"Shit!" I swear, squinting through the water covered windshield and grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white in stark contrast to the black leather. The wheel jerks under my hands and the car skids again before the wheels regain traction and I straighten the Jeep.
The headlights pierce through the darkness and my windshield wipers battle furiously against the downpour. I slow to a halt at the T-intersection, waiting for the red light to turn green.
Then the car rams into me.
My head collides with the steering wheel and I'm dead before my car is stopped by the tree on the opposite side of the road.
As a medical student I thought I understood death fairly well. The National Conference of Commissioners on Uniform State Laws defined death under the Uniform Determination of Death Act. It states that: "An individual who has sustained either (1) irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or (2) irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brainstem is dead." In the absence of life sustaining functions, you are dead. And there was nothing more to it.
Professor Fredrickson used to say that death was the point when the human body could no longer hold the weight of the soul. And when the weight of this soul became too grand for the constraints of mortality, it would ascend to a better place.
I thought that was bullshit.
Dying was the end. Nothing happened after you were dead. You just are, and then one day, you aren't. And there was a very comforting finality in that. A freeing quality, perhaps.
So when I blinked my eyes open, vision cloudy, ears hypersensitive, and a scream tearing itself from my throat, I wasn't quite sure what to think.
A wail rips itself from my vocal chords and tears drip from my eyes. Despite my best attempts the emotional strain pulls me under and I feel like I'm drowning on dry land.
How could this happen?!
I died.
I felt my brain leak out of my head and I was dead.
But here I am.
Very much not dead because I am breathing and I can feel my heart beating and there is something else that I can't quite distinguish but I know (intuitively, the same way you know not to breath water and the same way you know you should use your hands to break a fall) it means I'm alive.
And it's wrong because I should be dead, dead, DEAD!
"Shhhh. Shhhh." A soft voice croons in my ear and mutters something else that I can't understand. though part of my brain (the part not currently screaming, as if that'll do anything) registered the language as Japanese (though not quite, I can't put my finger on it, but it's just not quite).
A soothing feeling washes over me and despite the confusion and the pain that's coursing through my body as thickly as blood, I can feel myself succumbing to it. My wails taper off into sobs, and my body (it's so small, it shouldn't be this small) shudders, and suddenly I feel exhausted. Unconsciousness claims me, pulling me into its dark clutches.
.
I did not pass through the five stages of grief. The emotions didn't roll through me the way I expected, in a straight, linear pattern.
The depression hit me first. And it hit me hard.
I would never see my family again. My parents, who gave me so much, did so much, would never see me reach my dream of being a surgeon.
I would never get to see them grow old and retire. Happy in knowing they accomplished so much in their lifetime.
I would never see my sister graduate high school, nor my brother graduate college.
I would never see them reach their dreams.
My future was taken from me, stolen from me, by some stupid, reckless driver. By some stupid man, who killed me because he thought he could drive with alcohol in his brain and slippery tarmac under his wheels. Moron! Idiot! Shithead!
And there is the anger.
White hot anger. It sets in, hot and fast. It's bone deep and it's running through my body like fire and it's ruining me. It's destroying everything in its wake, swallowing confusion and grief and desperation like gasoline, and if it doesn't go away I'm going to burn.
But as much as I want (and I want it so bad. So, so bad. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life -though I suppose death does that; it makes people selfish and cruel and twisted-) to stay angry, and it would be so easy, I know that I can't.
But there has to be something I can do. Some way to fix all of this. Maybe it's just a dream. I'm in a coma. I made it to the hospital in time and I'm in a coma. That's all there is too it. And if I just wake up. If I wake up, wake up, wake up! It'll be alright if I just wake up!
But I can't.
I can't wake up.
It's not a dream.
And there is nothing, nothing, I can do about it.
.
"Na-tsu-ki-chan" My caretaker chants my name and bounces me on her knee. I giggle and reach for her vivid blue hair with my chubby fingers. Moving is hard. My body doesn't want to cooperate and my face twists into smiles without my consent. I cry all the time. When I'm tired, hungry, bored, lonely, happy, sad, attention-deprived, smelly. My emotional expression is at the mercy of this small body until I can control it better. But for right now, the small movement to tug at the electric strands of my caretakers' hair was exhausting. My hand-eye coordination is shot, for one. My muscle control is shot, for two. And any semblance of strength is shot, for three. Basically, I'm an uncontrollable giggling, crying, and shitting nugget baby.
"Sore wa chūshoku no jikandesu, Natsuki-chan." The blue haired woman speaks cheerfully and repositions me in her lap. Chūshoku, lunch. I grasp the bottle, content to simply hold the handles and let my caretaker support the weights.
"Who are you?" I choke.
Coughing and sputtering I hack up the milk in my lungs. I glance around the room in confusion. What the hell? Other than the caretaker and myself the room is empty. So who just spoke? And how do they know English?
"English? What the hell is English?" The voice sounded again. A panicked cry itches in my throat and tears well up in my eyes.
"Natsuki-chan? Daijōbudesu ka?" My caretaker scrutinizes me and I can spot the concern in her gaze.
