Death, I've found out, is much like a dream.

When it happens, and it will, it's unreal. I watch, captivated as events unfold and find despite my best wishes, that I am unable to change the outcome. It plays in the mind, jumping from point to point in no particular order, replaying from random points as I am pushing for a change in each and every one. You can't, in the end, change anything. What's been done is done, and when everything is over we all hope to be content with what we have left in our wake.

Death, I've discovered, is very much like a dream, and, like every other dream I've ever had, save perhaps the weird ones, I've forgotten it within twenty minutes.

So imagine this: One moment, you remember being alive. Remember a life with a family and with friends, with meaning, with dreams and goals. But then, a snap. It gets fuzzy, days blend in your memory and you can't differentiate what happened when. Meanwhile, well your most recent memories get fuzzy without you even noticing, you are slammed with something so vibrant, so real and unreal at the same time, that you feel like you'll never forget.
It's a sunset ending the most amazing day you've ever had, that you remember years after, as vibrant in your memory as it was that day so long ago. It's the memory of the smile of someone you love, burned so deeply into who you are that you can never remove it.
Except, just as it ends, you're plunged into darkness, warmth that wraps around you that should feel like a scarf in winter but in your panic it's a noose around your neck.

That is, perhaps, the only way I can really describe what happened to me.

One moment everything was unreal, like something out of a movie.

Then I was in the dark, flailing around in some kind of warm liquid, and god! I felt so trapped. I couldn't breathe, it was so terrifying that it overtook every inch of my thought process as I struggled. The overwhelming need to get out overtook any rational thought.

It took a little bit before I realized that I wasn't suffering even though I couldn't find any air to take into my lungs from my surroundings. At which point, I can finally say I calmed down enough to stop and try to think.
I didn't know where I was, and I couldn't move about enough to properly look for an exit of some sort. So it was at that point, that I tried to remember what happened.

I reached for the recent memories I knew had to be there, but they began to slip through my fingers like sand. I tried to grip onto something, anything, but it slipped away from me as if it was taunting me, leaving only one fact behind as one final jab at me.

At the end of it all, I knew only one thing for sure.

I was dead. I knew I was dead. As sure as I knew my own name, as I knew my mother's or father's, siblings, or even my dog's name.

I knew I was dead.

I'm not ashamed to say that when this came to light, I cried. Well, tried to at least. I shook, I held myself, I opened my mouth to make a pointless, empty scream that was sucked into the empty void around me. It was, at the very least, therapeutic, especially when tag-teamed with my duel-limbed flailing, and my curling as tightly into a fetal position as possible when the flailing didn't help.

Take a moment to think about all that you lose when you die. All you left behind, all the people who have to buckle down and learnt to live without you. The parents who have lost a child. The friends, who can't rely on you to be there supporting them anymore, can't smile with them, laugh with. Hell, even the pets that have suddenly lost the rock of which their entire life has been founded on, wondering always why you aren't coming back.

And then there's you (me, it's me) left alone in the darkness, longing for what you have lost. No closure, no comfort, just…..loneliness. Despair.

I found no comfort, did however, exhaust myself emotionally and physically. Combined, it allowed me to fall into some sort of dreamless sleep. There is a certain…..joy, in nothingness. Not quite comfort, but a relief all the same.

After that, I kinda tapped out of the whole situation, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Everything was dark and empty. Aside from feeling warm where I was, it was like being deprived of sensation for quite a while.

But that ended when the cramps came. Which, let me tell you, was a REAL bitch. Like, come on. I've died, I'm in a dark hell of nothing, taking what little refuge I can, and suddenly I'm getting cramps again? I. Was. Pissed. Fuck the traditional pictures of hell, this was worse. Fuck cramps, fuck menstrual cycles, fuck goddamn wombs and puberty. I was so over this shit, bring on the hell fires and eternal damnation.

What I got instead, was, well. At first it was a creeping pain, spreading out in all directions it seemed, from cramps in my abdomen. Then it turned...into something warm. Like, hell. It was like some kinda medical fluid, I think? I guess I could describe it as when I was at the hospital once, with the IV in my arm and its pumping something into my veins that leaves a warm trail behind it as it goes. Except it just wasn't in my arm. It was everywhere, spreading out and filling me up and staying there, like it was laying pathways. (Which, hint: It was. Though I didn't know that until later.)

So there was that, taking me out of my zoned-out state, and forced back into the situation. So I focused on that for a while, tracing out the paths it was laying in my mind, like a maze, because at least it was something to do, and no longer hurting me.

Which of course, meant while I was distracted with that, that rest of my world decided to send everything to shit. Suddenly my "comfortable" (if it could be called that) space was freaking out, closing in on me from all directions and squeezing the ever living shit out of me, pushing me...somewhere.

It was a universal message that I understood clearly.

"That's for visiting, now GTFO."

Well, fuck you too! I'm out, didn't want to be here anyway. Fucking asshole.

Ok, so I didn't realize I was a new baby being born until the very end. Suddenly I was squeezed out like pus from a pimple (God, why did I give myself that mental image?), and into giant fucking hands handling me like a much more fragile potato sack.

