NARUTO:

BUT I DO HAVE A FATHER

BY Marlonian Hayes

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Chapter Dedication: gothkat - thanks for reading all my Naruto stories, and always reviewing.

Love ya!

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A Tribute to Father's Day

Part 1

How could he leave me? How could he betray me like this? My eyes glared at the freshly carved name in the stone. I stared at it fiercely, as if hoping to send his soul further into Hell. I felt like if I glared at it long enough, hard enough, I would erase it off the stone and wipe it away from my memory. However, only time would be able to wear away the name. From both the stone, and my mind.

Sakumo Hatake, one of the greatest ninjas in the village of Konoha. Also known as the "White Fang of Konoha." More like the "Disgraceful Bastard of Konoha," after what he did. He ran from his disgrace, instead of facing it like a true shinobi. We all make mistakes, but he couldn't see that. He gave up… he left me.

I remember coming home that day. The birds in the village sang so beautifully, and my spirits were up. I felt light hearted and happy for some reason. Even though living with him had been difficult for the past few days, I felt things were about to get better. If there was a time to be wrong, it was then. I wish, for once, that I was right all the time. But I was wrong.

My body still shakes with hate, confusion, and fear when I bring this horrible memory forth. I remember how silent the birds were at my home, as if they knew something I didn't and were afraid to tell me. That was when my joy fled me, leaving me feeling heavy and my stomach twisting with pain and worry. Knowing I had to get inside, I slid the door open, rather violently, and ran into the house. But I was too late.

My feet thumped shortly against the wooden floor as I raced for our living area. I rounded the corner and looked into the dimly lit room. The curtains were pulled close and a few lamps were lit. A dark figure sat in the middle of the floor, another one standing beside it. A platter was placed in front of the sitting image. I saw something reach from the darkness and grab an item that had been placed on the platter.

My heart tightened as if someone had taken hold of it. Fear began to choke my mind as I realized what was about to happen, just as a silvery flash came off the item the man picked up. Running from the doorway, I cried for him to stop, but was too late. With a quick movement, the knife came down into his abdomen, just as the figure standing beside him swiped down with his sword.

With hands reaching out to him, I fell to my knees and gripped onto the man's kimono. The fabric easily crumpled between my fingers as the body leaned up against me. Tears easily came and in plenty. I buried my head into the body of the dead man, his blood beginning to flow over me.

I felt something gently tap my back, and realized that it was his head, just hanging there. The harsh realization of what had happened hit be harder than the man ever had. His death raining down on me, like his blood had.

When my uncle finally pulled me off his body, I was covered in Sakumo's blood. It still dripped from hair onto the floor and found its way down my skin in small streams. I shuddered and cried where my uncle had placed me, just outside on our house's step. Many whom saw me that day, the last day I would cry for a very long time, compared me to a scared and beaten dog.

My mother didn't come home that night, or the next, nor the next. It took her a while before she could accept his death. I accepted it at once, with hate. I hated him for leaving us, hated him for putting us through such grief, hated him for being such a coward and taking the easy way out. I never did look my uncle in the eyes again. Least not until the day he died. He apologized for what had happened and that he hadn't stopped him. I didn't show emotion then, like I did for him.

Before my uncle died, he handed me a piece of worn out parchment. Several lines were written on it, but I couldn't read them. They had been worn down or smeared with the rain. My uncle shook his head and said he would never forget those words, for they were the last that man spoke. So, they became the last my uncle spoke.

"Tabi ni yande
yume wa kareno o
kakemeguru"

"What is it?" I asked. But he had already faded away, making the words his own goodbye.

Now I stand, looking down upon the two graves. Both men had changed me forever, for the better or worse, I'll never know. But I do know that I hate them both. They lied to me, they acted as if nothing was wrong. Then, they took the life of one. It was not long before the other died in battle. A disgraceful death, a noble death. It doesn't matter to me.

I can't hate them forever though. Even with the bad, there came the good. I don't only hold the memories of pain and blood. But there were the times they were there for me. When I graduated from the academy, they both smiled and waved at me, presenting me with my head band. Then there was the day I became a chuunin. I remember scraping my knee on the way home and how Sakumo had wiped away the cut and placed a small bandage on it. I smiled at him when he was done and he smiled back. That face, so much like my own.

He would tuck me in to bed when I was younger, and had encouraged me to wear my mask. He calmed me when I had grown excited or frightened (which was hardly any). He always was there for the important events, like my birthday and my graduations, no matter how much work there was to be done. Even little things mattered to him. Always, he would take the pictures I drew in the academy and pin them to the wall. One time, he framed a picture I had drawn.

It was of him and I. I was on his shoulders, my twig body colored with a black pencil. His was outlined black, but white inside. Both of us had crazy silver hair and large, odd smiles. My circles for hands were gripped inside his larger circles. I still have that picture, hanging by my desk.

Even though I cannot follow where he has gone, there will always be a bond between us. A bond that will never be broken, like the rock, like the body, like the name carved into the stone, by time. I hated him for what he did, I spat his name, but now, I realize that I will always love him. No matter what happens.

I will always have Sakumo Hatake, also known as my father.

End Part 1

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Note: Sakumo Hatake committed a traditional Japanese suicide known as seppuku. It was often performed by Samurai and took two people to complete. The note given to the boy by his uncle was actually a death poem. Now, I do not know if Sakumo had actually written a death poem, so I gave him one. This is my adaptation of Sakumo Hatake's death.

Death poem translation:

"On a journey, ill:
my dream goes wandering
over withered fields."