Chapter One: My Life

I cannot say that my life up to this point is excellent or admirable. Everyday is the same: missions that many shinobi fear or never return from. Do I fear them? Do my hands shake and my shuriken rattle? No. I dread neither death nor suspense. However, I do shrink into myself, into the protection of my arms or another's arms, when I face loss. Loss, not in the sense of failing a mission, but in the sense of the death, abduction, or serious injury of a friend. Many times I have grasped my own body, my head screaming, Why didn't you save him, why weren't you talented enough… and in the night, in the darkness where I am alone, my lost comrades' last moments of life flash before my eyes. I can never forget.

The rain was falling heavily, turning the wretched dirt floor into mud, mud that sucked at your body and tried to swallow you. They were somewhere, hidden in the foliage surrounding me. A flash, a clash, a happening several feet from where I stood. Oh no! He was dying in my arms. The enemies, gone, dead, punished for their actions that hurt me. Vindictive retribution, those pieces of shit, now one with the mud. Oh, but he lay in my arms, barely a noise able to escape his dry throat, ample blood escaping from him. I tried to stop it from leaving him; I tried to help him contain life, life so that I could see him again the next day in our secret spot in the field of flowers.

I let the life flow from his body. My chakra was not great enough to revive him, I had wasted too much. Why didn't you pace yourself? Why didn't you see this coming? Blame sits on my shoulders, it weighs me down, prevents me from sleeping. I blame myself for his death, I failed to save him. The rain hitting the window rhythmically reminds me of his frantic breath, his sped up heart beat. Lightning reminds me of the blinding light that accompanied his fatal injury. When my eyes close I see his eyes looking at me, pleadingly. Save me, save me, I want to live!

There is regret also. When he was limp, when his breath had faded, I took him home. The mud sure as hell wasn't going to eat him, rip him from existence and memory. Carrying him back, I could feel the warmth leave his body, his spirit abandon me. Just days before I lay next to him, his arms embraced me, his chest so warm. Oh god, don't leave! He had just the day before run his fingers through my hair. Just hours ago, he had traced my cheek with his fingers. No, stay! He was so warm once. I love you. He was so warm once, but no more. I loved you. I loved you until the end. How I wish you knew before your body was cut open, your insides were exposed, and all your blood flowed into the mud. Why didn't I tell you?

I cannot say that my life is wonderful. I cannot say that I am truly happy and I cannot guarantee that I ever will be. But please, I try to be positive during the day; people never see my shinobi side, my painful memories. Long ago I decided to reserve my sorrow for the night, when I am alone and it is dark. I will tell you everything, starting from the beginning.