Chapter 1: Unnamed Snow
By: Mr. Moore
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or anything that relates to it.
I've been sitting here forever. My bare feet feel numb from the cold snow. Sometimes I hear people walk by, and I listen to their walking patterns. I can identify different people just by the speed they walk, and the length of their strides. Sometimes I feel like trying to talk to them, but…I don't want to get hurt again. I've been sitting here forever. The snow seems to never end, and it hurts me so much. But…it's been with me forever…longer than anyone else has.
My name is Hakuhyo. Or at least that's what everyone at the foster shelter would call me. I don't care for a name really. Names are for those who are loved, those who have use for them. A name is a representation of who you are, and what you do. I however, am not loved. Nor am I needed by anyone. I am a ghost that people do not see…a shadow without a figure to represent.
My life began in a small, broken down building. My mother had supposedly died during my birth, and my father blamed it on me. I lived with my father in a rural town in the Land of Water. My life had been made up of regular beatings by my father, and long, lonely hours, when my father would lock me in my room for days as punishment. However, I loved being alone in my room. While my father did not know this, my mother had hidden scrolls in my bedroom before she died. She had left a note telling me to learn the jutsu's in the scrolls. She never wrote anywhere that she loved me. However, I blamed myself for her loss, and therefor attempted to learn the jutsu's in hopes that it would redeem me of her death.
When I was eight, I had already mastered three of the five jutsu's my mother had told me to. It was on my birthday when my father found me reading and performing the jutsu's. I did not realize it then, but apparently my father had a hatred for ninja. He told me that he forbid me to lean or perform anymore jutsu's, and beat me. I tried to explain to him that I was doing it for mother, but that only made it worse. Before I knew it, I had my vision taken away so I could never learn how to perform new jutsu again.
Years past and eventually when I turned ten, my father had died. He, and a few others from our town had joined a group of rouge ninja and attempted a coup d'état on the current Mizukage of the great Hidden Mist village. I did not shed a single tear when the villagers had told me the coup was unsuccessful, and my father had died. I never knew why my father hated ninja so much.
Within days I had left the village and ventured around the Land of Water. I really didn't know where I was going, nor did I care. I guess I just wanted to find a use for myself. Because I couldn't see, I had to use my other senses to make it from place to place. It was tough at first. I would fall, and trip over stones, and various other stuff. Throughout the whole thing not once did anyone help me up or ask if I needed assistance. I wasn't upset though. People get upset over things like this because they expect things from others. But, I haven't been given anything as a child, and therefore didn't expect anything from anyone.
Almost a year after I left the village I had ended up in another town and was captured by a guard after I was caught stealing food. Because I was too young to go to prison, and I had no parents, I was sent to the town's foster center. I didn't like it there. While the free food was good, and the care takers didn't beat me as hard as my father had, I just didn't have my freedom. I would pass the days by practicing using my other senses. I would smell my lunch tray and try to guess what food I had gotten before tasting it to find out. Or, I would throw stones and guess the distance by how soft or loud the sound would be. Then, I would pace my footsteps and see how accurate I was. Eventually after using my other senses for so long, and testing them, I had mastered doing everyday things such as walking and running, and predicting where objects would be without my sight.
After a while the other kids in the foster shelter had started bullying me. At first I didn't mind, but then it started to hurt. Eventually I started to fight back, and overtime my fighting skills got better. I learned to use my senses in a different way, by being quicker and more elusive. Sometimes they would beat on this other kid for trying to stand up for me. The other kids would always gang up on him and end up teasing him for wearing glasses that didn't even have lenses. I don't know why I never stood up for him as he did for me. I never knew his name. One day, one of the kids had started another fight with me. In the end I accidently broke his arm. The care takers found out, and beat me. It was different this time though. The caretakers locked me up in a room and beat me for days. I bled so much. Once they had finished, I was kicked out of the center and they threw me out on the streets next to the dumpster, which is where I am now.
As I sit in the cold snow I wonder if death would be less painful that life. It feels like I've been sitting here forever. After a few minutes I hear a man walk close to me. At first, I lay how I normally did, but then I notice something different. The man's footsteps have stopped in front of me, and the man sat down. I sit up and face in the man's direction. Before I knew it, the man addressed me softly. He slowly caresses my cold, bloody face, then tossed a blanket in my direction and said: "You poor thing." I slowly take the blanket and covered my body with it. The man's low weight and deep, yet soft voice made it apparent that he was an elderly gentleman. "Tell me boy, what is your name?" I didn't bother staring at the man as I couldn't see, and stared at the ground for a second. I then told the man that I wasn't sure, and that I was still searching for a name. As we talked, my stomach grumbled. After a while, the man stood and laid down a bag next to me that he was carrying. The man told me that there was money, and food to last a week. As the man took a step back, he looked off into the blowing wind and said: "I give you this choice boy: Take the bag and satisfy your needs, and never see me again. Or, follow me, and I will give you a name people will speak of." I sat there for a while and stared at the ground. The man waited for a few minutes, then turned and started to walk away. As I listened to the man's footsteps fade away, I could hear my heart beat harder than it ever has. Slowly and shakily I got up, and followed my name.