Sonder - Scroll I: Blue

Locked up, naked with socks
I'm watching the phone ring
It's making me angry
It's making me mad

Outside, the rains drained all the color from the world, washing the streets to a dulled grey that shuddered even into the trees. Droplets made music on the window panes, distant percussions that leaked into the house. Inside, the shadows of night still stretched from hall to hall, toneless and opaque. The water was boiling in the kettle, softly ahum with steam. Somewhere above, the wood of the beams creaked and elsewhere; the howl of the wind. Whatever serenity of morning this scene offered was shattered by the phone – shrill belltones that struck the air in rapid, hollow succession. Her eyes were drawn to it, hanging there on the wall, and continued to stare as its ringing persisted … Beyond, the storm was gaining in force, the branches of a nearby tree brushing against the window; scraping, tapping. The phone continued, undeterred. Even as the dark of the shadows grew and the sun seemed to want to rise – as the kettle let out a shrill whistle and a warning note of thunder resounded; the phone was absolute. Her eyes closed.

She could feel the wind rising around the compound as she sat on the steps, waiting for the scroll to take back to her father. Above, the clouds were threatening rain, rumbling and growling thunderous refrains. Her eyes watched their underbellies shudder with light and she curled deeper into herself, trying not to quake in fear. She was so young, then, and scared of the storms that often made their way through the village. Just as the skies broke with the first drops of rain, the door slid open. Expecting her scroll, she had turned and found herself instead looking up into a woman's face. "Come in out of the rain," she said quietly, her face but a kind smile. So she had, small and shivering and wet. "Stay right here. I will be right back."

And she had found herself looking around the house; up at the decorations on the walls. Absently, she had placed her shoes by the door and wrapped her arms around herself. She had noticed the boy standing in another doorway, watching with dark grey eyes, but did not know what to say. Outside, lightning cracked and she startled, beginning to shake more.

"Don't worry," the boy had told her. "It can't hurt you in here. It will pass."

Eventually, she stood, giving in to the inevitability; turning off the stove, moving the kettle, and picking up the phone. Question. "Yes, this is she." Introduction. "Yes, how is he?" News. Heart dropped like a stone sinking into a pond; felt somewhere tangled in her stomach. Silent. "No, I am still here." Intake of breath. "No, I understand." Exhale. "Yes, I will be there." Pause. "Thank you for calling. Goodbye." Receiver hung back to the wall and fist curling, tightening. Jaw clenching. A moment of built tension before the release. The want to strike the wall came and went and Mari Kodama closed her eyes, took another slow inhale, and turned to finish making her tea. A glance at the clock; a glance at the weather outside served only to articulate that time was passing too slow.

Breakfast was started at a quarter to six and the rains had yet to break. The grey of the day seemed to mix with her mood and even as she climbed the stairs to wake her brothers, there was a knot at the back of her throat. You lose patients sometimes, she reminded herself, but it did nothing to lessen the ache of heart nor the anger that choked her breaths. Her fingers rose to rub at her temple as she walked soundlessly down the length of the hall to the door at the end. There was nothing you could have done. It felt like a lie; she could have stayed later at the hospital, started treatment as soon as her chakra replenished. You had to look after the boys. That one felt like an excuse, even as she raised her hand to knock on the door. They rely on you.

"Breakfast," she called in, opening the door and reaching to flick on the lights. Several sets of groans replied, all in protest, as blankets were yanked higher and Mari could not help but sigh. They can't function without you. The words still sounded lackluster as she walked into the bedroom and opened the curtains – letting in the mundane grey haze of the morning. "Let's go boys – up, up – we have things to do today!"

"You have things to do," came the dreary reply of her oldest sibling, Junseo, who had sat up in bed to regard her with open contempt in those dark eyes. "I don't have to be at the training grounds until nine."

"Well, it sounds as though you will get some extra training hours," Mari replied heatedly, "Which you need. You're already behind your teammates and it has nothing to do with a lack of skill." She grabbed his shirt off the hanger and tossed it onto the bed, ignoring the responding scowl as she turned her attention to the other two.

The twins were lazily fighting over a pair of socks and Mari intervened, splitting them apart and handing them each one of the socks – moving to the drawer to fish out another set. They're helpless. She thought, watching as the seven-year-olds debated which of the original socks was the better of the match. Handing Takeo and then Takumi each another sock, Mari lingered long enough to make sure that Junseo was actually going to get up before heading back downstairs.

As she neared the stairs, Takeo ran by, holding Junseo's shirt in his fist and cackling. Takumi soon followed, likewise laughing as their older brother yelled after them – "Give it back you little idiots!"

