Disclaimer: Property of Masashi Kishimoto since…ever.

Warnings: Kinda depressing in the first few chapters, but it'll get better.

Beta'd by: Noleewut. Thanks Dear!

I should be updating "Convincing Him" but instead I start a new story… Yeah. That's something that was waiting to happen, but don't worry, I'm working on the new chapter.

Enjoy!

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"To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing "- Unknown

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People fear what they don't understand. Most of the time, the fear grows into abhorrence which in turn grows into hatred. The hatred for what they don't know, the hatred for what they can't comprehend, the hatred for what they are afraid of is unfounded, unwarranted, limitless and, most of all, illogical. Sometimes, people don't even care what they cause by hating something they fear without thinking. Without setting themselves any boundaries, without restraining. They don't realize what an enormous effect being shunned and hated by an entire village could cause in a child. A child with blue eyes, blond hair, tanned skin and three sharp, whisker-like scars on each cheek which doesn't have parents, to be exact.

Naruto Uzumaki didn't know why he didn't have parents. He didn't know why he didn't have any friends. He also didn't know why the grown-ups always stared at him with disgust and hatred and anger in their burning, contemptuous, pejorative eyes while they smashed his famine-suffering little body down into the cold hard ground, their fists and nails and words hurting his body, mind and soul. But though their strong blows and kicks at his vulnerable, helplessly weak body and their furious scratching and digging into his tender, soft skin hurt him physically so much that he often fainted from the pure agony of it all and occasionally from the blood loss, that was by far not what hurt him the most. What hurt him the most was what they would say to him.

They would call him a cruel and evil monster, a ruthless, worthless creature, a malignant and non-rueful anomaly while fists like batons tormented him. But whereas the cuts, scratches, bruises, stains and even broken bones healed within days, the words kept hunting him, branded themselves into his mind and corrupted his soul, undermined his innocence. While the injuries of the flesh healed, the wounds of the heart only got deeper as the time passed.

The blonde kept laughing and smiling as he heard the insults, the mean whispers behind his back, the daring yet bold looks they sent the "obnoxious loser". The blond boy heard, the blond boy saw. But he didn't understand. No one told him anything, no one explained him why he was so excluded and offside. And as time passed, the tan, blue-eyed boy with the sunshiny hair started to lock his feelings away, to keep his heart save by building hard walls of sadness, anger, distrust, hatred and overall, resignation.

At night, he often wondered what it would be like. In the future. He knew what he wanted to be; he wanted to become a shinobi. He didn't want to become a shinobi to get attention or respect, oh no. A ninja was a being that operated and protected from within the shadows, that kept their identity a secret and their past untouched. A ninja was somebody who could protect himself and make money with his skills, who wasn't bound to a shop or restaurant. There would always be ninja. Because when people wanted something, they usually did everything in their might to get it. Why not hire a shinobi? As long as someone else dirtied their hands.

He didn't like thinking about his past. For him, his past was what happened a few minutes ago, the last day with effort already buried deep inside his memory, tormenting him even without being actively thought about. He lived in the present, at least he tried his best to do so. Because if he were to consciously remember any day before the current one, he'd lose his ability to smile and grin and goof around to mask his suffering. He just felt so alone. He looked at villagers almost every day of his life, saw them play with their family and friends, sharing tender touches and loving gestures. But as soon as they saw him, their warm and gentle smiles turned into scowls, angry glowers, terrifying snarls. And even the little children, who knew nothing but merely mimicked their parents actions, began to loathe him with vengeance. They didn't know why they did it, nor did they care. If their parents told them it was right, who were they to argue?

They felt a sick satisfaction from seeing him cry, his tears streaming down his scarred cheeks as they saw him sitting all alone, shunned by everyone, only touched when he was tortured and beaten. When he cried during his nearly daily humiliation, the salty moisture of the droplets often mixed with the revolting wetness of his banes spittle on his face or the dirt of the ground and almost every time with the blood that stained his features. Over the time, he had stopped crying, seeing that it only served to aid his humiliation. If they were cruel enough to throw them out of their groceries when he was in need for food and had money to spent, if they were cruel enough to make him pay more than he could afford – should they sell him something – for already rotten and bad food, if they were cruel enough to break into his already dilapidated apartment and destroy it even more, why would they care if he cried and wailed and screamed? They didn't stop when he begged, they wouldn't stop when he cried.

But there was one thing he couldn't forget. No matter how much he tried, it pursued him. There had been a boy. A boy with black hair, pale skin and black eyes. Those eyes were like black abysses, they drove him in. Something about this boy told him he was alone and lonely too. As he'd looked into those coal eyes, he'd seen anger, grief, an overall sadness. Those eyes looked so much like his own. But unlike him, this boy had a spark inside of him; a dream, perhaps? It drove him. The black eyed boy had looked at him, and Naruto hadn't been able to help himself. He had smiled at him, not the smiles he normally threw around. Not the smiles where everyone could see his teeth shining as his face screwed up. His face and heart hadn't hurt from smiling a false smile. He'd smiled, and the other boy had smiled back the same way, without the mask Naruto had noticed he always wore. It haunted him since then. Who was he? The boy who was as empty and cold as him and yet full of life.

But in the thunderbolts of facing the villagers on his hated birthday the boy disappeared from his thoughts. The mood of the citizens seemed fouler than usual around him, their attacks became more painful and the injuries they inflicted became deeper and more troublesome to heal. He had passed out from pain and blood loss and as he had awoken, they still weren't finished with him. He had felt his rips crack, had felt the blood spurting out of his broken nose, had felt his lips split. His entire body hurt like hell. As they continued to harm him, they had railed at him, called him a demon, a murderer. They'd screamed that he had no right to life, being the killer they saw in him. Thankfully after a while he had passed out again.

He hated them.

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Soo…yeah. The next chapter should be up in a week, and for those who are waiting for the seventh chapter of Convincing him, I'll update it on Friday.

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~Dark