My first piece on Naruto. I've been thinking of writing about Naruto for a while but I've been nervous. Nervous in case I got any of my facts wrong. I hope this is okay.
I wish to thank my friend Sofie for all her support and encouragement. This one's for you!
Disclaimer: I don't, nor ever will, own the masterpiece that is Naruto. Thank you.
When he needed to think things through, reread his favourite chapters of Icha Icha or simply needed to be myself, often he'd sit in his usual tree above the usual concrete bench ignoring the usual people who walked by. While he sat in the tree, paying attention only to the book in his hand, the world continued on, living, breathing and growing in delicate harmony.
Birds sing their symphonies from their perches on the nearby telegraphy wire; telegraph poles are scattered over the landscape of the village. A few ants run skittishly down the trunk of the tree and get on with their daily, if hectic, routines.
Kakashi loved sitting in the tree because the view provided from its branches was one that often stole the breath away from the observer. A quick glance, yes, it seemed like hundreds of buildings simply thrown together somewhat at random to form a village. Each and every building differed in colour, form and in some cases, height, from the ones in its immediate vicinity. This of course was due to the attacks to the village that over the past decade had seemed to have drastically increased. The majority of buildings were new, as because of the attacks, buildings were being destroyed and rebuilt all the time. If you lived Konoha and knew the trade of a builder or carpenter, chances were you were always at work.
However, if you were to take in the view with the experience provided from living there your entire life, you saw it differently. The sense of the community, the sense of friendship, was evident everywhere. Both civilians and shinobi alike came together to help the village recover after each and every attack. To them, it was home. For shinobi especially, it was home they had devoted their lives to protect, more than willing to risk their lives to do so on a daily basis.
Throughout Kakashi's life, countless colleagues and friends had given the ultimate sacrifice. Minato, Sarutobi, Obito, Rin, Asuma, Jiraiya, his father…the list seemed endless, with more names added often. For shinobi, of course, this was to somewhat be expected, but to just say that deaths like this were normal was wrong. One cannot just argue that it was their job to die, that it was expected of them – that was just so…wrong.
Kakashi sighed through his mask. His closed his book with a snap and returned it to its usual place in his pouch. Nothing can prepare you for death. To see death…to bring death. Nothing could ever begin to prepare you for that look – the last look in the eyes of the one that it's your job to eliminate from the world. For Kakashi, he could never begin to forget it. The final stab of the blade. The warmth of the blood on his fingers. The loss of colour from the skin. The life draining from the glassy eyes of the person labelled as the enemy.
Kakashi had seemed aloof for so long now. As if he couldn't care less for what you had to say or did. People who got to know him of course knew better than that, but for Kakashi there was a reason to try to avoid making bonds between people.
The closer you are to a person, the harder they are to lose.
How much blood had been split to make Konoha - or any village for that matter - what it is today?
War was war.
War was what made progress.
War, it was argued, made the world better.
It was Kakashi's job to fight, and most likely die, in the line of battle. It was everyone's duty. No one was safe from what they were born to do, whether it be to fight, to die, or even to avenge those who had been the ones to fight and die.
There was no point regretting your actions, Kakashi believed. You got one chance. One shot to do what you believe is right. Often, what was right was the same thing as your duty.
For Kakashi, what was right was to continue to protect what he had with every fibre of his being. Something that he was proud to call his duty.
