Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus
His eyes were shut tight, not that anyone who came across the small boy could tell. His black hair, dark as the very night itself, fell messily over his closed eyes. If he listened carefully, ever so carefully, he could almost hear her kind voice, but a whisper among the cold, harsh wind. Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus. A warm contrast, that voice in his memory, to the freezing billows of wind. The prickles of the needles of ice raised small goose bumps on his pale flesh. Small flecks of white rested upon his dark hair, pure white against gloomy black. He stood alone, on the perfect layer of snow. The white blanket was unblemished but for a single set of footprints. It was cold, below zero most likely. The wind did not help this any. But Nagato did not mind, he wasn't even there at that moment, it could be said. He was somewhere else…Sometime else…
Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus.
"Nagato, baby, come here please!"
"Yes, Mother?"
She was tall, with a slim waist and perfect hips. Her skin was pale and translucent, as was most of his family. Her cheekbones were sharp and defined, giving her a powerful look to go with her Amazon-like body. Nagato looked up at her face, that of a goddess, his vision of a goddess anyways. He gazed with his inherited hypnotic eyes into hers. Her eyes, the so-called window to the soul, were almond shaped and exotic. Their color was a raven black, deep and soft with emotion. Her hair fell, the color of a crow's feathers, over one eye, spilling down over her slender shoulders. Perhaps the only flaw in this picture-perfect maiden was the slight discoloring of concealed bruises, the scabs that adorned her full and lush lips.
Nagato turned from his beautiful mother as his already sharply honed ears caught the almost silent sound of a nearby presence. He spotted his father's imposing form in the doorway, silently watching. The man's orange hair swept over his rinnegan eyes, which were narrowed as always. A stern man…powerful as well. He was the only man who could frighten Nagato's mother…and Nagato himself.
The young boy felt his hand grasped by his mother's delicate, long fingers. She placed something in his hands, and he looked down to see a porcelain angel. The young boy's eyes widened in curiosity and feverish excitement. He looked up at his mother with admiring eyes, speechless in wonder.
"Mother…what is it?" Nagato questioned quizzically, looking down at the perfect seraph. His mother's lips curved into a smile, so light and adoring. "Why…it's for the top of the tree of course. An angel, beautiful and divine. Someday, maybe you'll find your own angel to stay by your side." She told him with a motherly smile that caused him to smile in return. Warmth filled the small child as his mother's arms wrapped around him. Nagato found himself being lifted up. The five-year-old boy hesitantly placed the porcelain figure on the top of the pine tree. His mother lowered him, so he was held against her endowed chest. Her fingers brushed delicately against his soft skin.
Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus.
"…And so the little baby Jesus was born in a manger, for all the inns were full…" Her lilting voice carried softly as the mother read to the six year old boy who sat expectantly on the ground, looking up at his adored mother with wide eyes, as only a child could gaze.
"Was he powerful? This Jesus guy?" Nagato asked curiously. He watched as his exotic beauty of a mother grinned down at him.
"Why, I suppose he was. But what really made him so amazing and…godlike, was his concern for his people." She said thoughtfully.
Nagato felt an abrupt chill run through him. The hairs on the back of his pale neck stood up. Goosebumps slowly surfaced on his cold, clammy skin, which slowly lost the little color it had retained to a sheet white. The presence of pure fright arriving.
"What are you reading to that boy?" The voice said, low and strong, an icy cold that shot shivers straight through you. That was what he was referred to by his father. 'That boy'.
"A book...just a book. One about Jesus Christ, you know...the son of the god that I worship." His mother replied shakily. Nagato bit his lip, causing pain, but with that calmness as well. His father whipped out his strong hand, knocking the book out of her hands and sending it sprawling on the ground.
"What have I told you about teaching that boy that shit!" He barked. Nagato saw the hand raise again and smack his mother's beautiful face. And then he ran, scampered away like some kind of coward. Like so many times before. He balled up in the corner of his room, knees tight against his chest as tears streamed down his face. His hands were clamped over his ears in a pitiful attempt to silence the noises from downstairs.
That night, several hours later, Nagato silently crept down the stairs and into the family room. There, soft sobs and gentle tears came from the beautiful woman, like so many times before. And, like so many times before, Nagato crawled into her lap and snuggled up against her. Her tears stopped as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus
Nagato, seven this Christmas, kneeled and looked at his mother's once beautiful face. Sprawled nearby was the body of his father. The strongest man Nagato knew, the center of everything to him, lay drenched in his own blood, eyes staring blankly and lifelessly to the sky. Crimson stained the sheet of white snow with still fresh blood. The sickly smell of death was everywhere, so sickening and disgusting. It overwhelmed him, the stench, and bile rose in his throat, burning and vile.
He gripped his mother's hand, tears now dropping uncontrollably, his small, cold body trembling. His mother turned her bloodstained face towards Nagato. Crimson fluid dripped down her chin from her mouth, her eyes slowly turning cloudy and dead. Her skin was ashen and cold to the touch, already taking on the appearance of a corpse. She, with the small amount of energy left in her, lightly touched his cheek and closed her eyes for the last time.
Nagato, Nagato, thy sweet little Jesus.