Brr-iiiiing
The school bell for Konoha High School could be relied on to be loud enough to echo down the block and be heard by those who lived near the unfortunate place. It could only be dwarfed by the loud and rowdy sounds of the teenagers that were let out at the time of three in the afternoon every day. The voices buzzed noisily, mixing different voices together until they blended together to make an unrecognizable racket. Loud footsteps clattered against the crumbling grey-white sidewalk blocks, tracking the dirt across it, always expecting someone else to clean it up. Teenagers…almost every man and woman that occupied the town of Konoha viewed them as the obnoxious trouble that inhabited the otherwise perfectly nice town, not realizing their own faults that tended to fuel the fire of the rebellion that was known to strike out in the adolescent population.
The village of the leaves, many called the humble township, and that technically was the meaning of the name of it. It was just one of the mysteries that were held dear in the suburban town, one of those that's answer was locked in the heart with an unbreakable safe. That mystery was why it was named Konoha, who had come up with it. The past of the place was buried in uncertainty and rumors, originating from a time dominated by gossip. Of course, the abundance of trees no doubt had something to do with the name. Every spring beautiful pink buds unfolded on the formally bare trees, turning the treacherous shadows of crooked and mangled fingers into a scene out of a corny romance novella (the kind bought at a convenience store by the lonely female elders). The roots of the trees expanded in knotty patterns throughout the fresh soil and the lush green grass that appeared as that of those in the perfectly groomed – and most certainly expensive - of the yuppies in the upper regions of towns. Bird songs could be heard calling at all hours of the day, though the hooting of the nocturnal owls began around the coming of dusk, quickly silenced by the hollering of the overworked and angry as their yells echoed in the night, more irritating than the calling of the owls could ever be. In the vast region of many varying climates that the lived in, their area was no doubt the greenest and the most lush in terms of trees.
The citizens of the town were no different, a lively bunch for the most, and full of oddities and just outright nutcases. Gossip in this town did not differ from any other, only the names and stories differing. It wasn't just the teenagers that did so either, oh no, they weren't even key players. Whether it was over a cup of steaming tea at the local coffeehouse or during long phone conversations between longtime friends, it was the middle aged and old woman that spread the poison through the body of the community. And there was no shortage of gossip to be said and distorted, it seemed there never was. From the unwed Kurenai pregnant with the child of a chain-smoker, to the skirt-chasing Jiraiya's involvement with the alcoholic Tsunade, there was no lack of hot material to discuss, though usually the so called 'scandal' was a lot more diminished than it was made out to be. When there was no new material, it was simply made up pieced together by bits of information that didn't quite fit to form a whole. One often wondered just how much the truth could be stretched until it snapped altogether. Most everyone had been discussed over a homemade pastry brunch, a rumor surfacing about every townsperson, teen and adults alike.
Konan was no exception to this. If anything, she was actually the topic of much more rumors and gossip than most. At the moment, the junior stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining her reflection with a dissatisfied look on her normally stoic face. She ran a painted fingernail over her pale skin, brushing a lock of hair from her beautifully blue eyes. Those deep eyes, the type that always looked on the verge of slipping off into sleep, gazed dissatisfied over every single feature on her. It made her wonder what other people saw when they looked at her. Of course, she already knew the answer to this, they made it clear enough.
The young student examined her body first. It was what he used to call a dancer's body. Her waist curved in more than perfectly, to form a large sweeping curve that gave her that skinny appearance. Her hips were small as well, as were her 'stick legs', skinny and pale. She could always hear the laughs, the whispers of 'anorexia' due to her not eating her lunch. It was at that noontime that she felt their stares the hardest. Konan was not anorexic, or even bulimic for that matter, just skinny. So painfully skinny.
She wore her hair up all the time, the color of it an electric blue that was but one of the reasons that people raised eyebrows as to her appearance. The messy amount of it was always gathered up in a quickly put together bun, with untidy bangs sweeping her face, a clip on the bun that was attached to a hand-made paper flower. The one that he had one called beautiful.
Origami was her hobby, her vice it could be said, as some had smoking or alcohol or drugs. There was no denying the oddness of this particular hobby of hers, but it was just something to do when there was nothing. It was something material and just plain there for her hands to fold, the only time that she could turn something into a wondrous beauty and actually create. It was like bringing life to something otherwise dead, to breath fresh existence out of almost nothing. It was, she sometimes felt, the only thing she was good at.
As if this ripe orchard wasn't brimming with enough fruit to pass along to others and whisper about in the hall, she wore clothing that was different from the norm, not bought from Hollister or American Eagle or even Abercrombie and Fitch. Freak, goth, emo, poser. As if she couldn't hear their labels. What was she to them but a fresh can of soup to plaster labels all over. Warning: Contact or socialization may cause you to become a freak by association. Did her choice of clothing make her any less human? Apparently, the correct answer was yes. Sentenced to guilty by the judgment of her peers, a four-year term of hard time in the Konoha High.
Konan tugged on her black spaghetti-strap top so that it covered the inch of flat stomach that it revealed, and over the tattoo that peeked out over her tight-fitting midnight ebony jeans. She could still hear the painful hisses of 'slut' echoing in her twice-pierced ears. Even the large, open hoodie that she wore over it didn't protect her from the piercing accusations. Even the walk home from school was torture.
What, boyfriend fixing his motorcycle? Have to walk to your dirty trailer home today? Or maybe he just can't stand kissing you with that freaky lip stud.
None of them took even a second to get to know the real her, or they'd have discovered that she didn't have a boyfriend, and hadn't in years. And that even when she had that one, he certainly hadn't had an interest in motorcycles. The trailer park statement was ridiculous as well, because she lived in an apartment, not a trailer home. Her lip stud was her business and not theirs, she'd gotten it because of him, and that comment was just plain low. Konan brushed a tear from her eye, not at all to prevent her mascara from smearing, but rather as not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. And also so that he wouldn't see her tears.
The young junior rushed out of the bathroom, an echoing noise floating through the tiled room as her black combat boots his the ground. She opened the door only to bump into another girl. She immediately recognized her as the pink haired Sakura, merciless spreader of rumors. Konan muttered an apology and brushed past her, but not before hearing the harsh hiss escape from Sakura's perfectly painted lips.
Freak.
Konan rushed out of the building as fast as her skinny legs could carry her, as if she could outrun the haunting harsh words and accusations, the painful insults and rumors that attacked so frequently that she herself found herself believing them at times, when the moon was high in the sky and darkness was cast across her room. Her back was against the brick wall of the building, her small chest rising and falling with each breath as she steadied and stabled herself for him, who she didn't want ever seeing her like this. She walked on the asphalt ground over around to the side of the building, an alley-like space where shadows reached into the already darkened area like hands trying to drag you away to your demise. It was where he always waited for her. The dark figure sat against the brick wall, head down and knees pulled up, giving him a menacing, hunched over look. He didn't so much as glance at her as she walked over and stood in front of him.
"Come on, Pein, time to go home."