Alrighty, first Naruto fanfic so go easy on me! I have the whole story planned out done to every single detail in my head, now I just have to finish typing it, heh. The ages of the characters aren't really acurate because I'm not too sure on how old everyone is. I've researched it and there's way too many assumptions, so I just gave up. Well, read and enjoy and PLEASE do tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Naruto. Do you really think I would be typing a story about it if I OWNED the show???!!! Pshh, no. Hehe.
Crisp, lucid clouds churned in the endless mass of dark that flew above the Earth. A small village lay curled and nestled underneath the glow of the half moon – it was awhile past the village's bed time. The illumination of lights had slowly begun to fade until almost none were left – only one stirred. Rust clung to the rails and walls that created the skeleton of the apartment whose lights were still burning. Moist clothes hung around the building lightly floating in the night breeze. The thread in them seemed to shiver as the chilly midnight air caressed their fabrics.
A faded symbol was expertly painted above the rotting wooden door – once being a sturdy, trustworthy door, its hinges now had loosened and let the door hang in an awkward fashion as if inviting the whole world in with its crooked gesture. The symbol that had been slightly erased from the torment of the weather was in the shape of a perfect circle. A diamond outlined the inside of the circumference and a small swirl designated the middle of the diamond – it was obviously the inhabitants birth symbol, or in other terms, their clan.
A pair of cogent cerulean, the color most would only observe in the sky or engulfing a lake, swallowed the vision of the tattered apartment building that occupied the space in front of him. His eyes trailed a portly, foul rat that had seemed to scamper out of thin air. He held no rations or leftovers in his grimy claws. His nose lifted as he caught scent of something – if the man's hearing was more precise he was sure he would have been able to hear the growling of the rodent's engorged stomach. The grey nose twitched as it caught the scent again – the hunt had begun.
His stout legs seemed to move mechanically as he kept his attentive nose pointed into the air, trying to keep the fragrance. The darkness consumed the animal as it tottered off into the alley inhabiting the space to the right of the apartment building.
Silence was drowned by the echo of a low sigh emanating from the immobile man. He despised being the messenger who always had the sorrowful news to bring to each family whose loved one was lost during the battles. He knew, though, that if he wanted to obtain the job he so long desired, he would have to always be the messenger. His heart ached for these people – the victims of such a cruel time.
Protectiveness derived off the young man for his village – he still felt unable to move. His feet had suddenly taken on the weight of a cement block and he felt his legs unable to make them budge. It was his duty, his job to relay the memorandum to the people whose ears needed most to hear it and yet…he felt compelled to linger a bit longer outside. He shook his head vigorously – no, they must know before they find out a different, more merciless way. As he finally was able to urge his foot forward, a wave of mourning overwhelmed his being and he felt himself knocked back. Had it not been for his Jounin skills and training of balance, he would have been blown clear of his feet by the force of such emotions.
His breaths became shallow as the feelings of melancholy consumed and suffocated his very being. Clutching his chest he tried to breath evenly, but his constricting lungs wouldn't allow anymore air in. His eyes squinted as he felt something in his chest began to swell…his heart? It bulged and bloated, devouring every feelings of misery that claimed the air around him. What was causing these sensations to be so strong and potent? His narrowed eyes found the crooked door once more. The light that peered from inside flickered as a body moved past the frame. With as much strength as needed, he moved forward, his eyes never leaving the crack in the doorway. Its size was just adequate enough to peek through and see the bodies, or really only one body, that shifted about behind it.
Strong arms began to ache as the weight in them became heavier with each passing second. Innocent cobalt eyes gazed transfixed at the young woman who owned such strong arms. The woman's look of distress didn't comprehend in the young, unknowing eyes as she was set down. Cool air nipped at her newborn skin. Her bottom lip began to pucker and her face fell into a pout. Her short arms reached upwards, longing to be held in the arms that had shown her so much protection before. Now they merely hung limp at her mother's sides. Why wasn't she responding to her?
A tuft of midnight black hair was pushed to the side of the woman's wrinkled brow. Her clammy hands trembled as she began to wring them. Her eyes had left the sight of her child and so she was blind to the desire of being held from her daughter. She had already acknowledged that her mind had now slipped past the point of no return. The fingers of her mind, once only brushing the border of insanity, had now grasped that border and clung to it.
It had been a year to that day that he had gone to battle. It had been a year since she had seen his face, a year since she had heard his voice, and most of all, a year since she had felt his love and protectiveness around herself and her house. That was the life she had chosen, though. Being the wife of a Jounin was surrounded by loneliness and absence of the heart. For the last three years she had lived with his constant nonappearance and abrupt missions. Every time she waited for him to return. The longest he had taken to fall back into the warm arms of the village had been only four months.
The Hokage knew of his wife and newly arriving family member when he sent her husband on his last mission – already six months in, she hadn't wanted her husband to miss the arrival of their first born. The Hokage had assured her and her husband that the mission would not be a long one and he would be back in time to witness the birth of their blessing. Months passed and his arrival didn't come. The baby's birth came sooner than expected and the woman was blessed with a beautiful baby girl. The woman had no suggestion of what the baby's name should be – she had planned to name her with her husband present.