I learned some things very quickly after that.

1. Being a baby and being manhandled by nurses was fucking terrifying, and every baby ever, is totally justified in screaming their tiny little lungs out, which honestly, same. Screaming is totally a thing and wow it takes way longer for me to run out of breath as a tiny ass baby. Cool. Great Power, Great Responability.
2. Ok, wow, smell. I didn't realize wombs actually had a smell, until I was thrust into open air again. Fuck if I could describe what I was smelling before to anyone else now, but it was like being slapped in the face by cold winters air tickling your nose. When my face was wiped off and I got my first good wiff, I did what I always do when faced with the winter's air. Scrunched that nose and looked for something to press my face into.
3. Baby's eyesight is total shit. Like, it's totally bullshit. Colors are hard to tell apart, and that's even after something came into my tiny-ass range of vision. Anything not bowed down near my face to coo at me, was kinda a blur. If this didn't clear up in a timely manner, I was going to be pissed, because I didn't even realize I needed glasses to see far away things until I was a month shy of twenty-one last time, and I don't think I even made it a full year of life after that.

So, picture tiny-me, flailing and screaming, trying very hard to smack whoever was holding me, and my arms not quite doing what I wanted them to do. Motor control was a fucking bitch. I was passed around for a while, put into a blanket I believe was a light shade of blue, and pushed into somebody's arms, where I stayed. It took a little while for them to properly get my attention, as I was looking everywhere in this new blurry world.

When I did look up, into was into gold-amber eyes.

Which kinda took a back-seat to the purple hair this woman had. Purple. Badass, New-Mom. Love the punk theme you got going on here. The round facial features kinda took away from her looking scary, though, and made her seem more soft. Probably a by-product of labour. Well see if she remains soft-faced.

Then Dad came into view. I knew it had to be my new Dad, because he was blubbering like an idiot, clearly overwhelmed with emotions. New-Dad was starkly different from New-Mom. Dark-black hair was pulled into a tight bun in what was obviously a hair-style he stole from feudal Japan, and his eyes were equally dark. Like, straight up borderline black. If he hadn't been a sobbing mess, I might have been tempted to think 'demon', due to the sharpness of his facial features.

I caught Mom giving Dad a tired grin, as I was looking back and forth between them, when Dad started chanting my new name. Well, at the time I assumed it was my name, 'cause it was the only thing he was saying, like it was stuck on repeat.

Yasu. Yasu. Yasu. Ect, ect.

Yasu, huh? Well, I guess I was in some sort of Asian country….Reborn with my memory intact. I wonder how long that will last? Or was this some kind of cosmic fuck-up?
Well, no matter. To many things to do to worry about that now. Like figuring out my new language, and learning to read again, because fuck me, I am not enduring another childhood without anything to read. I was practically a book worm from birth last time, and dammit, I didn't see any reason to change that.

So, me. Welcome (back) to life. Let's do this shit.

I take everything back, let's not do this shit. Being a baby sucked. Breastfeeding? Sucked. No idea what anyone was saying? Sucked. Having to take shits in my own 'underwear' because there is literally no control over bowels? Suuuuuucked.

But, I did learn some new things over the next few days.
1. My name was Yasu Akiyama. Born August 11th, which wow, what a qawinky-dink. I loved picking August 11th as a birthday for characters in my farm simulators, or rp-sites. Favorite month, favorite number? Hella sweet, so down for that. Thanks, fate.
2. Cramps were never going to be a thing again. Neither were boobs. Because I had a penis this time. Which was AWESOME. No more sitting down to pee! I could pee on a damn tree if I wanted to! Ooh! Male pronouns this time around, that would be a nice change. If I didn't start growing hair on my face after puberty though, I was going to start a riot. Long story short, I thought it was pretty cool to have a penis this time, though I wasn't looking forward to boners.
3. Mom and Dad were Azami and Eiji Akiyama, respectively. Mom was short, but seemed to be way stronger than Dad from what I gathered watching through my fuzzy vision. She was a pro at all the heavy lifting, strong arms toned with muscles. Dad's arms were like twigs in comparison. Dad did all the cooking, seemingly taking pride in strapping me to his chest in some sort of bundle as he did household chores, which eventually included feeding me, cause I only breastfed for a few days, thankfully. He was on point with this household shit. Go Dad.

I didn't get my first and most blatant hint at my new world until about a week into my new life. At first, my primary toys that I actually paid attention to, were all stuffed. Bears and dog stuffed animals, primarily. (The big husky/wolf looking stuffy was the softest, which was a bonus, 'cause he was my favorite. I named him 'Les Stroud' in my head, since I liked to think of myself as some reincarnation 'survivorman'.)

Then, with no warning beyond my mother's sneaky grin, I was presented with a new gift. It had a squishable rubber coating, and presented no danger to my well being. Hell, the tip must have had a container in it with tiny balls, cause it made a nice rattling sound. Which, cool, rattle. (Also very chewable. The impulse to shove things in my mouth was strong.)

Classic toy, right?

