Alright, here is my most beloved piece of Naruto writing. At the request of my friend Pyro, and my other friend who has like twenty names here I am submitting this for the general public to see. It is in the same vein as 'Catch Your Breath' by Lang Noi, or 'Dreaming of Sunshine' by Silver Queen. One of their muses must have gotten loose and gossiped with mine for this to have happened. If it isn't your cup of tea, feel free to move right along. Move. Right. Along. But if it is, and comments on plot or character development, or even you know random thoughts are always welcome.

化物 No 桃子

Bakemono No Momoko

By: (I really need to change my name)

Chapter 1: 夢の記憶 Yume No Kioku

I am not Sakura- I just want to get that point across right here, right now. Its a common mistake but I never was, and never will be. No, if I had been born Sakura Haruno my life would probably be that much easier. Well, team unlucky and end of the world aside; no my name is Fujiwara No Momoko and my story… Is just… its a mess.

I was born in the village named Fujiwara, in the land of fire at an auspicious time. It was for a small while, very peaceful. Although it would later be considered a time of forced peace, shinobi villages were no longer fighting, due mostly to the political pressure placed on them by the daimyo. And up until recently I haven't wanted for anything in this new life of mine- which is another issue I intend to cover later. My family was part of a well known and well connected merchant clan that reached all over the land of Fire and even into the Hidden village itself.

But then it wasn't. As it so often happens, things change and if I had been a member of the main clan I am certain my life wouldn't have been as badly affected. But I wasn't, I should have figured it out when I was younger but I was too busy trying to erase the trauma of my death/rebirth and infant-hood. In the words of someone I admire a great deal, dying hurts like hell. I don't really remember that much about it, which I'm thankful for.

I could have been hit by a ice cream trunk, or a bike, or even murdered. I could have wasted away in a hospital for all I know, but the truth is that there was pain and then there wasn't anymore. Like my memories of bad things happening had been whitewashed- swept away, and only the good things remained. The bad stuff wasn't completely gone, I knew that life for me before had been exceedingly hard, but I wasn't certain of the details. And upon reflection I wasn't certain that I wanted to remember.

I felt so weak and small at first, wrapped tightly in soft cloth laid out in my mothers arms. My small appendages attempting to free themselves like little drunk people. No really, I had no coordination at that point. None. No one does because at that age our muscles don't know much of anything besides existing. I could kick, because legs are pretty straightforward. Which I did frequently when I was put down, but the arms were the hard part. My infancy, and toddler years were very weird.

I was learning to do literally everything again, at a quicker rate because I already knew what I was doing. But still, it was tedious and frustrating. I'm afraid my poor nurses were at their wits end when it came to my many tantrums. I was a bit of a terror. But I mellowed out eventually, became more patient with my body and accepted my limitations with at least a small amount of grace.

I didn't really notice it at the time, but my parents rarely visited me. Oh my mother would trouble herself to come by at least once a day, trailing a floral scent and with her noble woman's complexion, she was quite beautiful. But I could only recall seeing my father once, and then only from a distance. Mothers hair was the color of red rose petals and soft, which seemed at odds with her plucked eyebrows and white painted face, and she had eyes the color leaves. She seemed to laugh freely, and tease the nursemaids that tended me with a gentle humor.

And she would always be happy to see me, always smile and talk to me in the baby version of what I eventually deduced was similar to japanese. Those were the first memories I had of this place, and I packed them up and put them in a box in my mind so that I might one day have them if the need ever came.

After I began toddling, I calmed down a great bit. I was one of those children that went straight from rolling to walking and then I was usually off on an adventure, toy frog clutched tightly in my little pudgy arms as I babble to myself outrunning my nursemaids as I explored my new home. It was about that time that I discovered why my new father avoided me so, although nothing was ever said to me about it.

I was toddling into my mothers suite, tatami mats cool on my small feet as I scampered quietly- I was trying to hide before the maids found me and dragged me back. I had a habit of slipping out of my playpen when no one was looking, which was mischievous of me- but I was stuck in the body of a child and bored out of my mind with the toys that they provided. Well, except for Gama-chan. But I'd always had a thing for stuffed animals in my past life anyways, no reason I couldn't keep it up here.

Giggling as I slid a door open as quietly as I could, it was heavy for a toddler. But I managed slipping in before moving towards a shape that leaned against the wall in the far corner. The room was dim, but light enough as I made my way passed a set of drawers made of camphor, I stopped short as I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Twisting I scuttled back into the wall. I was startled for a moment, until I realized that I'd been surprised by mirror.

I let out a nervous chortal before toddling towards it, mirrors in the household were rare- not that I knew that at the time. They were an expensive commodity as they were made of polished metal, rather than glass like those from my first life, this was my first encounter with one so I was a bit intrigued. It took me a moment of blinking in confusion to realize what I was seeing.

My skin was slightly darker than my mothers, although I spent about the same amount of time outside that she did- which was to say almost none. My eyes were very dark in color, almost black it seemed and there were slight red lines- Tattoos? that slid only a very small way down my cheeks, but it was my hair that I was shocked by. My mother had red hair. My father had black hair. But me? I had pink hair.

Not the bubblegum pink shade that was supported by aforementioned Sakura, but more of a dusky shade somewhere between white and pink. True to my name, it was the color of peach blossoms. Oh, charming. Please let this be the case of a long dead relative throwback and not 'mommy liked the milkman' was the only thought that bounced around in my head, and I pouted.

"Theres my little peach," Said a voice behind me, and I grimaced as I was caught.

"Giving your nurses the slip again."My mother said with a smile as she lifted me up, I made a childish noise of disagreement.

"Daw, look at you." She said cuddling me close "Were you looking at the little girl in the mirror sweetie? Isn't she pretty?"

I couldn't disagree or agree even as my vocal facilities were only capable of making nonsensical noises, but this didn't stop me from babbling. I liked to pretend I was making sense at least, I was quite lonely on my own. I had no siblings, no friends to play with, and even my nursemaids left as they also tended to my mother. Perhaps it was more appropriate to call them her hand maidens than anything else.

I didn't even have the option of the internet anymore, as the place I was in now seemed to lack even the most rudimentary forms of electricity. Seriously, we burned oil in little lamps to see by at night- which made fire a real nightmare, as the buildings that we lived in were comprised entirely of wood. Our kitchen had a stove that seemed to be something out of the 1800's and, and air conditioning? Pfft, write that off this instant. No such thing. Our clothing was more or less the kimono's you'd see displayed in some museum or worn at festivals, and the only modern thing I'd seen- and only very rarely had I seen it was a set of hardbound leather books that existed in my fathers study next to his scroll collection.

No friends, no one to talk to. No technology of any kind. Only me and Gama-chan. I felt myself begin to whimper even as I fought to school my emotions, it was hard to say the least, I had very little practice with keeping them hidden in my new body. Which you probably wouldn't even consider it an issue, until you realized that even as an adult most people have trouble controlling their emotions.

I was really good at it up until the moment I died, and as with everything else I had to start all over. I burst into tears even as my mother tried to sooth me.

Goodbye dignity, maybe I'll see you at the other end of my childhood.