Mari brought a hand to her face, giving a silent prayer to whatever deities were listening. Please let me get through this. "Takeo, give your brother back his shirt – and Takumi, stop running through the house!" A glance was thrown back to Junseo. "And you – don't be bested by a pair of seven-year-olds!"

Returning to the kitchen, she managed to wrangle everyone into their seats, place the food on the low table and mutter a quick thanks before chaos could break out again. Food was a miracle worker, however, and once it became the primary motivator for everyone, it was easier for the siblings to get along. Mari ate her rice and went over the schedule for today in her head. Takeo and Takumi need to be at the Academy by eight, Junseo needs to be the training grounds at nine. I should go ahead and make my way to the hospital and then pay my respects to the family …

"Junseo, remember you need to pick up the twins from the Academy this afternoon," Mari reminded, standing to place her bowl in the sink and begin to make their mother a tray as well as pack the boys their lunches. "I will likely be working late and won't be able to take time off to get them."

"I know," her brother replied sullenly, stabbing at his food.

"I don't want Iruka to have to bring them home again," she reminded, trying not to sound terse. It had happened several times over the last few months and it pained Mari to know that someone else was having to look after her family. Oh, it mattered little to her that Iruka seemed genuinely unbothered by the task. We have to look out for one another. We are all we have.

"You know, when we were seven we walked home by ourselves. It's not like the village has gotten more dangerous since then."

Mari fixed him with a look that would curdle milk, satisfied only when Junseo sank down a bit and turned his eyes back to the food. Takeo made a face at him and Takumi followed, the two dissolving into giggles. Junseo did not meet her eyes but did give his brothers a new, heartier glare. It struck her briefly how much the three looked alike – with their jet hair and dark brown eyes – but with temperaments that seemed more fitting of wild beasts.

"You will pick them up from the Academy," Mari told Junseo, firmly. "Or the next time you decide you want to be clever and sneak out at night with your friends, I will be there." It was not so much as a threat, as a promise. "And I will walk you home." Mari never failed to hear the door to the balcony slide open and footsteps disappear along the side of the house. There was a reason she thought her brother might want to train a bit harder. The responding look of horror was enough to lull her into a sense of security, as she began to gather the dishes from the table to pile them in the sink. It would be a cleaning endeavor for a later time. If only we could afford to hire a maid, she lamented privately.

"Can we please have salmon in our lunches today, onee-chan?" Takumi asked hopefully, fixing her with those wide brown eyes.

"No! Let's have tuna instead!" Takeo interjected, looking at her with a hunger brightening his own, lighter eyes. "With eggs!"

"Noodles and vegetables today," she replied. "And already made." Rolling her eyes, Mari wrapped the bento boxes in cloth and sat them on the counter by the door. Glancing at the clock, she gave a low note. "Now, go get ready. The weather isn't cooperating and we'll have to walk over soon."

The twins, seemingly unbothered, began their usual race up the stairs. Junseo eventually stood, stretched, and fixed her with a disinterested look. He glanced at the tray and frowned slightly before following his younger brothers. Mari sighed, grabbed the tray, and followed as well, although with a different destination in mind.

Maxed out, minimum wage
My brain is a time bomb
I'm saying goodbye, Mom
I'll see you again

"Okaa-san?" She knocked on the first door, nearly pressing her ear against it. When there was no reply, she tested the knob and found it unlocked. Entering quietly, she closed the door behind her and waited for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the new darkness. The layout of the room and its belongings were as familiar to her as her own reflection; unchanging and unaltered for the years that had passed. "Okaa-san?" She tried again, remaining unsurprised when her mother gave no answer.

As with the unending days before, the shell of her mother was still in bed, covered by a thick blanket and unmoving. Pausing to make sure, Mari counted the spaces between her breaths before placing the tray on the end table, eyes watching the steady rise and fall of the bundle. Her mother had long since wasted away into only a breath of a woman, her long black hair falling about her now and obscuring her features. She was turned away, curled in on herself, her fingers held close to her chest and unmoving. The room smelled of age and dust, a time capsule of a life changed.

Gathering her chakra and forming the appropriate seals, her palms began to glow with their greenish light and gently, quietly, she ghosted them over her mother's form, closing her eyes and concentrating. Below the skin, everything felt frail and hollow, continuing on in its use but never able to garnish for itself much strength. Sighing, Mari withdrew the chakra from her hands and allowed them to fall back to her side. She prided herself on her abilities as a medical-nin, but some wounds could not be healed.