Well maybe it would have been, if it wasn't shaped like a goddamn kunai. A kunai. Like, full stop, Naruto-style kunai. Who in the right mind made a kunai shaped rattle for a baby? Like, wasn't that page 1 in the universal book of baby rearing? 'Keep knives and sharp objects away from small children'. Sure, it wasn't sharp, but that wasn't the point! Who in their right minds gave a baby a fake dagger/throwing knife/thing?!

Of Course, my confusion was evident on my face, even as I kept experimentally swithcing between shaking the damn thing, like I couldn't believe what I was (barely) seeing, and chewing it (tasted like rubber, go figure). I was at the time, a completely baffled baby. My Mom actually snapped a picture of it, as it was among the first pages of the photobook Dad started back when they just got the news that they would be parents.

I think they may or may not have regretted giving it to me, cause I treated it like a judge's gavel, shaking it aggressively anytime I wanted something or was angry at whatever baby-face Dad was making at me. (The first time I bopped him in the nose was priceless. Kinda wish Mom had gotten a picture of Dad's face after that, as he wiped residual baby-slobber off his face. She was pretty proud though, I could tell.)

My first month of life kinda progressed in a similar manner after that.

Mom and Dad were focused on me and my almost non-stop hunger and unpredictable sleep pattern. Bath times were fun, because me and water had always been friends. I left the house for regular checkups with men and women in traditional doctor and nurse garb, and went with Dad to the street markets at least once or twice a week, when he wasn't working.

He always went on Sundays at least, from what I gathered once I got a handle on what day it was, and thus began my tracking of time. The markets were fun and colorful, and always better every time I went, as I noted my vision was slowly getting better. I wasn't quite sure when or where I was, but I figured I'd find out eventually. I had things like motor-skills to work on anyway, geography seemed a little out of range for my tiny body.

Language meanwhile, seemed to flow naturally into my brain. A trickle of understanding at first, and then a tidal wave. I was glad to be swept up in it.

Life was...good. Well, as good as it could get for somebody reincarnated with memories of a past life intact. I was getting somewhat comfortable with my situation, even if I couldn't say anything substantial aside from whatever blubbering noise I was making at the time. That first month was perhaps the best, looking back on it. Both Mom and Dad were happy, relaxed.

It didn't last (things never last anymore).

It wasn't that they started fighting, or anybody got sick. No, the problem was that Mom was getting restless. She kept leaving the house early, wearing strange clothes that I couldn't get a good look at. She always came back smelling like sweat, having been gone longer each time, and I could see Dad's face fall into some sort of sad resignation.

The second month was marked mostly by Mom's frenzy, seemingly getting ready for something. I didn't know what, but it was infectious in the worst way. Dad was getting antsy, his open book of a face perpetually set in something like worry and longing. But he didn't say anything, at least nowhere near anywhere I could overhear, even if I didn't know everything they were saying just yet.

The day Mom left, marked a change in my life.

It wasn't the sort of leaving where she walked out without a word. We had a goodbye, and the equivalent of an 'I'll be back'. But I caught on quickly to my situation. The moment of clarity, when the veil of denial was removed, is bitter on my tongue.

Because I saw her headband for the first time, in combination with a chunin vest. It was scuffed, nowhere near shiny, but it was clean and well cared for. The Leaf of Konoha was clear on the front of the metal, the black band keeping the metal snug against my Mom's head, with her vibrant purple hair peeking over the band in shaggy spikes that weren't held back by her short ponytail.

She wasn't wearing it ironically, even the flak-jacket looked worn but military grade, she was standing tall, and solemn. Her eyes burned gold, strong and fierce in a way I almost couldn't believe. It all came rushing into my mind in one go, this realization of where I was. The kunai, the leaving and coming back smelling of sweat. Mom was a Ninja of Konoha, a real, live Konoha that existed around me as more than a story or a show. More than a base for the fanfics I would read by the dozens. I was here, and god it terrified me to the bone. My lips quivered, my body shaking in a way that caused Dad to try and bounce me on his hip.

We ended up going with Mom, past the markets and into the rest of the…village, of which I hadn't seen. To the gates, where a crowd of similarly dressed people had gathered by the dozens. When we got closer, I could tell that they were armed to the teeth, just like Mom.

There was a tension in the air.

We waited there a while, Mom talking with a few other ninja's as Dad stood to the side, holding me, watching her. More Ninja's filed in, some with families, some without. Everyone was saying their goodbyes, organizing themselves, and heading out in groups. Before she left past the gates, Mom came over to us. She leaned over to press one gentle kiss to my forehead, before Dad shifted me away so he could bend down to gently kiss Mom.
They whispered something to each other, words I couldn't hear or understand. But I saw the lips move, saw the expressions on their faces. Then Mom turned around and walked out past the gates without a further word, her short stature making her disappear into the group of Ninja's leaving. Dad was shaking a bit, and he didn't stay to see the rest of the groups of Ninja's leave. He turned for home as soon as Mom's group was no longer visible to him.

I understood then, even if nobody told me in words I could understand fully. This wasn't teams going out for routine missions. This seemed more like soldiers going out to war.

And to war they went.