rays dispell the rain.
The sandals of the man have been around the world, but they always take him home to the village of the weak. The red markings under his eyes grow longer as he gets older and sees more of a world that distressess him. He knows more of the chaos and destitution than any other shinobi from his village, yet most mock him for the personality he's shown them. Even his teammates hardly realize the depth of his insight. One is a missing-nin that regard the traveling man as weak for not killing him when he had the chance. The other can't bear the pain the village has given her and also travels, drowning her worries in alcohol and taking a responsibility the traveling man didn't want. She stays behind as he leaves to give his life for the future of not just his village,but the world, and is one of the few who catch a glimpse of the man withing the traveling man. He dies, labeled as weak even in his dying breath, and his student picks up the traveling man's work. They call the traveling man's philosophy futile and ineffective, and the student who has adopted it weak.
A few black markings on the neck of a young woman are the only sign of anything that marks her different from the surrounding shinobi. She is bright and cheerful and bold. It's hard for her comrades to remember that they came within a hair's breadth of seeing her on the opposing side, mercilessly striking down their fellows with a man who betrayed the village and took her with him. She couldn't do the criminal acts the missing-nin wanted her to, and he discarded her as weak. She returned to her village instead of staying with the man who grew to be one of the most powerful shinobi in the world. She returned because of her conscience, and for that she is weak.
His green clothes identify him as surely as his bushy eyebrows and bowlcut. He is stronger and faster than many of his fellow shinobi, but still ridiculed because he doesn't share their abilities. Because he can't do what they can. Because his feats are hard-won, and a testament to his strength of will. He is usually smiling, an optimist who forms friendships quickly and soaks up what attention he gets. He is weak because he draws his encouragement from other people and his strength from what he had to work long and hard for. He is weak in his simple lifestyle, in his bonds and friendships, in his striving for the impossible. He is weak because he tries to be what he cannot. He is not a genius, he is not heartless, and he is not what they said he would be and is exactly what they said he wouldn't. He defies what is so foolishly deemed impossible, and rises up to hold his own in a world where he has to fight for his life every second because he is weak and can't do what they can do.
In the village of the weak, they live and die, called weak by their neighbors, allies, and enemies for the various things they do. The village of the weak is brightly colored and inviting. People smile in the streets.
They are weak because those who call them so cannot see past the mask to the darkness under the surface. They can't see the hatred in the villager's eyes aimed at a young boy who is inches from losing the control he doesn't realize he has on a demon that dwells inside him- not of his own volition, but to protect those who attack him. They can't see into the shadows, and watch as one of clans of the weak village strikes again and again, swiftly and silently at the order to kill. They can't see the strength behind the white haired legend who refuses to abandon his teammates, nor the story behind that strength. They can't see how the girl with the pale eyes paces herself and rises steadily up to a determination and skill they easily overlooked while she bowed her head. They can't see the wisdom behind the perverted jokester and his dream for the future, or the honor and purpose in his sacrifice. They can't see how the girl with the cursed mark on her shoulder could possibly be happy when she lost the chance for power because she wasn't ruthless enough. They can't see how the boy in green can keep trying over and over again despite the clear limitations placed on him at birth that would discouage anyone sane.
They can't see past the mask. They can't see past the surface. They can't see past the bright colors and the smiles and the lazy afternoons in the sun. They call them weak and they never dig deeper to check if they're right.
The village of the weak, nestled in the forest under the watchful eyes of their leaders -past and present- would like to keep it that way.
A/N: Reviews are appreciated.
This wasn't run through a spellcheck, only proofread, so please forgive any typos and misspellings.