Tugging softly on the edges of the blanket, Mari covered the curled form of her mother with the blanket and withdrew, retracing her steps back toward the door. The old tray was taken with her, the soup from the previous night now cold and almost accusatory within its porcelain bowl. Her reflection and that of the room swam and joined in the broth and she fought the new nausea in her stomach, refusing to look at any of the photographs hanging on the walls. She didn't want to see their family in the times before.

The house itself was filled with enough reminders of the way things had once been; her fathers belongings still where they had been on the night that final night. She had been unable to move them, to lock them away, and thus, they lived alongside them, with those ghosts of memory. She often would go into his office to do research but more often she would go in there to sit, to relive the sight of him there at the desk, smiling at her and trying not to appear so busy. He always failed. But in spite of it, she smiled.

The door to the room was firmly closed, leaving it to blend back into the backdrop as Mari merely moved toward her own, throwing casual glances toward the room of her brothers to make sure they were, in fact, getting dressed. Crossing the threshold, she shut and turned the lock (it had only taken the twins bursting in on her once to make sure that key step was never forgotten). Textbooks and journals littered the desks – scrolls pooling off the corners and onto the floor. Equipment of all sorts covered every inch of available space, from live plant specimens growing on the window sills and in hanging baskets, to the jars of cuttings that were on high selves or here or there. Kunai and shuriken were tucked out of reach from grabbing hands but nevertheless present, surrounding half-finished summoning seals and paperwork. Her lack of organization might be alarming to some of her peers and she had no real excuse other than she did not have the time to keep it all in order. Nor the want, if she were being honest with herself.

Stepping over one of the scrolls, she started on the task of getting herself ready to face the day. Despite the circumstances, she dressed in her normal attire; a mixture of materials from her dual roles as a Tokubetsu Jōnin and medical-nin. She wore the sigil a medical-nin in that mesh of red to white, but opted for a more standard Jōnin look otherwise. The standard outer jacket of the Konoha medical-nin had been altered into a long kimono; the cream-off-white offset by a nice saturated red lining with the red medical-nin sigil displayed proudly. The black of her sandals were tall and without heel, calves wrapped. Buckling her belt and satchels into place about her waist, she bent to slide several of the scrolls into their rightful place in the holders. The act calmed her slightly, despite the continuous tapping of the rain against the windows.

Brushing out her hair, she marveled at how light the color had gotten, having become almost a sandy blonde over the past year. A few months back she had cut herself some straight bangs but continued to let the rest of it grow, unbothered when it now swung at her hips. Freckles from the constant sun dusted the bridge of her nose and cheeks. The septum piercing and vertical labret were leftover from gone days of fledgling rebellion and she could not bring herself to remove them. Fitting her headband into his rightful place hanging from her belt, she gave once last glance in the mirror, another to the picture on her windowsill, and headed out to round up the boys for the start of the day.

Striking a pose
Smiling in photos without any reason
With people that I'll never know
I'm outta control, living a fictional prose
I took an oath, it's killing me though
'Cause I don't believe in the things that I do

If there was more to life than ticking objectives off of a schedule, Mari felt like she would never know. The expectations that her village, her country, her family had for her were the only things to set the course for her day. It did not matter, rain or shine, those expectations would always be there, always coming forever anything else. Not that Mari had anything else. Thus, she escorted Takeo and Takumi to the Academy, stopping to have a brief chat with Iruka about nothing in particular; pleasantries, comments about the downpour and how things were going, disbelief that Junseo had actually graduated. For his part, the dour preteen quickly dismissed himself to go meet his team, despite Mari reminding him that he had been so certain that he did not have to meet them until nine. It was the best way of assuring that she would not hear from him for the remainder of the day. Bidding the instructor a smiled farewell, Mari made her way toward the hospital, umbrella shouldered and mind beginning to distract itself in the puddles that gathered on the roadway, reflecting the imperfect skies.

Underneath the rainfall, Konoha was swathed in inactivity, the streets feeling listless and lifeless. The normally colorful buildings had taken on an uncharacteristic greyscale, reminding her of how the village looked during wartime, or after – No, she told herself sternly. You will not think about that. In spite of herself, she did, tracing the walls of the buildings and remembering half-running this way when she were so much younger, scroll tightly in hand, dress catching the breeze as her steps echoed on the stones. She had always felt so very important, heading to the Uchiha compound, the words of her father wrapped up in that scroll and securely sealed away to all but to whom they were addressed. She felt as though she were delivering the most precious of things; correspondence – and in her child mind, it had meant more than the world – it had meant everything.

