The little boy sped past houses, his eyes producing tears freely. He couldn't see, hear, or think. All he knew was the desire to run, run far away. A stone tripped him up and he fell to the ground, his pale face smudged with dirt, tears, and blood. Slowly he was becoming aware that there were people screaming and running past him, in the direction of where he had run from. The night was hot, the stars blazing. Smoke filled the air, making it hard to breathe. The little boy stayed on the ground, unable to stand. People's feet stomped on the ground beside him making little clouds of dust spring into the air a few centimeters, spraying the boy's eyes with dirt. He closed his eyes, his tortured sobs drowned in the noise of the screams and the crackle of fire. The smoke billowing from behind him blocked the moon, turning the night black. His beautiful blonde hair was black with ash. His blue eyes closed against the terror that enveloped the small village. He breathed in one last tortured, smoke-filled breath before black enveloped his vision.
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away, across the universe…
The boy woke up, looking up at the sky, blue and undimmed by gray smoke. He sat up and looked around. He was in a small enclosing of bushes. Then reality struck him.
He got up and felt the tears rising up once again. He started running back in the direction of the village. Before he got there, he smelled the smoke. The trees spread apart and a southern wind picked up. Ash flew into the little boy's face and he put his hand up to make sure it didn't get stuck in his eyes. Slowly, he crept up to the clearing.
A black scar covered more than half of the clearing. Nothing but a few pieces of rotted wood remained as far as he could see. A few doorframes were still intact. Everything smelled of burning and decaying flesh. He quickly ran to the nearest bush and threw up the left over contents of his stomach. As soon as he was finished he ripped off a sleeve of his shirt and tied it around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. No longer did the smell make him feel ill. Not that he had anything left to offer up.
He stepped carefully around the debris of the houses, not seeing the rotting bodies underneath the decaying wooden beams. His eyes watered as he realized that this was what was left of his village. He started running, trying desperately not to cry. It was a fruitless attempt.
Finally, he reached the house on the very edge of the clearing's
scar and stopped. He examined the remains. There were none to be
found. Just a few ceiling tiles and a couple of melted metal items
that were disfigured beyond comprehension. The boy started sifting
through the ashes. After all, these were the ashes of his former
home. Bit by bit he cleared the area of the house that he had once
lived in.
As he neared what had once been the back door, he saw
footprints of soot and blood racing out of the house. He followed
them away from the house and into the woods outside the village.
Dried tears made his face itchy.
The footprints became less black and more blood. He even saw burned skin peeled off on the footprints. Soon the footprints became faint and the only thing left was a trail of blood. He hesitantly pushed forward, incase this person was still alive by chance.
The blood turned and covered a bush. Two feet, skin off, bone sticking through the raw muscles were protruding from beneath the thorn bush. The boy yelped and backed away. He stepped on something and saw it was a straw sandal, covered in blood and pus. The boy closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes. The cloth slipped down to his neck and he breathed deeply. The smell of corroded skin overwhelmed him. He retched but nothing came up but his own body fluids. He quickly covered his mouth with the cloth and held it in place firmly. He made a decision to see who the person was.
He cautiously stepped forward and pushed back the bushes. He gagged and started sobbing uncontrollably. His mother lay in a pool of her own blood, burned and broken. Her red hair was wet with blood. She was wearing a singed, blue nightgown. In her hand she was holding a gold chain. The boy knelt beside his mother, getting his legs soaked in her blood. Her blue eyes were open in fear. The boy closed them, still sobbing. He sat there for some time, sobbing over his dead mother.
When the sobs turned dry, he carefully took the gold chain from her hand and saw that it had his mother's wedding picture with his father inside an oval locket. On the other side of the locket was a picture of him, his long, blonde hair up in a ponytail, smiling, hugging the woman who lay dead beside him now.
Sobs renewed, the boy grabbed the chain, smeared with blood, and ran back to the burned village. When he reached his house once more, he realized that he was most likely the only one alive. He fell into the ashes, only to get back up screaming. He had sat on his dead dog's decayed corpse. He ran, his blonde hair flying up behind him.
He continued running until he collapsed.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind, possessing and caressing me…
When he woke, a man with a metal headband was staring him.
"What happened to you, kid?"
The boy felt that if he cried any more he would drain all the water from his body so he just shivered and repressed a howl. This attempt produced a moan. The little boy was too weak to move properly.
Hands curled around his body and he felt himself being lifted against the man's chest. He blacked out.
Jiii Guruuu daaaay ya…ohhh…He woke up in a hospital bed. The stone walls felt like they were closing in on him. That was, until the door opened.
A kindly looking woman came in, followed by an older man.
"Hello
there. Are you hungry fella?" the woman asked.
The little boy nodded.
She grabbed some fruit off a table behind a curtain and gave it to him. The little boy's mouth worked furiously against the rough skin of the apple. Juice dripped down to his chin. The old man just watched. Finally, he finished the apple and handed the core to the woman. She smiled and leaned into his face.
"Ok, can you answer some of this man's questions? You can have more food afterwards, if you like," she said.
The little boy nodded and smiled. The woman smiled wider and rubbed his head. She then left the room. The older man sat at the edge of the bed. His face was soft.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asked, his voice like a rusty, old drainpipe.
The little boy nodded and answered, "Deidara."
The old man smiled and said, "Deidara, you were found outside our village and we don't know how you got there. Can you tell me what your doing here?"
Deidara looked down. He felt the tears coming on again.
The old man put a hand on his shoulder while saying, "It's alright, you can tell me."
Deidara felt the tears pour silently down his face as he said, "Big fire. My whole village was burned. Everyone is… dead. My mummy is dead. So is my puppy. So is my auntie and uncle and…" he stopped because the tears were pouring too fast down his face and a wail passed through his cracked lips.
The old man's grip tightened. He let go of the young boy's shoulder. Deidara looked up, tears still flowing. The old man seemed to be thinking deeply about something. Finally he looked up at Deidara.
"How old are you, Deidara?"
"Five," he said holding up five fingers. His palms were clean and bare.
"How would you like to stay with us, in this village?"
Deidara nodded, the tears slowing.
"Very well. You stay here and get cleaned up. I think you will make a fine Rock Village Shinobi."
Deidara looked up, his eyes sparkling.
"I'll get to be a shinobi?" he asked.
"Once your older," the old man said, laughing, "For now you'll train. We'll set up a home for you ok?"
Deidara nodded and smiled, the tears coming to a halt. The woman came back in.
"How would you like a bath?" she asked.
Deidara jumped out of the bed and ran to her, the tears dry on his face.
He smiled and shouted, "I'd like a bath very, very much ma'am!!"
She laughed and they left for the bath.