A/N: This is a republished version of "My Desert Flower". I just revised it a little. Enjoy!

Hana's POV

Warm sand slithered over my straw sandals and shabby clothes, the tiny grains finding holes in the thin cloth that I didn't know I had. The worn tunic provided next to no protection against the harsh sunlight, and it beat mercilessly down on my back and legs, my neck shaded by my long, dusty golden hair.

The jangle of copper coins in my pocked lifted my spirits minimally, for I knew that wherever money went, fighting was sure to follow. The coins were a symbol of my hard work and stood for much more than pieces of metal.

Upon reaching my home, I slipped off my worn leather shoes and crept silently into the house. Don't notice me don't notice me don't notice me, I prayed.

But my hopes were all shattered like glass in a windstorm when I felt a slap at my ear. My head spun, and I reeled back, my brain cells screaming for me to move.

"So! You're finally back!" My father leaned forward, his eyes narrowed like a wolf's that had smelled a rabbit. His eyes flicked towards my pocket. "Well?"

I could not just sit here and let him make me cower. Mustering my courage, I said, "Well what?"

I felt another slap, this one harder. "Don't get sarcastic with me, girl. Just give me the money."

Disoriented, my hand drifted to my pocket, groping around for the coins. They eluded my stumbling fingers, but I eventually brought them out and offered them towards him.

He snatched them viciously. "What?! Is this it?! I know you earn more!"

I glare at him, just wishing that he would drop down and die. "That's all there is."

"Don't lie to me! I'm your father!" This time he threw something at me- I don't know what it was, probably something heavy- and it sailed through the air towards my head.

I ducked, some primal instinct propelling me downwards. Not fast enough. The object clipped my temple, making black spots dance before my eyes. I raised a hand to the pained area and it came away wet with blood.

The window behind me shattered. Shards of glass pelted my back, some pieces piercing the thin fabric and I felt the prick of sharp glass digging into my flesh.

Something inside me snapped. I'm your father. Sure. Like hell.

I stood up, anger blazing in my eyes like fire.

"I'm not going to stand for this anymore!" I screamed, and my hand found a large piece of glass on the dirt floor. I hurled it towards him, and it hit his nose.

He roared, more in anger and shock than in pain, and I took that instant and bolted out the door, clutching the side of my head to stop the flow of blood. It was slowing down now, so I brought my hand down.

My father- the beast- was out of the house now, breathing heavily and holding in his hand a kunai knife. I knew he had it still from his times in the shinobi academy, but years of neglect had caused it to rust, and the once polished blade glinted dully but cruelly in his meaty hands.

I darted to the side, not wanting to get away from the only home I had ever known, but wanting to dodge the throw that was sure to come. I had no plan, only pure adrenaline urging me to run, run, run.

But, unlike the knife in his hands, my father's taijutsu and ninjutsu skills were still well-used (on me, mostly) and he was well-aqquainted with the weighty weapon. He threw with expert skill, and I felt a sharp stab of pain in my side.

Blood. All I knew was blood. My own, spilling onto the sand and the dirt, staining the yellow red. I gasped, all logical thought trickling out of my brain like the blood in my veins.

All I knew was that I didn't want to die. Every fiber of my body reeled at the thought, screaming I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die! The world I knew was stained black and red with ugliness like a bruise, but I knew that there was a much more beautiful world out there, somewhere away from Sunagakure, colored bright yellow and baby blue and grass green, like the one my mother had described to me in stories when I was a child. I struggled to keep my eyes open.

Then, suddenly, blackness, all around me. Was I unconscious? Was I dead?

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die!

No, I knew I wasn't either because every part of me hurt like hell. Then what was happening? Grains of sand found my eyes and made them water and sting. Voices pressed themselves against my ears, but they were muffled and unclear, like I was hearing them from underwater.

The blazing sunlight again. It seemed like great big walls of sand were crumbling around me. I must be insane.

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die!

Gentle arms- too gentle for it to be my father- were pickingme up. I was being carried away. Soft cloth rubbed my tortured bare skin. Was I dying?

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die!

The last thing I remember thinking was, It's so warm.

Gaara's POV

She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Like an angel.

Her hair was like woven gold, spread out against the sand and glittering like captured sunlight. I had seen her right before she had fallen, when her eyes had been wide open and alert and scared. They had been bright green, like two emeralds.

The sand- I was grateful to have it now- swirled around her limp figure, forming a wall of hardened dirt. The man- her father, I was guessing- stumbled back with the retrieved kunai in his hand, and switched his bloodshot glare to me.

"What the hell are you doing, scarecrow boy? This is family business!"

"More like torture." I replied smoothly. "What are you doing to the poor girl?"

"What's it to you?"

"Hmph. Poorly misinformed. I am the Kazekage, if you must know. And I'm taking your daughter away from you."

"What!? You can't, Kazekage or not! I'm her father; her legal guardian!"

"True. But if I recall correctly, then I as the Kazekage can relieve guardians of children if they have abused, physically harmed, mentally traumatized-"

"Alright!" The man backed off, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. But I could see the murder in his eyes. I knew men like him. Men like my father. They never forgot an insult, and they never let anyone get the last word in. "I get the picture, boy. But know this," He pointed the knife at me. "This isn't the end. You haven't heard the last of me!" And he darted inside his home.

Feeling it safe, I made the walls surrounding the girl collapse. Her eyes fluttered, her hands clutched her bleeding side, and incoherent streams of words slipped between her bloodless lips. Paying closer attention, I realized that she was only saying one phrase, over and over.

"I don't want to die," She whispered fervently. "I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die!"

My heart ached with remorse for the girl. I bent down and gently picked her up, cradling her in my arms. As soon as I touched her, she abruptly stopped speaking and went silent, only murmuring a few words every once in a while.

Making a split second decision, I started walking away.

A/N: Please review!