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Disclaimers: All accreditation for original plot, character, or setting goes to Masashi Kishimoto Sensei!
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Welcome to the Inn of Truth
In the village of Suna, a half-dilapidated inn stands dejectedly out of sight from the bustling streets. Its seashell-colored paint hangs loose, moth-eaten curtains drifting ghostly out the broken windowpanes, kunai and burn marks the only adornment to the memorable monument.
It is the embodiment of the taboo sanctuary, the unwanted truth, and the darkest beauty.
And yet, as people grudgingly comprehend, it tells a great story to any of its curious visitors, leaving them shuddering in grief and utter repugnance at their most terrible epiphany.
Young adults are more than welcome- it will twist and create of them a full adult.
Children?
Why yes- a visit to the inn, it is surely the best cure to naiveté!
Adults?
Why not? It will leave them stripped of all knowledge- just the bitter truth.
Do you realize?
After all, this inn is the altar for reflection.
It does not judge, nor does it demand.
Well… who's the judge?
For the greatest revolution is built on sacrifice, the most beautiful Sakura leeches on death, and life in itself is death.
Whoever said death was the end?
Who's the judge?
Who indeed?
Today again, the inn is open.
It welcomes people anytime.
A petite figure dressed in a bulky black traveler's cloak and a straw hat appears around the deserted street, pointlessly meandering in the summer desert heat.
It is a girl, in her late teens, with the distinguishable hair of the strangest strawberry-blonde hue, hidden meticulously under the straw hat.
Her wobbly knees tremble precariously underneath her burdening weight, as if she would break any moment if she did not rest. And yet, her eyes held determination and fire. She does not let her guard down until from the slightest tilt of her hat, she surveys with her trained spring-green eyes for danger.
Seeing as there was none but the heat, the girl proceeds to seek refuge.
Her sharp emerald eyes tread across the dusty road to the inn. A relieved sigh is exhaled.
Almost instantly, the girl rushes gratefully across the street, and plops herself unto the porch, oblivious to its appearance.
She does not leave for hours straight, absent-mindedly stroking the weathered surface of the rotting wood of the porch. She never removes the hat and the cloak.
She patiently squats on the porch, watching the colors of the horizon change from bright Aureolin to the color of deepest navy velvet.
She waits.
This is where she waits for her partner.
She remembers distinctly the vivid colors and repulsive odor of rotting flesh in the same spot, nearly three years ago. It was during one of the civil wars fought here, in this very village of Suna.
Back then; she was still an innocent medic trainee under the instruction of her mentor, Tsunade, who was the leader and leading medic of her village. Sakura Haruno, the very same girl, had finally achieved the acceptance of her skills and talent after years of hard work.
She felt accomplished.
She was happy.
As a medic, it was her passion and ambition to serve the people, save the allies, and to kill the enemy when needed. After all, that was the sole purpose of a medic to a village: to save or take lives. They are the grim reapers of the war.
With surprising speed, Sakura became notorious for her uncanny affinity with her newfound profession.
Naturally, it did not take ling for Tsunade to trust her with her abilities.
And on that very year, her mentor assigned her to a mission to aid a hand in settling the battle between the common enemy and Suna.
She went.
Everything had been successful.
The enemy had chosen to flee and the dispute was settled. That was the end of it; or so she had hoped.
At that moment, she was oblivious to the nearing event that would change her life for eternity.
Nowadays, she calls it fate.
It was all on that one day after the dispute had been "settled".
She was lost in the unfamiliar village, and had been wandering away from the center of the town for quite some time. She had become separated from the guide, embarrassingly enough.
Although she does not recall her entire process of getting there, but she had eventually arrived at the very same deserted road she is now staring at. She spots the inn.
The damage taken by the single building astounds her. She is even more fascinated by how it is left standing. After all, all the other houses had been either burnt down or bombed apart. For her, it seems like a beacon of hope. A beacon of hopes for all of humanity- the presence of divine forgiveness that will somehow relieve her of her guilt.
She proceeds to inch closer to the memorial- paying close detail to each charred edge of the pillar and every scratch or dent of impact left on the soft wood. It was then- to her horror- that she spots a half-dead man laying against one of the pillars. He had a mop of red hair, which was covered fully in debris, and the most delicate facial features, which was crusted with layers of blood.
The sick pungent odor of rotting flesh and the metallic salty tang of blood wafted through the breeze to her side. She fought to keep her breakfast in her stomach, and rushed over to his side, the medical side of her kicking in. He was in the worst condition, and could die if left untreated for another couple of minutes.
