AN: Unreliable narrator. Crackish. Slow Updates.
SI/OC fics are so serious. Why so serious?
Not really sure where this is going, but fair warning it probably won't be very super-OP!Naruto. Expect OOC-ness. And it probably will diverge from plot alot. No romance either.
the world, inside out
Once upon a time, my father died, in an incredibly dramatic fashion.
He'd stopped short, right in front of me, grasping at his chest. A hole, two then three, appeared miraculously on his chest. A spurt of blood oozed out, and he descended to the ground with a sharp whine. The window's glass lay scattered around him.
I dropped down next to him, despairing. He bled out, and something in my hollow chest started to ache terribly.
"You've stained my carpet," I said.
Then, I died too.
I thought I might've dreamed the whole fiasco. When I came to, I was sitting in a white room, full of lively people. With its air of sterility and its bleak features, I thought it might've been a hospital.
I breathed a sigh, relieved. But then I made a grievous mistake that shattered all my delusions; I looked up. Standing a foot away, looking pale and staring straight at me, was the monstrous child I had encountered earlier that day. She was still dressed in her Sunday clothes, a white sundress, and shiny white shoes. Her black hair hung limp, and her face was frozen in horror.
She took clumsy steps, backwards.
Her small hands started to tighten around her head-it was still severed from when I had swung my sword and separated it from her neck.
I looked around me. There were people of every size, but all looked relatively normal -like they'd died non-dramatically.
The girl and I, we were alike- two souls who died gruesomely, and with pizazz. It was the type of extravagant death that was worth writing epic poetry about.
"Hey wait!" I called out, jogging towards her. "I say we let bygones be bygones. Our earthly motivations are gone now. We can be friends!"
It was a reasonable request. But the girl stilled, halting in her retreat. Her glare sharpened, and the ferocious hatred that already existed in her, flared to life.
"You killed my family," she muttered, voice low. She stalked towards me, temper rising with each step she took, "You're evil. Scum. A dirty, lying thief! Friends-Hah! Why would I be friends with you, you murderous son of-"
Her fingers twitched, and it seemed that she had forgotten it was her own head that she was holding. With nothing better to throw, the severed head sailed through the air, expletives flying continuously from its mouth, undeterred by the rapidly changing scenery.
Honed instincts couldn't be helped. And as her head careened towards me, my hands came out, lightning fast, and I punted it like a volleyball.
I swear, if I hadn't been the brilliant bastard who built the most impressive criminal empire that'd ever existed, I would've made a pretty dime as a pro-volleyball player. Perhaps, in my next life.
Her head arched over my head, landing behind me and making some pour old soul scream. I laughed, delighted. Bonding over sports! "We'd make great friends! We're both so alike," I said.
She advanced angrily, and to my amusement mistakenly crowded the man standing next to me. I didn't know why he cowered; he was already dead...What could a headless body do to him? "We are nothing alike," her voice echoed from behind me.
I could see that she was expanding maximum effort to not appear vulnerable, so I tried looking contrite, but it was quite hard to be intimidated by a headless little person.
"I think we have chemistry! A bond that has potential to grow-I can be your big brother-"
"I have a brother. You killed him!"
"Well, maybe if he was smarter-"
"My brother's the smartest person in the world," she interjected coolly. Her voice was getting closer to me. Real close. I whipped my head around, following the voice.
The sight that greeted me: A skeleton, robed, bony fingers attached to the dismembered head of a little girl. For once in my life, I was speechless. It didn't last long. I was born to speak.
"How does this work?" I poked his bony cheek. "Do we decay here or what? Is this Limbo because I have better-"
Someone grabbed my arm. "She's being taken to be judged," he whispered. "You can't stop him. It's the natural order of things."
Our blossoming friendship aside, curiosity nagged at me. What would happen, I wondered. It was a great flaw of mine-this curiosity… Reluctantly, I stood aside, and watched.
The girl struggled first, but a body with no head could only do so much. "Wait. Wait. NO! I need to kill him. What-Let go of my hair." She screamed. It sounded familiar. I had heard it earlier that day, under different circumstances. She stared at me, then. "Don't think this is over thief!"
"I will find you in the next life, and I will kill you." She snarled, as she was hauled away. "I WILL AVENGE THEM. I SWEAR IT, I-"
The door slammed shut. It had appeared out of thin air, and now, it was disintegrating as if it hadn't ever existed.
