Disclaimer: Kishimoto-sensei own Naruto. Although I wanna own him. The
request still stands people. Anyone with a plushy can gladly send it my
way!
Author's note: Maybe I should get my teeth pulled out more often. I'm not drugged this time around though! But I did eat oatmeal this morning (didn't finish it because it was nasty) so I am writing this on an empty stomach. I kinda like it. It's a bit weird, but then again, this is about kiddie- Naruto. What do you expect? Enjoy and press the pretty little button at the end of the page, ne?
****
It was a dark night, one of those nights in which little children trembled in their beds, hiding under the blankets and called for mommy. It was a dark night, one of those nights where a small child would never step out of his home alone, choosing instead to stay with mommy or daddy. It was a dark night that saw the small, blond child wandering the village by himself, his dark pajamas mixing with the black environment.
He wasn't scared. He had nothing to be scared of. He liked the night. Especially dark nights like these. No one was out. No one could see him. No one could scowl at him and tell him to go back to bed, back home where he belonged. No one could remind him he didn't have a mom or a dad to go back to. No one could taunt him with family life.
The night was his friend. There was no one around that could hurt him. There was no one that could laugh at him, turn their back to him, ignore him as they played along. There was no one that would laugh at his tears as they slowly made their way down his cheeks. There was no one that would laugh at his weakness.
He was the main character in a tragedy, melodramatic and innocent, sinned against and plotted against. He was the tragic hero in his fairytale, endlessly fighting the forces of evil by himself, his loyal companion having died in the clutches of the demon long ago. He was the hero of the village, his power alone having saved everyone from the dark, terrible clutches of a monster that would have eaten them all otherwise.
He was their savior.
He was loved.
He wasn't a nuisance. He wasn't the laughing stock of other children. He wasn't the receptor of glares and evil looks. He wasn't the despised orphan. He wasn't an orphan. They all loved him. They all admired him and wanted to play with him throughout the night, embracing him, giving him comfort, laughing with him. They were all his family.
He had a family.
The little boy stopped a few feet away from the forest's entrance, watching the gloom and the darkness in front of him with indifferent blue eyes. He wasn't scared. He liked the forest. No one ever found him in the forest. No one ever looked for him in the forest. He could be alone in his solitude, watching the animals go about the grounds, hunting and being hunted. Living and dying as their numbers came up and they were subjected to their fate.
He liked the darkness. It was pure and had no sentiments about right or wrong. It just was. It just existed and followed nature's laws. It gave him a sense of belonging. It was chaotic and had no order, yet it had discipline. It made sense in the middle of the madness. It enveloped everything, gave everything a different tone, a different look, a different life.
Everything was different at night. Some animals slept, others came out to hunt. Some decided it was time for their baths while others swam in mud and dirt, slithering along the ground, hissing and snarling. Life was colored by night's blanket and the little boy could feel it around him, hugging him, urging him forward, pleading him to enter and become part of the madness.
Slowly, a small smile spreading on his face, he ventured in, his blond hair standing out in the shadows of the forest. He knew where he was going. He didn't need the moon's light to guide him. He came there every night. It was his special place. It was where he felt like he belonged. It was where he was accepted. The thought that it was a bit strange he felt at peace there had crossed his mind a few times, but he always dismissed it.
He would take what he could get.
He wasn't about to stop going there because he thought the villagers would think he was strange. They already did. So why should he stop his nocturnal visits because of them? Why should he give them the satisfaction of dictating his life when they never paid any attention to him? He shouldn't. He wouldn't. He would do as he pleased, and coming to the forest, coming to this place every night, pleased him to no end.
It was his sanctuary.
It was his playground.
He stopped in front of the clearing, watching the moon's reflection on the water. He closed his blue eyes and listened to the sounds around him, the chirping and the crickets and the buzzing and the croaking. He had discovered this place a few years back when he had run away from the village after he had been harassed by a few kids. He had run, and run, and run until he had tripped and stumbled onto the pond.
The animals had looked up at him but hadn't fled. They had stayed and watched as he had slowly picked himself up and sprinted towards the pond, stopping when the water was halfway up his waist, his arms flailing around and splashing the water in all directions. He had cried that day. And the small frogs of the pond had gathered around him and croaked, their noise reassuring him and assuaging him.
He had returned every night since that day.
He stepped into the clearing, his bare feet leaving imprints on the ground, leaving a crease on the earth announcing he had been there. But he didn't care. Why should he? The animals liked him here. He stopped a few inches from the pond, watching as the frogs began croaking and leaping from flower to flower in order to reach him. He sat down on the muddy ground feeling the wetness of the grass seep into his clothes and chill him.
He leaned down, his hands behind his head, blue eyes watching the gentle swaying of the trees in the night's breeze. He watched as the moon hid behind bright clouds, illuminating his surroundings before coloring everything black once again. He felt the frogs gathering around him, croaking and leaping, keeping him company, supporting him. He closed his eyes and listened to the noises all around him. He felt at peace.
He felt wanted.