"Ma-chan," her father would call her into the office, looking down at her with such warmth in those eyes. "I have a scroll that needs to be delivered." He would hold it out to her, like a secret treasure, sealed tightly and bound with a simple tie. "You know the rules, don't you?" Mari had always assured him that she did, nodding rapidly and holding out her hands. The scroll had always been held so tightly, so securely. She was it's keeper – he had entrusted it to her. "That's my girl," he would say, going back to his paperwork. "Now run along and remember the rules." The rules had always been running through her mind with every step – do not stop – do not loiter – do not hand the scroll to anyone but Fugako or his wife – make sure not to overstay.

It was only on that last one rule did Mari every bend; for several times it felt as though she might have overstayed. But never once was it brought up, and never once was it questioned. Father always had such great confidence in me. She thought to herself, and not for the first time wondered if such confidence was well-placed. But Tatsuo Kodama would never had said an ill word about anyone, least of all a member of his family. Loyalty. Honesty. Duty. Honor. Dedication. The pillars of their clan, of their household, and the pillars that he had always believed should govern their lives; should govern the lives of all shinobi. Do no harm. A pillar that within her had cracked.

Looking up now through the dreary visage of the day, she beheld the Konoha hospital rising from that grey and hesitated just outside the outer fence. For every medical-nin carried within themselves a small cemetery where from time to time they withdrew – a place of bitterness and regret, where they must look for an explanation for their failures. For Mari had failed once of her patients, a fellow Jōnin that had returned from a mission in a bad way, to put it mildly. She had worked for many hours to stem the bleeding on his internals, to mend the walls of his lungs and his to heal the damage to his bones. Eventually she had run out of chakra, and had run out of time. She had gone home, assuring herself, and others, that they would continue in the morning with hope that his condition was stable and with hope that other skilled medics would be there should things go awry. The phone had rung and it was not a call to arms. No, it had been a call for a shovel.

Steeling herself against the chill of the wind, Mari approached the hospital, composing herself into a mask of calm professionalism, allowing the turmoil of emotions to be pressed below the surface. There would be further time to mourn, to consider her hand in this. For now, it was time to put on the mask and do as her job demanded her do. Crossing into the lobby, the umbrella disappeared in a swirl of mist and Mari took a moment to run a hand along her clothes, giving a glance at the nurse's station and bowing her head in acknowledgement. She had arrived at fifteen minutes past eight. Immediately, one of her colleagues, a more permanent fixture at the hospital, by the name of Hōshō, intercepted her and directed their movement through the wing.

"Mari-sama, here is the chart. The body is still located in its room. Time since coding; two hours and fifteen minutes. Autopsy pending your approval. Subject experienced convulsions before going into cardiac arrest. Revival attempts were futile."

"Thank you, Hōshō, I can take it from here." Thumbing through the medical charts, the information was validated, taking a moment to read through the necessary lines. Gradually, and then all at once, her mind sank into the familiarity of the work, allowing a relief from the pressure gathering at the back of her throat. For the moment, the emotional side was detached, and mind became preoccupied in the why. Simply; what had gone wrong?

Moving through the adjacent wing and into the room, Mari was greeted by several others on the staff gathered around the bed. A sheet had been pulled over the head of the Jōnin to maintain his dignity if death. Pulling her hair back into a bun, Mari moved to the bedside and gently coaxed the sheet down and off the face of the man and then lower … revealing his figure still clad in the abrasive black underbody garments that so many of their profession wore. Fingers shifting into the proper hand seals, they were soon awash with that chakra, moved slowly over the body as her eyes flickered shut in concentration. She was unsurprised to find significant damage to the cardiac arteries, following the blood vessels throughout the body and suppressing the urge to frown. After a few minutes look, her hands dropped and the sheet was gently placed back over the face of the man.

"Blood vessel abnormalities," Mari explained, uncapping her pen and writing it upon the chart. "The coronary arteries and aorta suffered significant damage but some of these abnormalities look as though they were merely genetic. The adrenaline of the earlier fight put a strain on the vessels, acting as a trigger. I see that he went into cardiac arrest when he first got here, but with these abnormalities present …" She shook her head. There is only so much we can do. That particular phrase went unspoken but understood, several of her colleagues giving nods as she signed off on the forms, signaling that an autopsy would not be needed unless directly requested by the family.

I could have done more if I had know, she thought to herself, moving through the doors and toward another one of the rooms that lined the hall. I should have looked more carefully. Although part of her could rationalize that there was only so much that she could be responsible for, the larger part held firm to the belief that this mistake was on her. A man had lost his life, and if she had caught the blood vessel abnormalities in her initial appraisal … There was so much internal damage. Placing her hands upon him had been conjured pictures of mincemeat. A nausea gripped her stomach. You could have saved him.