What the hell is going on? Where is that voice coming from?
"I should be asking you that. How'd you get in here?" The voice is muffled, as if speaking through a door, though I can tell it's a boy's voice.
Yamanaka. You're reading my mind!
"No, I'm not reading your mind! I'm in here too! I can hear you think!"
Yeah! I know you're in my head. Get out!
"No! You get out!"
Excuse you? This is my body! I'm supposed to be here!
"You're the one in my body, damn it! Get out!"
My god, your childish! Go back to your own body, Yamanaka!
"I'm not a fucking Yamanaka! You're the Yamanaka! And you're the one invading my body. Get out!"
Well, fuck you too, shit head! I'm not a Yamanaka, I'm Natsuki! I was born here, so clearly you're the invader! This is my body!
The voice falls silent.
Minutes tick by slowly, and I calm down. Maybe I made up the whole conversation. My caretaker is still looking at me in concern, but my baby reflexes had since taken over in my mental absentness and was happily enjoying lunch. Maybe my reincarnated mind is so deprived of interaction that I hallucinated the whole thing.
"Your reincarnated mind?" The voice asks, no longer shouting. I jerk in surprise. "You're a reincarnation."
It wasn't a question, but I answer anyways "Yes." A pause. "Are… Are yo-"
"Yes." The voice falls silent again.
A second reincarnation? A second soul? In this body? Wh-, ho-, what? I've never heard of this happening before. Not that I know a lot about reincarnation. But. I mean? Sometimes there are multiple souls in a body in… like… Kingdom Hearts? But that is more a heart than a soul, right? What about when a twin eats another in the womb? Oh my god, what if we are twins and I ate him in the womb and now he has half my brain! No. Shut up, Natsuki, that just sounds ridiculous. What about… Well… It's a stretch but when ninja seal tailed beasts into a jinchuriki, that's sort of like putting two souls in one body? Right? But that's not how reality works.
You know what? This might be one of those mysteries that just comes along with reincarnation. I don't know, maybe all reincarnations require two souls. It's not exactly something I can google. But still. Two souls in one body is a lot to take in. And how come I didn't know he was here until just now. Who was he.
"Think more quietly. You're annoying." My mental jaw drops at the sound (is it really a sound? Or is it a thought?)
"Think more quietly? Well, fuck you buddy! Stop reading my thoughts!" I shout in retaliation.
"I'm not. You're projecting them, idiot!"
Prick. Of all the people to get stuck with.
"You're not exactly my first choice either." An impression of intense irritation runs through me, and I have the strangest feeling he's glaring at me. Which is weird because I have no clue what his face looks like.
I ignore him for the rest of the day, frustrated and confused. The boy seems to adopt the same mentality and doesn't chastise me for thinking too loudly, though I'm sure my thoughts are reaching him loud and clear. Instead I nap and count the lines in the wooden roof.
244.
How did he know how to speak English if he's never even heard of it before?
263.
Maybe it's one of those weird things that comes with being reincarnated together?
289.
I could think I'm hearing English and he could think he's speaking a completely different language, but mentally we translated it for the purpose of communicating with each other.
301.
What a mess this is.
337.
How are we going to function together as a person if we can't even get through one conversation without arguing?
373.
Wait. Can he even control this body?
400.
That would explain so much! All of those times the stupid nugget baby started crying! It was his doing!
413.
Man. What a crybaby. He's going to need to stop that. I get in too many arguments to have to deal with him randomly bursting into tears.
445.
But he didn't start crying earlier. And the nugget body hasn't cried all day.
487.
So… maybe not? Maybe I'm the sole controller of this body.
511.
Man that sucks for him. I guess he's been demoted to my conscious. Just there to scream things in my ear.
521.
577.
595.
604.
How many cracks are even in this roof?
662.
I wonder who he was.
"You are allowed to ask." The voice spoke again for the first time in hours.
"Yeah, well… Maybe I don't want to." That was a bit childish.
"Liar. You were just thinking about it." His irritation is rising again.
"Of course I was! Aren't you curious too? It's not every day you have to share a body with someone else."
"You already told me who you are."
"What? No, I didn't."
"Yes you did. You said you are Natsuki."
"That's the name of this body. Of us… technically. It's your name too."
"Ha! How amusing. You think I would use such a name simply because of my position." A haughty feeling accompanies his words.
"Oh, get over yourself, Natsuki," I snap and roll my eyes.
My companion sighs. "Never mind this bodies name. I was simply trying to place us on better terms with each other. Evidently you are incorrigible and immature."
I scowl internally. "You aren't doing a great job of that by insulting me."
He doesn't respond.
Seconds turn into minutes and finally I release a sigh of my own. "You're right. We're stuck together, whether we like it or not. We should at least try to get along." I imagine thrusting out a hand, as though for a handshake, "My name was Lucy Doe. I was an aspiring surgeon and was two and a half years through my medical degree when I died in a car crash. I like dogs, coffee, and debates. I don't like winter or EDM. I don't know how I got reincarnated, but I'm now Narukami Natsuki. I'm a couple of month's old, though it's hard to keep track, and I want to accomplish something worthwhile in my life. It's nice to meet you."
