A/N: Hello people of fanfiction. Saturn is alive and well…-ish. In any case I've decided to take a crack at a Naruto fanfic. This is a little different than what I normally write. A bit more serious and mature, but still kinda funny in akward situations. This time I've written almost all of it by hand so there won't be a short supply. For those who can read the title, good for you. For those who can't, you shall feel the annoyance of not knowing what the title means until the end of the story! Sadly I don't own the songs in front of the chapter names or Naruto cuz if I did, well Gaara would be in my possession and Itachi in my cousin's. But Ava, the weapons for her, the bad guy, and two old people are mine! ... Yes, mine.
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Katles Feuer in den Sanden
Pain by Three Days Grace
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
You're sick of feeling numb, you're not the only one. I'll take you by the hand and I'll show you a world you can understand. This life is filled with hurt when happiness doesn't work. Trust me and take my hand when the lights go out, you will understand.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Anger and agony are better than misery. Trust me, I got a plan. When lights go off you will understand.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
I know (I know, I know, I know, I know) that you're wounded. You know (you know, you know, you know, you know) that I'm here to save you. You know (you know, you know, you know, you know) I'm always here for you. I know (I know, I know, I know, I know) that you'll thank me later.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.
Pain, without love. Pain, I can't get enough. Pain, I like it rough. 'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all. Rather feel pain.
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Hello, Ms. Nobody
It's very humid today. My breath is strained. I know that my face is not only bleeding with sweat, but also flushed from heat. The noon sun makes everything look searing. I tug the collar of my sticky uniform and feel my undershirt stick to my protesting skin. My opponent comes at me, jogging an easy pace. I won't move even though my teammates are yelling at me to. My opponent grins thinking she has it easy. She dribbles the scuffed soccer ball with more speed. I steady my legs, waiting. She thinks merely to sidestep me. Wrong move. With a push of agility my chest rams into hers, and I pass the ball off to my right midfielder. She dribbles it up more and passes it. I move up field in a leisurely pace. (after the game)
My beat up tennis shoes crunch the grass on the side of the road. A thick line of trees are to my right. I love being by woods or forests. I pull up my baggy, ripped blue jeans and tug my shoulder strap nestled on my chest. Unfortunately, (maybe) I couldn't find a ride home from the varsity game at school. Not like I really want to go back to that house. A white truck passes me, pulling wind and my hair into my face. I don't really care. It's normally in my face. I turn on a dirt road that is pretty well hidden by branches. Now I'm back in dangerous territory. They probably forgot about my game. They just want an excuse to punish me. The tree line thins out until the horrible familiar house in a manmade clearing comes into view. I stop where the tree line ends and take a shaky breath. All my stoic composure fills my body. I promptly walk to the front door of the little two story house. I check the watch clipped to my belt loop. 4:35 PM. An hour early than I said I'd be back. This should give me some slight leverage…scratch that. I twist the gray door knob and walk in. I gently enter. 3, 2, 1 and shut the door.
"Mom! Angella's home!" yells my younger adopted sister, Clairece.
"Angella, don't move!" yells my adopted mother from upstairs. Hello enforced habit #1: don't move unless told other wise. Clairece, who is a ninth grader, happily bounds into the forayer from the TV. in the living room.
The long hair, brown head brat stops in front of me and says in a sing-song voice, "You're in trouble." I just stare at her. She hates when I do this, because I scare her. My adopted father comes from somewhere in the back of the house. His light brown hair is always smoothly in place, combed neatly to the side and is always cleanly shaven. His dark eyes glare at me. My gaze hits the floor. Hello enforced habit #2: never look anyone in the eyes.
"So Angella, care to explain why you're late?" Veronica asks at the top of the stairs. I was wondering when she was going to say something. Howard stands with his arms crossed, trying to look like the man of the house. I can't believe I was afraid of these three people, but when loneliness sets into a small kid, one can't help it.
"I was at a soccer game. It was a home game." I close my eyes; my way of saying I have good backup reasons with the story.
"And why didn't you tell us?" Howard asks, trying to sound tough. It's quite pathetic.
"I did. I reminded you both last night. At dinner, I even asked if either of you wanted to come."
"Don't you dare use that stone know-it-all voice," Veronica snaps coming down the green carpeted stairs. Her long, layered brown hair bounces as she descends in her jumpy step. She always tries to make a royal show of her self to make everyone thinks she has ultimate control. Yeah, here's the bunch I'm with: Sir Wimpy Knight, Queen Haughty Bitch, and Princess Pink Puffy Brat, the golden child from hell.
"Apologize, Angella," Howard tries to command. He brushes off some woodchips that constantly cover him. He's a carpenter. Everyone ignores him.
"Are we to simply accept your worthless excuse for truth?" Veronica rhetorically snips. Normally, involved parents would, but you guys are not my family. They'll believe what they want.
"Until we call the school on Monday, you are grounded with only breakfast as your meal," she orders while shoving her nose in the air. It's Friday. I've had worse. My eyes and face don't change (years of practice). I learned a long time ago that my eyes scare people when I show emotions. Why? Who knows and who cares. I keep them cold and empty. Hello enforced habit #3: never ever show emotions. I sidestep her and briskly move up the stairs.