Another chart was pressed into her hands and Mari took another deep breath, nodding in unspoken thanks before passing the next set of doors into another sparsely decorated room. This one was not populated by a corpse and its onlookers; instead Asuma Sarutobi looked fit and ready to be discharged, surrounded as he was by his fellow Jōnin. Kakashi Hatake, Might Guy, and Kurenai Yūhi were certainly a sight for sore eyes, the three of them crowded in the room as they were.

"Please tell me you're hear to sign the release paperwork," Asuma groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed and fixing her with a sideways grin and lidded eyes. "I could really use a smoke."

"One more physical exam and you're all set," Mari promised, giving him a just smile as she stepped closer, aware of the others in the room. "Just need to make sure you don't have any more spots on your lungs than the ones you came in here with." Their small familiarity allowed her the one jest.

"I'll have two cigarettes when I get out of here, just for you," Asuma promised, pretending not to notice the daggered look that Kurenai tossed in his direction.

"Don't listen to him, his pride's just hurt," she supplemented for him, giving him a meaningful look that did not invite deeper reading.

"A man's pride is his youth, Kurenai!" Guy interjected. "Let Asuma express it."

Deciding it might be best to ignore the other Jōnin, Mari drew near, formed the needed hand seals, and set to her examination with what she would only consider the upmost professionalism and dedication to the task at hand. In no way was she attempting to expediate the process so should get out of this overcrowded sphere and away from her … peers. At times she found it hard to relate; they were all so familiar with one another and had been for many years. Her arrival into their little circle had been noted as little more than another year. To put it bluntly, Mari had known them as her peers for two, almost three, years, since her advancement from Chūnin, before then their acquaintance was just as shinobi above her level. The honorific of 'sama' still at times was tempted to leave her mouth.

"You are all set to go," Mari announced, reaching up to pull the tie from her hair and allow it to return to its length. Pen scratched on parchment and the chart was hugged back to her chest. "Try not to smoke an entire pack today, okay, Asuma?" She tried her best to give him a stern look, but it evaporated into a smile and a small shake of her head.

"No promises," the Jōnin answered, honestly, rising and moving toward the door. Immediately he was followed by both Kurenai and Guy, who were still locked in a discussion that while philosophical bordered less heavily on being inspirational and more just purely nonsensical. Mari looked after them for a moment before turning back to the other sole occupant in the room, Kakashi Hatake.

"Kakashi-sama?" Mari asked, drawing his attention up from his Icha Icha novel. Stepping to the side, she directed with a nod of her head that the others had left and that he should likely do the same.

Lazily, the man pushed off from his place leaning against the window frame and headed for the door. The sauntering nature of his gait and apparently lackadaisical movements betrayed the reputation that he held. Scarecrow. Mari thought, observing him from the relative obscurity of her clipboard, pen continuing to scratch notes and make edits to the paperwork. She told herself that she was merely putting the finishing touches on the work; it had been completely half a dozen pen scratches ago and was only lowered when the man was out of sight. Moving to follow him out, Mari was taken aback to find Kakashi instead waiting for her in the hall, the book that had absorbed his attention closed and put away. His singularly visible eye regarded her simply. The look made her feel trapped.

"Any word on how Osaki Sotaro is doing?" Kakashi asked, tilting his head just to the side as though to gauge her reaction.

"I am sorry, Kakashi-sama," Mari began, picking her words carefully and allowing that mask of professionalism to fall, just, revealing the truth pensiveness that she felt, unearthing just a bit of the regret that had been so callously pushed aside earlier that morning. "Unfortunately he did not make it through the night." Cardiac arrest. Blood vessel abnormalities. Words that she did not say. No word of the way that his internals that swelled and hemorrhaged. No word on the names that had left like pleas from his lips until he lost consciousness beneath her hands.

Something more than that barest emotion must have prevented itself on her features, for Kakashi nodded, once, and offered her a longer glance. "I am sorry." Sorry for your loss. As the older man moved to leave, his put his hand briefly on her shoulder and Mari did her best not to flinch at the contact. It was not that it was unwanted or unwelcome; simply that it was unexpected. Turning just, she watched as he followed the corridor and soon disappeared from sight. Only then did she allow herself to release the ragged breath that she had been holding.