My companion remains quiet, and I wonder for a brief moment If he is going to ignore me, before I feel something, a hand, wrap around my own. Two fingers grip my index and middle fingers, and despite my surprise at the odd sensation and handshake, I tighten my grip to match his, and suddenly I am standing in a dark room, ankle deep in inky water, and returned to my original body. Across from me stands a man several inches taller than me. Despite the unnatural darkness of the room, I can see him clearly. Long messy black hair frames a pale face. His cheeks are sunken and purple bruises under his black eyes stand in stark contrast to his alabaster skin. He might have been handsome at one point in his life, but now he simply looks exhausted. His back is ramrod straight, but I can still see the fatigue pulling at him. It's visible in the tightness around his eyes, the way it took just a little too long to drag his eyelids back open after every blink, the rigidity of his shoulders. I could feel his exhaustion. We lock gazes.
"My name is Uchiha Madara." My eyebrows shoot up, and his eyes flickered. A barely perceptible flinch travels through him, and I might have missed it had he not been so exhausted. "I am… was-" he corrects "-a shinobi and co-founder of Konohagakure. My death is inconsequential to you, as are my likes and dislikes. During the course of my life, I did many bad things. My reincarnation is a second chance to achieve my dream of bringing peace to the world. I suppose that I too am Narukami Natsuki. Though I wish to continue using my own name within the confines of our mind. And for your information, we are 82 days old."
Throughout his introduction I had grown progressively more incredulous. Did he really expect me to believe this? Believe that he's some –
"I can still hear you thinking." He interrupted, "Just say whatever it is you are thinking out loud."
I frown slightly and pull my fingers out of his grasp. "Fine. Sit down."
"What?"
"Sit. Down. Before you fall over." Without waiting for his response I drop into a cross-legged position, splashing the inky black water onto my companions' pants. The man glances down at me, his face impassive, before joining me, simultaneously pulling his hair into a self-holding bun to keep it out of the water. Without the thick curtain of hair, he looks smaller. "Where do I even start." I rock back onto my palms.
"You don't believe me."
"Of course not." I flick a hand dismissively. "I'd have to be an idiot to believe you."
"I gain nothing by lying." He response is level.
"Then why did you?" I hold a hand up, halting any protests that might accompany my words.
"Look, not that it matters very much, you can go by any name you want, but did you really expect me to believe that you are a legendary shinobi that can breathe fire and walk on water."
A small smirk pulls at the man's lips. "But I can breathe fire and I can walk on water."
I stare at him, unimpressed. "Sure," my sarcasm is thick. "It doesn't change that fact that you are claiming you are from a made up world, and –"
"Made up world?"
"Yes, made up. Imagined. Not real."
"Why would you think that? Ninja have been around for decades," confusion colored his tone.
He didn't feel like he was lying. "Because Uchiha Madara is from a manga, a made up character from a made up world. Of course ninja don't exist." I furrow my brows. "Did you die high or something?"
"Die high? No. I was used as a vessel for a chakra goddess. I died from chakra exhaustion. And probably organ failure." He placed a hand over his heart, and traced a spot lightly with his fingers, as though feeling for a hole. An unconscious action. "And I'm not lying." His eyes narrow at me.
"Fine." I rocked back on my hands again, skeptical, yet something is telling me he is being honest. He truly believed what he is saying. "Prove it."
"What would you accept as proof?"
What could he do that would be completely unique to Uchiha Madara. Sharingan?
"Your eyes." I shift my weigh to tap my cheek, right below my eye. "Every Uchiha's Mangekyo Sharingan is unique right?"
"Yes."
"Show me yours." It comes out as a command, and in that instant I realize how dangerous a position I put myself in. He can do all sorts of things with the Sharingan. This can end so badly for me.
I open my mouth to recall that poorly thought out idea, but then I see red.
I always imagined the Sharingan to be dull, the color of dried blood or decaying leaves. But these eyes are intensely, brilliantly vivid – the color of the sun right as begins to dip below the horizon. They glow in the dark space of our mind and the black patter of his eyes swirl lazily around his pupil. I lean closer, rolling onto my toes and steadying myself with one hand, mesmerized.
His eyes are beautiful.
I blink, and the red fades away, returning to coal black.
"Believe me now?" The man asks, and smirks at my expression.
I must be quite the picture: eyes blown wide and jaw slack, flabbergasted. Pull yourself together!
"Take your time, the awestruck look on your face is quite fitting." And there he goes reading my thoughts again.
"I-It's not awe! I'm just surprised is all." I jerk away from him and land in the puddle with a slash.
"Hn." His smirk remains.
I pout slightly, "Fine. I believe you. It doesn't make any sense. But I believe you."
"Hmm. Good."
"You're a mass murderer."
"… Technically."
"I have many questions."
"So do I."
"Yeah?"
"Hm. You still haven't explained what English is."
.
Authors Note
So... I started a new story instead of finishing or updating my old ones. And here we are. I'm only a little bit sorry, because honestly, Naruto has consumed my life in the past few days.
Please review!
Over and Out,
Plouton