After three more days in the hospital, the woman was free to go with the new arrival wrapped possessively in her comforting arms. The baby girl still occupied no name and after another week of being unidentified, the woman decided she would name the child without her husband. He would surely be proud of any name she picked, right? A thought leapt into her mind – she knew what she desired to name her child. The soft sound her voice made as the name passed through her lips to call the child was perfect – Misao would always be the name she would be recognized with.
The woman had watched her child grow with a mixture of sheer delight and pleasure – the feelings of deep sorrow never left her, though, as each day passed with a little less hope that her husband would arrive. His once apparent existence in the house had slowly started to slip away as his belongings were moved to make room for the growing baby.
Each passing month, the lady watched as her daughter grew more and more beautiful. Tufts of onyx black hair sprouted from her tiny head while plump cheeks and small, rosy lips adorned her face – she was an almost exact replica of the stunning woman who gave birth to her. Try as she might, though, the woman could not look into the eyes of her daughter. The grief shattered her already battered heart and she found she spent most her days avoiding her daughter's stare – she couldn't face those eyes…his eyes.
A year had flown by and her daughter grew more and more abandoned. Rejection by her mother had caused Misao to understand that hugs were a privilege. Her desire of comfort would only come when her mother was in the mood to be a mother. Misao, even though only being a year old, had learned to enjoy her own company, since her mother's had grown scarce. Most of the time she would only come out to feed the baby or change her diapers – play time and cuddling were unheard of.
Behind the closed door the woman would sob, hoping faintly that her tears would somehow bring her husband back. Overtime her mind had registered that he was never going to return – soon the message would come: "Your husband has died, Ma'am." There was no surprise when her mind finally surrendered to reality – most Shinobi's wives would have to hear those words. If only she had been prepared for the anguish that followed the knowledge of his departure. Even though not officially announced, she knew his soul no longer dwelled on Earth.
A week ago she finally couldn't feel the own beating of her heart – her body now only a hollow shell dwelling inside the forgotten house she used to call home. Her senses had abandoned her and she found herself creating insane ideas in the cavities of her mind. What point was there of life if he was gone? She had no money, no way of income – she would surely starve to death. She had already sold most of the furniture in the house, but even that little money she obtained from her garage sale wasn't enough to sustain her. Any thoughts of her neglected daughter, hadn't registered in her mind and so Misao remained unnoticed.
That night, it was the one year anniversary of his departure from the woman's life. He had died in battle as he had always wanted to – what Shinobi wouldn't want to die a valiant, honorable death? The timing, though, had been all wrong. The woman's cold heart began to beat erratically as her eyes scanned the bare room. Tottering over to the once abundant cupboard, she pulled open a drawer and reached inside. The metal of the blade shimmered in the dull light. Her hands grasped a small cutting knife – it would be enough to do the job. The woman's eyes stayed transfixed on the shiny blade and smooth handle as she wandered inanimately to the center of the room.
Her cold eyes slipped closed as she brought her hands above her head – the blade gleamed as its point faced downwards. "Jiro, my love," She whispered in a strangled voice. Solid, moist tears glided down her porcelain cheeks. She continued in a strangled sob, "We were parted, not by our own wills, but by the wills of others. Now, though, our souls will be reunited – we will be one again."
Her fingers twitched anxiously on the handle of the blade. Salty wetness leaked into her mouth – her eyes willing themselves to stay shut so that the pain would not be seen. "I am coming home."
The last phrase was whispered only so that she could hear it. Then, in the blink of an eye, the blade cut through the air and impaled itself into her gut. A low gasp was heard as the first wound was made. The blade was forcefully pulled out. The air felt itself being torn once again as the blade jerked through it once more. Another puncture was made and then another following. The gasps had slowly became nonexistence and a small smile resided on her lips instead.
The puncturing of her stomach continued until finally, she had no strength left to inflict anymore pain. The blood-soaked knife clanked as it hit the ground. A thud was heard as her limp body made contact with the floor – a shallow pool of crimson liquid began to form around her corpse. Misao, still seated on the counter, gazed at her mother wondering why she had stopped moving. The blood haloing her body did not register as blood and so the baby was unaware of the soul's departure.
Her hand silently reached for her mother's unmoving body, but fell limp as she realized she would not be able to reach her. The love that once illuminated the core of her mother had long vanished and so Misao sat back and waited for her mother to rise. It surely wouldn't be long before she sat up and made dinner or went to her room to be by herself, as was the usual routine. So patiently, Misao waited and watched the deathly still body on the ground.
The man's eyes burned with the scene that had just taken place – the sight was forever burned into his memory. Breathing shallowly, he tried to swallow only to find that his throat was completely dry. A cool layer of sweat had formed on his brow and his face tickled as a droplet now ran down his cheek. His hand didn't move to brush it away – he was frozen.