Roped up, rat in a cage
I'm having a breakdown
Drinking at a playground, tequila for one
Too short, walking the streets, I'm hating my haircut
You say that you're here, but
You live on the Sun

As the day rose in a crescendo toward noon, the corridors of the hospital gradually began to fill, the flow of patients, ebbing and flowing. As per the usual, she ran emergency work, working alongside the quick-response staff. Together they healed those with wounds serious enough to warrant immediate attention; for at the moment she was one of the most skilled medical-nin on call for the day. The guilt was wearing on her mind and she threw herself all the more fixatedly into the work, hair pulled back and hands, skills at their best. Her mind was static and blankness. Break was only taken when the flow of chakra ceased, when her form was too exhausted to continue, and a momentary respite was taken under the guise of an early lunch. Instead she sat on the roof of the hospital with her legs dangling off the edge and her mind heavy enough to want to just lean forward. Umbrella shielded her from the continued downpour, and if the day did not reflect the thoughts in her head she would.

A tremor had begun to work its way through her skin, a shudder that despite her best efforts could not be contained. Soon she was quivering, biting hard at the piercing on her lip and pulling the umbrella all the more firmly down to shroud herself. She had long since washed the blood off her hands but the memory of it there was enough to evoke the thought of permanent stains. Beneath her hands she could still feel the slip of viscera and the feeling of holes where there should not be holes. The feeling of mending tissue, stitching flesh and ebbing plasma, pressing down upon swelling and attempting to mend more than just skin. At times, when she closed her eyes, it was tangible, as though it were her hands that were beneath the skin, moving organs and sewing with thin thread. Never could she forget how intimate using chakra was, especially when it was used to heal. She poured herself into these patients, creating these links to them, these bonds and connections …

And then they die. The thought came, unbidden and unwanted and caused the shaking within her bones to deepen until she was trembling there, on the brink of tears, staring out at the drenched skyline of her village. Blinking them away, anger followed with that remorse, that guilt, searing heated and angry and Mari knew that if she did not get herself under control, things would get bad. She could not be sitting here pending an emotion breakdown while below, the hospital carried on. She was one of the cogs in the gears, one of the valves in its heart, and through her efforts today and their efforts they would prevent others from following suite. But the snake was already in the garden, winding its way through her thoughts, and she looked down at her home with only regrets like ash and fire in her mouth.

In the end, al she could bring herself to do was stand and make her way down to the streets, trying to find some sort of distraction that would prove enough to shake those unbidden thoughts. You don't deserve peace of mind. The words were acidic and not fully of her own voice, a twist in her subconscious. The pain in her chest flared violently and without realizing, she quickened her steps, keen on going anywhere.

In Konoha, shinobi were as much revered as they were quietly feared by the civilians whom they protected. The mark of the medical-nin did little to assuage their distrust. Mari understood such; the things that people of her station and above were capable of things that seemed positively occult, magical, compared to the average person. All it took was to sell your soul. She almost laughed this time at the cynical words. The truth of it was that they pledged their lives to their Hokage, to their country, to their village and its people, and devoted their lives to following the orders of those above them and doing all that they were able to adhere to a code of honor, duty, and sacrifice. Or you learned to be good enough to hide your self-interest and selfishness and appease those around you. Yes, she had met peers like that as well. For while there had to be trust amongst teammates, had to be a certain comradery birthed out of necessity, Mari had learned that no matter how close you felt as though you got, there was always more left unknown. And one day, those unknown factors would change the course of your life.

Point being, she did not feel quite at home in her own skin amongst the civilians that called the city home, amongst the food vendors and shops, filled with people buying flowers for loved ones and going to their jobs. Envy curled its fingers in her chest. They would work their hours, go back to their families, and have problems that she could not comprehend. For while she was a sister and practically, at this point, a mother to her brothers, she was not a civilian and in no way lived that sort of life. At times she ached for that simplicity, for that peace of mind that her mother had bought for herself so long ago. And you see how that turned out. The thought was bitter but enough to shake the fantasies for now.

Fingers brushed her bangs, adjusted her umbrella, and toyed with the idea of actually getting lunch before the thought was dismissed. There wasn't room in the budget. Instead, Mari took a detour along the backstreets and without meaning to found herself retracing the steps toward the compound. Catching herself, she turned down a less familiar side street with the intent to go back to the hospital. Above, there was a brief reprieve from the swathing clouds; showering the world below with god rays of incandescent light. As that brilliant color spilled over the monochrome and transformed the village back into light, she paused, watching as all about her changed.