A white string hangs at the end of the hallway. I pull it and climb the ladder into my room. Yeah, the attic. I can't and am not allowed to close the door, which bites. The only thing in my room is a plastic tub of clothes, a bed, and my school stuff. I love to write. Right now, I'm on a poem phase. I drop on my bed and fall asleep.(Monday)
I stuff the ends of my white blouse into my plaid skirt. Patting my hip, I make sure my dagger is secure and hidden in my oversized shirt. I pat my legs making sure the other five are hidden and unseen. My school isn't exactly safe, like everything else around me. Tying up the brown dirty laces of my shoes, I grab my backpack and gym bag and almost run out of the house. My gym bag has six changes of clothes besides my gear and… gymnastic stuff. Blah. I guess it gives me hope that I will be practically ready to run if I have to.
I love walking in the morning. The mist makes the forest feel as though it's waking up. The swooping and chirping birds are alarm clocks for the small animals that move around and wake the trees that lift the mists like a comforter. My thoughts have gone poetic again. I haphazardly drop my bags next to the bus stop pole and lean against it. I just turned 18. This causes some problems. The only reason I live in that house is because Veronica and Howard get money from the state for adopting me. That stops as soon as I'm out of high school. They won't support me with anything and I don't have enough scholarships to go anywhere. Damn my small school. There's the bus. (school)
I tug at my skirt. I have shorts underneath, but I hate this thing. It's so much easier to hide my daggers in my jeans. School just let out, thank God. I haven't run into my personal tortures yet. How lucky am I to have a set at school and at home? As I reach the bus stop, an uncomfortable feeling hits me. I stop before the alleyway between the main building and the gym. Are they in there? Most likely. 'Sigh' Here we go. Almost to the bus stop. Suddenly, someone yanks me by my backpack and throws me at a wall. And now God hates me. Six people surround me. This isn't a good reason to fight back. My bags slide off of me and I swing them to the side. The Six are a gang at my school. Once upon a time, they wanted me to join them in seventh grade. Didn't happen.
"Well, well, well Angie. Fancy meeting you here," Laura the leader greets with her hands on her hips. I wince at the cheesy nickname.
"It's Ava, Barbie. Get it right." The only people allowed to call me Angella are my adopted family. No one ever calls me Angie. Ever. She merely tosses her dyed red hair and retorts, "You're just jealous of my popularity."
"What, clones and boys on leashes? No thanks." I lean on the wall with my eyes shut.
"You bitch!" Sage yells. He's Laura's boy. I can't even call him a man. This is one person I truly hate.
"Easy, Sage," Laura calmly says. He glances back at her and relaxes some.
"Leash." He lunges at me, but Garry and Jake restrain him. He's no reason for me to flinch. Cassie and Abigail lean on the walls, one on each side.
"I still don't understand why you won't join us. We'd even change the name to The Seven," Cassie says in a persuading voice.
"Personally, I don't want to be a clone that takes orders from a slut." Both girls grasp my arms and pull them away from me. I feel the rings mostly from Laura's dainty hand as she hits me. I open my eyes to see her fuming.
"Sage, you may punish her today!" she barks out, and moves. He grins and lands a blow in my stomach. Air rips from my lungs and I temporarily suffocate. As my air starts to come back he hits my right ribs, then my left, middle, left, right, right. He continues until I lose feeling. That's my reminder saying, "Hey, you're still alive." I bite the inside of my mouth and let the blood build up. The last thing I need is a broken rib. With Sage's new punch to my gut I spew some of the blood on his face. He stops and feels the liquid with his hand. Seeing blood he backs up frightened. They're all perfect idiots. The blood slowly oozes from my mouth and it drips on the ground.
"She's internally bleeding!" he yells. I can always count on freaking them out. The two girls let me go and I drop to my knees for show.
"Let's go," Laura commands. I count 10 Mississippi's and gather up my stuff. I glance at the street to see the bus home go by.
"Damn it." I feel my ribs. Okay, none broken. I reach in my gym bag and pull out my specially made black goggles. Custom made from an optical shop and bought with money I earned a while back. It was difficult controlling my anger at Sage and Laura. Maybe I should have just scared the shit outta them instead of getting bruised ribs. Oh well. I tug them on over my head, letting them rest on my neck. I also pull out my Ipod that Veronica and Howard don't know about. I don't know what I'd without music. If I go through the woods I should make it in time for dinner. I'll get in trouble and actually have to make up an excuse. These bags are gonna leave more bruise. (woods)
Sitting on my backpack, I lean on a pine. Slowly unbuttoning my shirt, I lift my undershirt. My sides and stomach are red, green, and blue. I feel like a rainbow in need of some pain pills. I redo my shirt and rest my head against the pine. (??)
What's moving on my lap? I look down at a little squirrel on its haunches looking at me.
"Scat." It scampers off to do whatever squirrels do. The sky is dark with stars and a half moon. Damn, I feel asleep. Flicking on my Ipod, it is… 10:30. Oh gees, I'm in major trouble. I pick up my stuff and head towards my shortcut. Pushing past a large bunch of bushes, I trip on underbrush. Why haven't I hit the ground?