I shrugged, then turned to the nice fellow next to me, who was suddenly trying his best to avoid looking at me.
"I have trypophobia," he muttered apologetically, eyes averted. A fear of holes. I looked at the impressive collection on my chest. Ah.
There was a wide brimmed hat perched on his head. I swiped it, grinning at his startled face, then plopped it over my chest like a shield.
"Now, how'd a young lad like you end up dead?"
When it was my turn to be judged, I followed amicably. Without my protests, the skeleton man fidgeted with the hem of his robes, looking quite lost. "You can hold my hand and pretend to arrest me," I said, feeling bad for him.
He reminded me of my old nemesis, a policeman who didn't know what to do with himself in moments where violence wasn't needed.
The skeleton startled, teeth bones chattering. His hands, as to be expected, felt bony.
"If you can't tell, I'm quite terrified," I said, "I've never died before."
The skeleton made a noise. It sounded like grinding bones. In a way, it soothed me, because of its familiarity.
"How do they judge people here?" I asked. "I've always thought morals as subjective constructs made by humans, enforced by society, fickle things made to be broken…"
A doorway opened in front of me, and I trailed off, staring curiously. Skeleton man dragged me through it. Inside, there was nothing, just darkness and a floating pedestal. I was ushered on to it by my new friend, the skeleton man, who stood behind me.
A light, blinding in its intensity, shone down on me like a helicopter police's spotlight.
A woman's voice, posh and monotone, boomed out from everywhere and nowhere at all. "Right. Down to business. It says here you will be sentenced for crimes against fashion for… for making orange jumpsuits fashionable outside jail." She paused, and there was the sound of rustling paper. Like a footnote, she tacked on my other crimes. "Oh, for crime against humanity too, it seems."
I frowned. I revolutionised fashion lady. Never had being bad looked so damn good.
"For your punishment-you will spend your next life in exile in one of Jashin's wretched creations. You will be reborn, your memories will be erased. You shall join your eternal rival in damnation."
"I beg your pardon, my lady," I said with my polite voice. "Why are my memories being erased again?"
"That is our policy."
"Yes, yes, but why? I've been exiled. Yet, how can I learn from my terrible mistakes if I've forgotten I've made them? It seems counterproductive-for the good of the universe, I think that perhaps we need to rethink this sentencing."
There was a long drawn out hum, as the lady pondered on my words. "I see your point," she said, sounding rather reluctant, "But I'm afraid that's the way we've always done things. I can't go changing that now."
"Oh, well if it's always been that way, I can't argue. I just thought it was rather immoral," I said, voice nonchalant, "stealing precious memories like that. Even an honourless thief like me wouldn't dare take memories."
There was a general impression that the voice was spluttering.
"Immoral! Why I-I am the judge. I judge good and evil. I can never be immoral."
I shrugged, rubbing the back of my neck. "Oh, I never meant you. I know you would never stoop to be immoral; I don't think it's in your character," I said, sincere, "We're all victims of the system. It's not something we can control."
"Hmm," she said, thoughtful.
"You know when I was still alive I had a criminal empire."
"Yes, your file said so. It's highlighted too." I beamed. It was my second greatest accomplishment.
"Yes, well. I had always told my men one thing. Everyday, I'd sit them down, and I would tell them there was only one order that was never to be disobeyed."
"Hmm? And what was that?"
"That they should always question my orders. A criminal who doesn't question orders…" I paused for dramatic effect, "Is a Nazi."
Uncomfortable silence descended. The only thing people hated more than Nazis was public speaking. I couldn't take advantage of that.
"And I've always had faith in my men to be autonomous. If I didn't have any faith in their judgements I would never have…" I paused- bribed, coerced, blackmailed. "I would never have hired them in the first place."
"I've had this job for over a millennia," she said, after a long silence. I nodded eagerly.
"Right. And have you ever made a wrong judgement?"
"Never," she said, voice alight with pride. "I have never made a mistake. I-I'm like a god," she whispered.
I had the horrible realisation that this lady might go crazy before I could gain anything from her. I scrambled to haste. "Right-ah-"
She interrupted, new-found power making her voice brisk and certain. "Right. New sentence. Same damned planet and eternal rival. But memories intact."