There was a dragonfly alighting on the surface of the pond, sending ripples through the reflection of the sky. Its wings shuddered, stirred, and rose. From her place on the steps, she watched it touch and retreat – moving through the small garden that grew at the front of the house. Her head was upon her knees, her arms wrapped around them, simply watching as the plants unfurled their leaves in the retreat of the rain. Each leaf cupped water droplets, and they cascaded down the steps. A small bug crawled from one of the flowers and made a stead advance toward her, across the wooden slats. She watched it for a while before sweeping it delicately up in her fingers and placing it back on one of the buds.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled and her head turned, coming almost face to face with the older of Fugako's sons. He stood just outside the doorway, regarding her with a curiosity and when their eyes met, she smiled at him, raising her head from her knees. With a hand, she patted the seat next to her and he relented, moving to sit beside her. Above, the grey of the clouds had parted and thin sunlight shone through. She basked in it. When the bug crawled back toward them, this time it was he that reached out and put it back on its leaf.

"I wish it would stay," Mari murmured, giving it a look. The sternness was lost on her five-year old face. "It might get crushed."

"It will be okay," he had assured, offering her a smile that barely turned up the corner of his lips. Mari had seen him once before, but never had she seen him smile; it in turn made her beam. She liked his smile.

"What's your name?" She had asked, hugging her legs tightly and likely him already. He had cared about the bug, too, after all.

"Itachi."

The memory almost stole the break from her lungs. For a moment she was unsteady on her feet; disoriented. Her fingers clutched the umbrella just a bit tighter and she tore her eyes away from the puddles – away from the reflection of the heavens above and the firmament espied. Jaw clenched, eyes burned, and she breathed. The stress was going to kill her one day, of that she could be sure, hating the way that it poisoned her mind and soured her insides. It made her all the more sentimental, all the more pained, and every memory was a daggered reminder of what was no longer – what had been – and every happy moment was just a nightmare to relive. She had so many happy dreams nowadays that turned to ash as soon as she awoke – so many pleasant memories that turned into smoke. These thoughts in her head felt like they belonged to someone else but that was a lie. They were kept for a reason and Mari was convinced it was just to torture herself.

Looking up at the skies, she watched as the sun withdrew back into the clouds, taking with it that warmest light and gilding its edges with gold. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly as the grey bled back into the surroundings and the shadows turned the world dour. Once more Konoha was a place for phantoms and old friends and she was vaguely aware of the movement of life around her as she stayed still. So she fished the broken pieces of her heart out of the puddle and tucked them in her pocket – screwed her head on right. She needed to get back to work; there would be more patients coming in. And today she would lose none of them.

Burning a kite
I'm at a funeral, nothing unusual
Baby, I do what I like
Looking to fight, smoking a blunt and a pipe
Taking a bite, worm in the apple
I knew what would happen, 'cause honey the vermin survive
Swerve to the side, been driving all night

Candles would flicker ghosts of light over the framed picture propped against the headstone. Soft eyes and a wide smile would be all that could remain, features already lost in obscurity; evermore just a photograph of a lost soul. The flames illuminated the dusky shades of the rock and threw sparse light onto the white flowers that adorned the grave. The lily was placed amongst the others, Mari bowing her head to offer silent words to the deceased before moving on, bowing in turn to the family members before again taking her place in the crowd, dissolving into the back. One by one, others followed suit, just as others before her, the low murmurs of soft voices coupling with the rising winds and above, the skies at any moment threatened to break. Her arms wrapped about herself, pulling the black shawl tighter, closer, hoping to disappear within it as time continued to falter forward.

Mari had known Osaki Sotaro in life, if only at a distance. Several times they had done missions together in a unit; they had exchanged words on the street. Like so many others, she had followed him into battle and had been fortunate enough to follow him out. They had fought alongside one another, for their village – for Konoha. Before the sun had disappeared on the previous day, he had arrived at the hospital barely breathing and gasping out cries for help. It had been all that he could do to crawl back home, trailing blood and desperation, and despite her best efforts … she had not done enough. She stared forward, as the funeral continued, as the service carried on and she was not just attending the funeral of Osaki. Mari was attending the funeral of all the patients that she had failed to save, the Jōnin that she had fought alongside, the Chūnin that had gone to school with her – the children that had graduated the academy and become shinobi for so many different reasons.

They all seemed destined to end up here, in this exact place, and though the names were different, the rest was the same. She stood amongst the crowd of other shinobi, resolute and stony faced; their masks ones of remembrance and a quiet grieving that went far beyond expressionless. This was a wound that cut deep; this was a familiar circumstance. The graveyard about them was fuller every time and just a little bit emptier …

The feeling seized inside her chest and threatened to bring breakfast rising to the top of her throat as she remembered the feeling of his broken body beneath her hands and the feeling of his bones sitting wrong beneath the skin – the sound of his voice pleading for someone to help him and the names of his mother, his father, his sister leaving his lips in whispered exhalations. She saw his eyes widen in recognition of something great and terrible, the whites of his eyes showing and a look of fear slackening his features. What he saw she did not dare to begin to consider; but it took hold of her form and threatened to start the shaking again.

