This was just an idea for a short little oneshot I had that I finally decided to post. Sorry, but it is not very long. Hopefully, you all will enjoy reading it.
The old retired Hokage sat in a wooden chair under the stars outside his modest house, resting his poor abused throat. Slowly, he reached up a thin, bony hand to his head and patted the little patches of gray hair he still had. He could remember a time when he had a full head of electric yellow hair, rather vividly in fact. It seemed like that was the only thing he could to do to amuse himself these days, immerse himself in memories.
During the day, he would tell stories to all who would come to listen, young and old alike. He spoke of his youth. The days when he struggling as a Genin to reach the same level as his peers. The days after his best friend left the village, when he trained with his just-as-famous sensei, the legendary Jiraiya of the Densetsu no Sannin. The days when he returned to his beloved Konoha and established himself as one of the strongest shinobi to ever step foot in it.
His listeners would especially like it when he talked about his part in the war and how be bravely fought for his village. But of course, if they listened to that, out of courtesy they would also have to hear of how he came back to the village to find his wife and children dead in his own house. At this point in the old man's seemingly never-ending story, tears would spring unbidden to many people's eyes, but curiously enough not to his. He had claimed his store of tears had dried up long ago.
And when night came and the sun fled, seeking better company, everyone else followed suit. All that was left was the ancient, wizened veteran. He had survived countless battles and killed more people than he could count, but all those people would roll over in their grounds if they could see what a pathetic shadow of a man their killer had become. Who day after day just sat there and reminisced with that sad smile on his face. Barely noticing and not even caring if anyone came to listen because he knew what was really important to an old man such as himself. Living such a dreary life, there was only thing he could take solace in....only one thing he could really say brought him a semblance of happiness.
All he had now was his memories.