She paused, and again, there was an impression that she was frowning. "The universe is unbalanced because your eternal rival has gone already with her memory erased," she mused.
Then: "I suppose she can still get her memories. It'll just take a few years to reach her."
The light seemed to heat up, as she focussed all her energy on me.
"In the meantime, while the memories are in transit, to compensate for her lack of memories something horrible will befall you in your early life," she said, "Nothing to worry about really, it won't be too drastic. Your parents may die tragically, for example. You may lose a limb or two. Depends really, on the concentration of karma at the time of your birth."
I thought about it, then nodded. I'd make do.
"Court is adjourned."
I grinned. The last sound I heard: A gavel, booming in my ear.
There was a giant fox above me.
I briefly wondered why it had nine tails, then turned my thoughts to more important matters. Was she my new mother? More importantly, could I also grow that size?
Sadly, when I reached towards the hulking creature, I saw that my limbs were human, and therefore, fragile and pitiful.
The disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow, especially when some random woman covered my view, her red hair flowing in the wind, a poor imitation of the beasts' nine tails.
"Go away," I demanded. It came out wrong-babbles to be precise. I lay, shocked at the cruelty of the universe. For words were my only defence.
"Don't cry Naruto," the woman said, hushing me. She spoke in the same language Yakuza spoke. I had learned it in my past life, to subtly spite my allies by speaking it better.
With no words to hurl at her, I cried harder, just to spite her too. That, and I'd always believed in crying-it was quite cathartic, good for trauma. I cried and cried until the world blurred.
I was startled out of my self-soothing by wet liquid. The woman had been impaled by something and was suspended above me. I was a baby; It was awfully rude of her to traumatise me by bleeding on me.
She mumbled something, made nonsensical by the blood gurgling in her mouth. I closed my eyes, thinking that perhaps I should sleep and wake up when the universe had less karma.
I woke up in a crib, to see an old wrinkly face staring down at me. There was sadness, so profound and weighty, I was surprised he was still standing with perfect posture.
"Hey old man." Babble babble babble, I might as well have said. Ridiculous. I had half a mind to kill myself so I could give that lady a talking to. Stealing memories was one thing, but stealing voices? Outrageous.
"You'll be a hero," the old man said, face grave. I stared.
"Don't tell me what to do," I said. "I may very well become a villain, just to spite you."
I yawned, mouth tired, mind heavy. I wasn't myself, I realised-I was feeling very spiteful-vindictive. My positive energy was drained and I hadn't a clue where it went.
It must be the karma, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up thrashing because I was being suffocated. Now, it was a familiar feeling, and since it was the first familiarity in this unknown land, I welcomed it. Briefly. No need to die because of sentiments.
It had the token benefit of misleading the perpetrator. The stranger, an amateur murderer no doubt, mistook my relaxed state, probably assuming it meant I had died. The pillow was removed and there was silence.
I opened my eyes, locking onto big brown eyes.
She screamed, flailing backwards.
It might've been my imagination, but I swore I saw the shadows shift.
I was moved the next day. The old wrinkly man held me in his arms, cradling me like I was a gift to humanity. Then he presented me to a stern looking woman, and it felt, in that moment where I was held in the air, like I was actually a sacrifice for humanity.
"Uzumaki Naruto," the old man announced. A name. Mine, probably. Not bad, not bad at all.
The woman's grip on me was loose. My suicidal tendencies had lessened somewhat, once I rationalised that my vocal cords would come along soon. So, afraid that she'd drop me and let me smash my head open, I grasped her shirt with my tiny fist.
She shifted, looking down at me with wary eyes. I stared back at her, making sure to widen my eyes, milking those puppies for all they were worth. No matter what, I was sure I was a beautiful. In no universe was it ever possible for me to be born ugly. That would be outrageous-another slight against me.
She bowed her head, deferential, to the old man, and that was my first clue that he was someone important. Did that mean I was someone important too?
As if to prove me wrong, we walked into an orphanage, full of smelly, whiny, little assholes.
In my first life, I'd accomplished the greatest heist- committing thievery against my mother, stealing her legacy, her money, and her mens' loyalty.
In this life, I was a nameless, faceless orphan. I couldn't depend on the cards life dealt me. I'd have to plot, it seemed, more extensively then I'd done back then.
Despite myself, I felt energised. A worthy challenge…