This is what we deserve. The thought was as daggered as the rest, the words tailored on the edge of a blade, made to cut and to open old wounds and create new. They were killers, all of them, weapons for war and weapons of destruction – bartering chips for the village and cannon fodder. They were made to keep the peace, enforce the laws, and die for the beliefs that rooted them all. They were forged into killers and told to find peace. They struggled to find common ground and to find light in the darkness and every day it was the same reminders as they saw children dreaming of being great ninja. They raised them, crushed their dreams and tossed them into this cycle.

Mari Kodama felt small, small and insignificant and nameless, faceless. Even when the service concluded and she stood there in the new rain, slowly getting drenched, staring forward amongst all the graves, she could not compel herself to move. Something leaden had seeped into her bones and despite the outward appearance of calm, she felt something tenuous within her begin to bow and break. For the cracks had been there for a long time and underneath the pressure, something was bound to give.

I'm thinking of changing my name, thinking of wrecking a home
'Cause loving and hating are one and the same
And I'm feeling like everyone's feeling alone

Disassociation. The events of the evening did not touch her. Stepping outside of herself, Mari saw her body make the walk home, greet her brothers, ask about their days, prepare dinner to the sound of their voices rising in a crescendo of hyperactive noise. Together, they sat at the table and ate; suspending above them, she was untouchable. The tray was prepared and delivered to the shapeless form of her mother, hidden beneath the blankets and lost way out to the sea in her grief. Questions were asked but given no reply. She saw herself tend to the plants. She saw her hands wash the dishes and later sweep the floors. Her voice read bedtime stories to the boys and tucked them in; turned out the lights and wished them goodnight. In the bedroom, her fingers followed the brushstrokes on scrolls and created new seals; documented in journals and read her textbooks about the medical field. Far removed, her eyes watched as she brushed out her hair, ran a hot bath, and slipped beneath the waves for long enough for her lungs to ache, for the bubbles to suspend, for her fingers to lose feeling. When her head resurfaced, lips parting in heaving gasps and form shaking, deprived of oxygen, heaven and earth collided and she made touch again with herself. Sitting up to her shoulders in the water, she leaned forward, heaving dryly at her knees and sobbed. Her hair made her a wet halo of drenched silk and she cried hollowly until all she could do was shiver in the water turning cold. Everything felt raw.

She missed her father with the burning intensity of a thousand burning suns and she would give anything for just a single moment to speak to him again; to tell him that he had meant everything to her and that she tried to live her life in his way. That she was constantly chasing the dream of everything he had hoped to accomplish and wanted only to earn his pride.

She missed the woman that her mother was, quiet and stern and organized; sure of herself and her actions and ruthless in her dedication to her family. She wanted her to hold her and comfort her and help forget the breaks in her heart – wanted her to raise Junseo and Takeo and Takumi in the way that she had raised her. She wanted her to just be there rather than lost within the despair that did not seem to have an end. Lost to the illness of no longer wishing to live.

She missed her dearest friend, and she loved him and she hated him and could not understand why he had done the things he did. She wished she knew where he was, if he was alright, and though she knew that he did not deserve it, she wished he were here. Selfishly she wished to go back to when they were children and kids trying to figure out the world and trying to be what they needed to be. She wished she could tell him how alone Konoha felt in his absence. How empty. Even if she could never marry the man that he was to her to the man that massacred his family, left his brother all alone, abandoned the village and become something she never saw in him. Traitor – terrorist – mass-murderer.

Mari wanted to sink back into the water and not resurface again, wanted to hold her breath and let her lungs fill and drown in that little void sea that she had created for herself. She did not want to miss her father or her mother or him or anyone – she wanted to feel whole and assured and herself. She wanted to be the sister, the mother that her brothers needed. She wanted to be the medical-nin that the hospital desired. She wanted to be the faultless, composed, unemotional, efficient, effective shinobi that her village demanded of her. Instead, tonight, she was young and tired and broken.

And it was all that she could do to pull herself together enough to dry herself off and fall into the bed on the other side of the bathroom wall. With hair still wet and a mind too heavy for relief, she sank into the darkness and ignored the sound of the storm beyond as it swelled. Curling into herself tight, she dreamed in black and white …

I'm just looking for something to soften the blow
A second inside of the truth
I don't see red 'cause –
now my favorite color is blue.