So I see a lot of stories with Naruto getting his clock cleaned every time someone got drunk… and I could never shake the feeling that such scenario are, while quite moving, unrealistic. I believe that rather than physical violence, it is the non-physical violence that leaves the deepest scar. This is my hand at Naruto's life: his growth to… the product of his environment.
//
/
Cold
/
Life did not make sense, he decided.
There seemed to be only one constant in life: it was that life had no constant. Everyone was born different, look different, feeldifferent. Even the weakling twins in his ninja class seemed decidedly different from one another. But he did see one commonality among all of them. They weren't alone. They had friends, they had parents, they had money, they had clothes… the list went on. They had all the things he lacked.
But it didn't matter, he decided.
Some seemed to have everything right at their fingertips, right from the start – the Uchiha prodigy was an exemplary existence, born with the power of the vaunted Sharingan flowing through his veins. Meanwhile, some were born with absolutely nothing… namely, himself. If he had to compare himself to the Uchiha, he would be the midnight moon while the Uchiha was the midday sun. Bright and powerful, the Uchiha spread his warmth around him with joyous laughter while the loner of the class was… well, alone.
That was fine by him, he decided.
So what if everyone fawned over the prodigy? So what if he lacked money? So what if he didn't have any parents?
So what…
/
Hunger was approaching again. He felt it with every bone of his body. But he bore it with silence, and waited for the opportune moment. And sure enough, it came – and he lashed out with all of his will.
Warm blood filled his mouth as his dull teeth buried itself deeper into the creature's ribs. The creature squeaked and twitched as it tried to free itself, but alas it was not to be. His hands were far too big for it to escape, far too strong for it to overpower. The animal twitched one last time before limping into stillness.
All the while he slowly chewed through its fur, enjoying the crunching sensation of bones between his teeth.
He wasn't sated… not yet.
/
Today he saw a bland pink haired girl being bullied by her fellow and senior classmates. She was being made fun of her large forehead, which she hid behind her frail little hands as she sobbed her heart out.
He didn't know whether to laugh or… cry. Crying? Ah, no. He didn't know whether to laugh or envy the girl – because she had something he didn't. She could cry.
He couldn't. Not anymore.
But the crying girl seemed to need someone to pull her up, so he decided to give a hand. He walked over to her crying form, past the ring of bullies surrounding her, and let his hand extend towards the bland child.
What he expected from this encounter was one of the two outcomes: either the girl will refuse his hand, or she will take it. It was simple, really – and he didn't fully understand why he was doing this either. The only discernable reason why he was doing so was perhaps because such an opportunity had never presented itself to him – to experience the touch of another being, in a willing manner. This was a unique chance, a moment that defined itself.
But like he had decided long ago, Life did not make sense.
He did not see the hands that shoved him forward, nor did he see the kick that sent him rolling on the ground. He did, however hear the words that were spoken to him. They called him many things, most of which he did not appreciate – but this was a moment he would never forget. Not because of these foolish children calling him names, but because of the bland pink haired child next to him.
She had already stopped crying, and she was on her feet. Her white sundress was slightly crumpled and dirtied in a couple of places, but she seemed fine otherwise. Her hands were by her tiny hips, no longer hiding her hideous forehead. And no, she was not crying anymore.
Her eyes held a vindictive glint as she joined in the fray of degrading his name, his face, his clothes, his… everything. He remembered even as the sun went down and the children had already long since gone home. He remembered even as he sank down into his excrement filled bathtub, as he turned on the shower knob for the grimy liquid to cleanse him. He remembered as he looked into the broken mirror, into those blue eyes of his that saw the world as it is.
He remembered as he drifted off to sleep.
He would never try again.
/
Here he was again.
He stood in the middle of the market street, standing upright and silently observing the ongoing around him. The day was a normal one, with everyone out and about – the village was lively, and these were the days of peace.
Not for him though. His heart was filled with turmoil. Something was gnawing at the back of his head, a throbbing headache that threatened to break out if he didn't understand… and he looked around again, opening his eyes despite the pain.
It was as if he was invisible – no one noticed him, no one came near him – he felt as if he was standing amongst the wind. It was amazing how everyone ignored him, even as he stood in the middle of the midmorning market rush. Children and their parents rushed past him to grab the freshest fish of the day, while other men and women were busy going about their business. And amidst this busy crowd, he alone was isolated. It was as if he was not even alive. He might have been a metal poll, or a bench you had to pass by. No, it was even worse than that – at least people sat on benches. No, he understood exactly how these… things viewed him. He was something to be completely ignored. A mere trash on the ground, an ant that's crawling by the cracks on the cement…
He was ignored like he wasn't even human.
Uzumaki Naruto decided; he did not like being ignored. It made him feel powerless, unimportant – it made him want to scream out loud in frustration, to tell the world of his life – but alas, it was not his nature to do so. As he had decided long ago, it didn't matter. Not in the slightest. His head pulsed with a pounding sensation, reminding him of the purpose of his visit.
Today he was here to understand. He stood amongst these people who carried on their everyday lives for a specific purpose. He just had a feeling that today was the day he understood the contorting sensation in his heart. He couldn't put his finger on it until now, but he knew now what it was with crystal clarity.
It was the stink of this human village. It was the stink of these humans. The smell from these filthy creatures was beginning to suffocate him, surrounding him and cloaking him with its corrupting foul smell – this was what distorted his reality. These… creatures were the crux of the conundrum, the root of all anomalies. These creatures' existence was what unbalanced the nature of life, like a bird in the ocean or a dragon in a jar. These things didn't belong here, and everything within him angrily rebelled to their continued existence.
He felt light headed as the pulsation came to a sudden halt.
He stumbled in his footsteps, the world around him blending in chromatic swirls of everything around him.
He needed to breathe.
//
Cold: [kohld]
–adjective
1.
having a relatively low temperature; having little or no warmth: cold water; a cold day.
2.
feeling an uncomfortable lack of warmth; chilled: The skaters were cold.
3.
having a temperature lower than the normal temperature of the human body: cold hands.
4.
lacking in passion, emotion, enthusiasm, ardor, etc.; dispassionate: cold reason.
5.
not affectionate, cordial, or friendly; unresponsive: a cold reply; a cold reception.
Special thanks go out to Agent Smith, for being an inspiring role model for all of us out there.