The woman had known about her husband's death all along then? Her misery and grief had built up so much over the past year that it overwhelmed her heart and she finally had no other option but to end it all with the force of a knife. He felt his fist clench. Why hadn't he stopped her? He had all the time and chances in the world and yet he just stood there like a scare crow, unmoving. He wasn't known as "The Yellow Flash" for nothing – with his speed he surely would have been able to stop her in time before the blade made contact.
With a slight shake of the head, his mind thought otherwise. No, it had been her time to go. This was her decision and he had no right to stop her – his heart began to ache again. No matter how hard he wished he could protect all the citizens of his village he knew it was impossible. So this is what it feels like to be Hokage – to care so much about people and yet know that you can't protect all of them.
The man sighed letting locks of sunshine yellow hair fall in his eyes. He had vowed the day his dream was set on being the Hokage to never let anything happen to the people of his village – he would die first before letting any harm come to the inhabitants of the city. This woman, though, how could he save her from herself?
When she had made the first impalement his mind hadn't been sure of how to protect her from her own sorrows and by the time his mind had come to a some-what conclusion, it had been too late. How could he expect to become the next Hokage if he couldn't even save this wretched lady from her own waking misery?
His mind started to become consumed with guilt and he felt himself start to drown. How could he even live with himself after seeing something like that – after letting something like that happen? The ruthless death of the woman would surely haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. What cure could there be for this torture of the soul?
His eyes flickered back into the illuminated room as he heard shuffling around. Hope began to stir as his gaze darted to the body on the ground; was she still alive? His eyes drooped with lost hope as his eyes caught the sight of her still carcass – she had long since departed the living world. His heart began to race again as he heard the shuffling once more. What was making that noise?
Azure orbs began to search the area of the house, seeking the cause of the shambling. The whites of his eyes became more pronounced as they widened at the sight of a beautiful baby girl. Her eyes were transfixed on the body of her dead mother…Surprisingly, though, they held neither fear nor overwhelming loss and sadness. They merely stared at the corpse with a look of curiosity and faith – the child must think that her mother was still alive.
The man watched the baby girl sit for the endless minutes just staring at the mess on the ground – how patient she was! Not one sound emanated from her closed lips. One of the man's heart strings twitched and he felt it being pulled at. A feeling of protectiveness, adoration, and love overwhelmed him as he took in the sight of this beautiful baby. His hands, once frozen with guilt and sorrow, now itched with the love to hold her and comfort her. Slowly, so not to scare her, he pushed the creaking door open all the way. He watched as her innocent cobalt eyes moved to fix themselves onto his silhouette. He felt himself smile when her eyes began to take in his form – he couldn't leaver her there.
She needed a home, a family, and most of all, she needed love. His heart and soul ached to be the one who gave her those things. Urging his legs forward, he quickly walked the few steps that separated them – his eyes never left hers. Now standing over her, he wondered just how lonely she must feel. She had no one now – everything she had grown to know and care for was gone. Her eyes, though, held no trace of loneliness in them. He felt his smile grow as he found only curiosity inhabiting the blue pair of endless chasms.
His smile grew more pronounced as the girl boldly lifted her small arms up to him. His bigger, calloused hands reached forwards and encircled her tiny body – warmth immediately sparked in his hands as he lifted her off the counter. In one smooth movement he pulled her close to him and secured his strong, comforting arms around her. His heart skipped a beat as he felt her small head turned into his shoulder, her humid breath tingling his neck. He risked a quick glance at her and noticed her eyes had slipped shut and her breathing had become deeper – she had fallen asleep.
Pride suddenly welled up inside his heart at the sight of her sleeping form in his arms. Babies only fell asleep in a person's arms if they felt complete trust towards the person. His arms locked tighter around her fragile body. Glancing around the room, he searched for anything he could take with her before removing her from the house, reporting her mother dead, and then taking the baby to her new home with himself and his wife.
His eyes stopped their search as he caught sight of a picture that hung framed on the far wall. Slowly making his way over to it, he was careful not to step in the mess that occupied the center of the room. His eyes gazed, transfixed on the picture hanging in front of him. The woman, whose life had been taken by her own hands only moments ago, stood smiling hollowly out at him, the baby girl lay in her arms – a smile was not apparent on the child's face. Hugging the girl closer, his eyes caught sight of writing on the bottom of the frame. It was dated about a month ago and both the woman's and child's names were there.
"Akira Oshiro, mother of Misao Oshiro." The man's eyes darted to the girl in his arms as he felt her shuffle softly in her sleep. Her thumb was now inserted in her small mouth – he smiled. In a hushed voice he stated, "You are no longer Misao Oshiro, daughter of Akira Oshiro. From now on you will be known as Misao Uzimaki, daughter of Sachi and Yondaime Uzimaki." Then turning, he secured Misao in his arms and made his way out of the lonely building and to their home.
SO, there it is! Chapter one -- I hope you guys like. And, don't worry about me leaving fanfiction or whatever. I was reading this story a while back and the person just decided to end her story write in the middle and leave because no one was giving her constructive criticism. What a waste of talent. Heh, but anyways, I'll be staying on here no matter what your reviews say. You can say anything from "GREAT STORY!" to "UPDATE SOON!" as long as it's not a flame. Those belong elsewhere. )
Thanks too all.