I had this idea after reading someone's (I can't remember who, so if it's you, let me know and I'll give you credit for the line!) request that people write stories using different random lines, or partial sentences. I thought that talking about ink would be interesting, so here's the result. Oh! The line I used is the very last sentence. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: sigh I don't own Naruto. No matter how much I wish I did...
He had had a lot of marks on his body over the years. Some were scars, but those faded. Some were bruises, those faded even faster than the scars. Some were slap-marks, and those were gone in minutes. But some… some were etched in his skin forever.
One mark was the tattoo on his shoulder, his mark of the Anbu. Another was the seal on his stomach, which held the Kyuubi. Both were spirals. Both were there forever. And both meant so much more than they seemed to mean.
As an Anbu, he had done terrible things. Killed. Murdered. It was all done in the defense of his home. … Was that the truth? He prayed so, every night. He had never completely understood politics, but he had faith in the people who directed his missions. He believed that they would make the right choices. Yet there are always times when there was no other choice. He was marked on his shoulder, and marked in his heart.
As the Kyuubi's container, he had done terrible things. Destroyed. Obliterated. It was all done in the defense of his home. … Was that the truth? He prayed so, every night. He never completely remembered what happened when he transformed, but he had faith that the people who were there would tell him the truth. He believed that they would tell him if he had done something unforgivable. Yet there were always things people feared would break someone if known. He was marked on his stomach, and marked in his heart.
Both marks were stamped on his skin and on his soul. And there is no washing away the permanence of ink.
