A Konoha Day
A singular cloud floated lackadaisically across sky. A boy below it sighed; the little cloud was boring, no shape at all. He lay among the tall grasses of Konoha's flower fields, resting his mind, and hiding from those who wished to use it. He had given up long ago on wishing that life would leave him alone. He rolled over onto his stomach and plucked out a blade of grass, wondering if Mother Nature had felt it.
A little black bug that had been resting on a blade of grass caught its leg in the boy's hair, and fell crashed to the ground, twisting its leg round in the fall. The bug wrenched itself free and rose into the air. The pain in its leg was unbearable, but it knew that to land would mean to die, and headed for home.
As the bug buzzed across the seemingly endless meadows, four white paws and a pair of feet appeared, kicking up dandelion wisps and filling the air with a springtime snow. The feet tripped over one another and a body came down after it. The little bug dodged just in time. The four white paws sprang atop the fallen boy and the ground began to shake with laughter. The boy spread his arms out in the grass and noticed that the sky was clear except for a small white cloud working its lonely way across the sun. He covered his eyes with an arm and prayed that each hour would move by slowly, and the days of running through the meadows would last forever.
The bug had almost made it out of the meadows when it was caught by a gust of wind. It tumbled through the air, head over heels, before landing on a green pant leg, whose owner began to sprint towards town. The scenery rushed by in a blur.
The boy in green's muscles ached and his head throbbed from the summer heat. Yet still he ran, alone save for thundering footsteps, and the thought of how wonderful it was that one could forget everything when the world passed by as swift as lightening. He entered the village, leaving the watchmen curious as to where the sudden gust of wind came from, and kept on running. Nothing could stop the owner of the green pants, nothing but a glimpse of pink from a window sill.
The boy halted suddenly and the bug was wrenched away from its perch, and landed on the petal of a purple flower that had sprouted from the cracks in the sidewalk.
The pink upon the window-sill smiled as she breathed in the summer scent, forgetting for a moment that an unpleasant memory was lurking just beyond her vision, a memory that waited in the night to catch her tears as they fell from sleeping eyes. The girl's smile remained on her face, but whether they were real or not, even the owner of the green pants could not tell.
The bug had caught its breath and readied itself to brave the busy summer streets when a pair of fingers descended and plucked the purple flower from the ground. The little black bug was lifted into the air and clasped in trembling hands.
Though the day was hot the carrier wore her woolen jacket, fearing that if she took it off, somehow she, and everyone else, would forget she was a shinobi. She approached the iron gate that led to her family's mansion and spotted her cousin training in the courtyard. Avoiding his gaze, she ran to the kitchen and placed her purple flower on a tray with a glass of iced tea, and set it by the edge of the courtyard. Then she hid behind a column and watched, hoping that someday the village, her father, and most importantly, a certain shinobi in orange, would be smiling at her as she trained in her family's courtyard.
The bug relaxed when it was set down, and stretched its frightened limbs. It was beginning to tire from its dangerous adventure. Across the way, sweat flew from a bandaged forehead and fell to the ground, where it glistened for a moment, before the marble lapped it up. The boy flailed wildly in the sun, seeking out whatever it was hiding amidst microscopic particles that made up the science of destiny. He was unsure of what to do or where to go, but to stop, he knew, would lead to nothing.
The little black bug leapt off the purple flower, but it before it could spread its wings, it landed on the back of a yellow butterfly and rode its way high into the sky and out of the mansion grounds. It dipped back down to the streets. It zigged and zagged through wandering feet, scaring the bug to death, before stopping to rest on a bouquet of daffodils inside a flower shop.
Behind the counter a girl was twirling a strand of long blonde hair around her finger, counting the seconds as they ticked the day away. She stroked the silky petals of a rose and wondered whether she belonged there, amidst pollen and love-struck men, or behind a knife, covered in the blood of her enemies. This world among the flowers, she thought, was for now where she most liked to be.
The bug leapt from the butterfly's back and escaped through the flower shop's window. It flew up, up, towards the rooftops an alighted on the lip of a gutter. The sun was setting and the bug was frightened. If night fell it would never be able to find its way home. It shuffled painfully across the rooftops, resting its tired wings, leaped from ledge to ledge. It crossed a particularly large gap and landed on a sandy ground.
Up ahead, a boy was crouching on a chimney top, staring down at the town below. The sand on the rooftops quivered, matching the shaking of the boy's hands as they clenched and unclenched, grasping for something other than anger and particles of sand. The moon rose and the eyes of the red-haired shinobi rose with it. He forgot momentarily that the world would be waiting for him in the morning.
The bug tripped on a grain of sand and fell between the rooftops, then plopped onto a glass window and clung for its life.
An immeasurable snoring sounded from the other side of the glass. A line of saliva ran down the mouth of a yellow haired shinobi. He dreamt of hot springs and ramen noodles as he rolled from side to side in his bed. Life was, for him, and adventure, and its unpaved road the path he liked to travel most.
The little black bug began to lose its grip on the sill. If it could it would have cried, but bugs could not shed tears, and it wished that it hadn't ventured away from home that morning. The pain in its leg was so great, and its fatigue so overwhelming, that it let go of sill and plummeted towards the darkened streets. A familiar hand caught it before it hit the ground.
"Just look at you," a voice said.
Dark glasses gazed down at the little black bug, and it knew that its journey had ended. All around the crickets were chirping, joined by the chorus of midnight frogs, and the whispering of those who made no distinct sound. It was music to the boy's ear, for he could hear all of it. The little black bug closed its eyes, finally safe at home. As it drifted off to sleep it looked forward to waking the next morning to tell its story to the rest of the family, and greet the day with a newfound respect for the danger that accompanies its beauty.