He smiled softly, a hand slowly tracing the slimy outline of one of the frogs around him. He felt loved. He knew he wouldn't be kicked out, or punched out, or snarled at. He felt safe. He felt like he belonged. He never questioned the strange feeling. He never wondered why it was he felt like this in the middle of the pond surrounded by frogs and toads. He just did.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Author's note: Maybe I should get my teeth pulled out more often. I'm not drugged this time around though! But I did eat oatmeal this morning (didn't finish it because it was nasty) so I am writing this on an empty stomach. I kinda like it. It's a bit weird, but then again, this is about kiddie- Naruto. What do you expect? Enjoy and press the pretty little button at the end of the page, ne?
****
It was a dark night, one of those nights in which little children trembled in their beds, hiding under the blankets and called for mommy. It was a dark night, one of those nights where a small child would never step out of his home alone, choosing instead to stay with mommy or daddy. It was a dark night that saw the small, blond child wandering the village by himself, his dark pajamas mixing with the black environment.
He wasn't scared. He had nothing to be scared of. He liked the night. Especially dark nights like these. No one was out. No one could see him. No one could scowl at him and tell him to go back to bed, back home where he belonged. No one could remind him he didn't have a mom or a dad to go back to. No one could taunt him with family life.
The night was his friend. There was no one around that could hurt him. There was no one that could laugh at him, turn their back to him, ignore him as they played along. There was no one that would laugh at his tears as they slowly made their way down his cheeks. There was no one that would laugh at his weakness.
He was the main character in a tragedy, melodramatic and innocent, sinned against and plotted against. He was the tragic hero in his fairytale, endlessly fighting the forces of evil by himself, his loyal companion having died in the clutches of the demon long ago. He was the hero of the village, his power alone having saved everyone from the dark, terrible clutches of a monster that would have eaten them all otherwise.
He was their savior.
He was loved.
He wasn't a nuisance. He wasn't the laughing stock of other children. He wasn't the receptor of glares and evil looks. He wasn't the despised orphan. He wasn't an orphan. They all loved him. They all admired him and wanted to play with him throughout the night, embracing him, giving him comfort, laughing with him. They were all his family.
He had a family.
The little boy stopped a few feet away from the forest's entrance, watching the gloom and the darkness in front of him with indifferent blue eyes. He wasn't scared. He liked the forest. No one ever found him in the forest. No one ever looked for him in the forest. He could be alone in his solitude, watching the animals go about the grounds, hunting and being hunted. Living and dying as their numbers came up and they were subjected to their fate.
He liked the darkness. It was pure and had no sentiments about right or wrong. It just was. It just existed and followed nature's laws. It gave him a sense of belonging. It was chaotic and had no order, yet it had discipline. It made sense in the middle of the madness. It enveloped everything, gave everything a different tone, a different look, a different life.
Everything was different at night. Some animals slept, others came out to hunt. Some decided it was time for their baths while others swam in mud and dirt, slithering along the ground, hissing and snarling. Life was colored by night's blanket and the little boy could feel it around him, hugging him, urging him forward, pleading him to enter and become part of the madness.
Slowly, a small smile spreading on his face, he ventured in, his blond hair standing out in the shadows of the forest. He knew where he was going. He didn't need the moon's light to guide him. He came there every night. It was his special place. It was where he felt like he belonged. It was where he was accepted. The thought that it was a bit strange he felt at peace there had crossed his mind a few times, but he always dismissed it.
He would take what he could get.
He wasn't about to stop going there because he thought the villagers would think he was strange. They already did. So why should he stop his nocturnal visits because of them? Why should he give them the satisfaction of dictating his life when they never paid any attention to him? He shouldn't. He wouldn't. He would do as he pleased, and coming to the forest, coming to this place every night, pleased him to no end.
It was his sanctuary.
It was his playground.
He stopped in front of the clearing, watching the moon's reflection on the water. He closed his blue eyes and listened to the sounds around him, the chirping and the crickets and the buzzing and the croaking. He had discovered this place a few years back when he had run away from the village after he had been harassed by a few kids. He had run, and run, and run until he had tripped and stumbled onto the pond.
The animals had looked up at him but hadn't fled. They had stayed and watched as he had slowly picked himself up and sprinted towards the pond, stopping when the water was halfway up his waist, his arms flailing around and splashing the water in all directions. He had cried that day. And the small frogs of the pond had gathered around him and croaked, their noise reassuring him and assuaging him.
He had returned every night since that day.
He stepped into the clearing, his bare feet leaving imprints on the ground, leaving a crease on the earth announcing he had been there. But he didn't care. Why should he? The animals liked him here. He stopped a few inches from the pond, watching as the frogs began croaking and leaping from flower to flower in order to reach him. He sat down on the muddy ground feeling the wetness of the grass seep into his clothes and chill him.
He leaned down, his hands behind his head, blue eyes watching the gentle swaying of the trees in the night's breeze. He watched as the moon hid behind bright clouds, illuminating his surroundings before coloring everything black once again. He felt the frogs gathering around him, croaking and leaping, keeping him company, supporting him. He closed his eyes and listened to the noises all around him. He felt at peace.
He felt wanted.
He smiled softly, a hand slowly tracing the slimy outline of one of the frogs around him. He felt loved. He knew he wouldn't be kicked out, or punched out, or snarled at. He felt safe. He felt like he belonged. He never questioned the strange feeling. He never wondered why it was he felt like this in the middle of the pond surrounded by frogs and toads. He just did.
And sometimes, that was enough.