She vaguely remembers whispering comforting words for him, something along the lines of:
"Please don't worry, sir, you'll make it out of here alive," to which he showed no response. It puzzled her why the man was acting hostile towards her when it hit her. He was one of the elite individuals within the enemy force.
He was Akasuna no Sasori, the traitor of Suna- and he was dying by the second.
As a loyal medic and villager, Sakura could not bring to simply throw away her identity that she had fought so hard to earn. She feared most of all, losing herself if she were to help this man. But deep within herself, she knew what she wanted to do.
Listen to your heart, people say, and let it guide you.
She did just that.
She reached deep within her medic bag to retrieve a simple scalpel, some disinfectants, and bandage when as fast as lightening, Sasori's hand shot out towards her own, holding her right hand in a vice grip that was surprisingly strong for anyone who was near dying.
His dark couverture eyes were narrowed icily with suspicion and distrust, and she returned him the favor.
"Look," she reasoned scathingly. "I certainly don't enjoy this and I know the feeling's mutual. But since I'm the medic here and I know what to do, just let me do my job, unless you'd rather wait another couple of days suffering until you die rotting until the last minute. (which she exaggerated a bit too much for the sake of threat)"
A couple of seconds passed, and Sasori glared holes at her hands giving her the "I-am-watching-you" look, but slackened his grip on her throbbing arm nonetheless. Gratefully, Sakura retrieved her arm and began working her way through his injuries. At last, when she was satisfied with her handiwork, she eyed the unconscious patient and wondered what to do next. She groaned in exasperation at her helpless situation.
Her head was on the chopping block. Literally.
She would be undoubtedly jailed for treason and executed by dawn. For pretty much the rest of the day, the thoughts haunted her to sleep.
The next day, when she awoke to the annoyed and relieved voices of the guides who said they discovered her sleeping alone, she was slightly disappointed.
Geez. All the worrying for nothing. She remembers thinking.
By the next week, Sakura and her fellow villagers had returned from the mission in Suna and Tsunade was absolutely delighted. She promoted Sakura to becoming the Medicinal Society Head Chair, and presented her with the fact that she had proudly exceeded her mentor in every way possible. She was proud beyond earthly description.
But who would have thought that in another few weeks' time, her life would be turned upside down? She certainly didn't.
It was on the day that she returned, dog-tired, from another one of her missions that everything turned against her. It was worse than execution; in a way, it is a life-sentence of torture and anguish.
At the beginning, everything had been mere suspicions- after all; the supposed dead criminal was very much active. But his verification of her helping him contributed nothing to alleviate the suspicions.
For three brutal weeks, she was put through relentless interrogation under the hands of her own friend, Ino.
But after multiple fruitless attempts, they had to consort to a complete mind-scan.
That did the trick. Nothing more is private, after all.
She was officially charged for treason.
The Hokage, Tsunade, had come to think of Sakura as a daughter she's never had over the years they spent together. Just watching the betrayal in her eyes was excruciatingly painful.
Hence, Sakura was more than thankful for leaving the hostile village.
Tsunade had purposely avoided death sentence for her. She was to be exiled.
Sakura's hazed spring-green eyes regain their keen looks, as she snaps herself out of her reverie. The inn has not changed since.
In the last three years, Sasori and she had learned more of each other, eventually giving way to a deeper connection between them.
They are married.
Sakura snaps her head up at the faintest scrunching sound of sand being stepped on. It was Sasori, her life-long partner. The one she always waits for, no matter what.
Their eyes meet, and no words are exchanged. There is no need. They know each other well enough.
Sakura quickly dusts herself, heading over to the direction that Sasori had started walking towards.
In the middle of his confident stride, Sasori halts to meet the dumbstruck expression of his partner. His long fingers opens for the soft caress of her hand in his.
Sakura stares at him with adoration.
Impatiently, his lifted hand captures her fragile ones with unexpected warmth and gentility.
Together they walk towards the cyanide glow of the sunset.
Sakura knows now.
That God bestowed the truth to her.
If it was fate, then surely God doesn't play dice.
But it's always in the eyes of the beholder that existence comes to being.
If you were given the choice, what would you choose, dear reader?
Do you realize?
So, who's the judge?
You are.
Thanks for reading until the end! Please review and give me notice if there is something that should be added for the interest of both this story and future stories, as well!