Small, bare feet stumbled at breakneck speed down twisting alleys. The young, blonde boy tripped, falling on his hands and pushing himself back up. Tears pricked at his eyes and blood stirred the dirt covering his body. He tripped again, catching himself on a wall and continuing to run. There was no rest in the chase. The thundering of feet growing steadily closer spurred the boy on. The knowledge that if he stopped, he would be beaten more, that he couldn't escape again kept him on his feet. He fled.
It felt like hours that he ran, heart and feet pounding in a relentless pattern. He ran, until he stumbled through what felt like water. Just like that, he stood before a magnificent manor. The house was only two stories high, but to the small boy, it seemed to be a palace. The grounds were overgrown with flowers and the lights were out. Looking behind him and seeing the mob approaching, he pounded his fist against the heavy iron gate, too desperate to see the blood from his battered hand being absorbed into the metal. There was a click and the gate swung open. Hurriedly, the boy ran through the archway, the gate slamming shut behind his small form. He continued to run, crashing against the oak front door, which opened inward at his touch. After he swiftly shut the door behind himself, he leant against it, catching his breath.
Hours passed, the small boy leaning against the door and his cuts and bruises slowly fading away. He drifted in and out of sleep, unaware of the ticking of the clock. He slept the night against the oak front door. When the morning light poured in through the the open windows, he slowly stirred. At first he was confused by the different surroundings, but as memories from the night flooded his mind he relaxed. He was safe. He'd gotten away. And so the curious part of him awakened, and he began to explore the house. The boy walked slowly through the quiet halls, looking into every room-the kitchen, dining room, living room, downstairs bathroom, and patio-before venturing up the polished wood stairs. He told himself it wasn't right to enter the bedrooms, but he felt an indescribable pull from them. He'd never been one for rules anyway. He opened the door to the right first, walking into a small nursery, painted in a cheerful yellow and filled with unused toys, blankets and clothing. He sat in the middle of the room and gently picked up the nearest item, a small, stuffed toad. He held it gingerly, small fingers gently running over the red lines. The boy didn't understand why he felt so at home here, but he did. Sitting in this small, yellow nursery he felt safer than he ever had before.
Holding the stuffed toad to his chest, he stood up and made his way back to the hallway and past the middle door-a bathroom-and to the one at the end of the hallway. Looking at the white door with the red molding, he felt a lump forming in his throat and the beginnings of tears in his eyes. Cautiously turning the silver doorknob, he entered the master bedroom. The tears began to stream down his face as he took in the cream-colored walls, the red accents and the meticulously arranged wooden furniture. He sat on the bed, staring at the three gold-framed pictures sitting on the bedside table.
The first was a picture of a blonde boy and red-haired girl, possibly 12 or 13. They had their their arms around each others' shoulders and were smiling brightly at the camera.
The second was the same two people decked out in traditional wedding garb, holding hands and grinning.
The third was the man and woman sitting next to each other on a couch. The woman's belly was large from pregnancy and the man had his hand against it. Both smiled at each other fondly.
The boy's tears continued falling as he picked up the third picture, running his finger slowly over the faces of the man and woman. Carefully placing the picture back in it's place, he moved over to the final closed door, opening it to reveal a well-organized closet. In a box, on the floor, was a folded piece of clothing. Hesitantly, the boy reached down and ran his fingers over it. He slowly took the material in his hands, unfolding it gently. The white fabric cascaded down over him, enveloping him. The gaping hole through the back was caked in blood, but it's warmth was comforting. He pulled it around himself, slipping his hands through the sleeves. A small bit of writing on the edge caught his eye and he tugged it closer, squinting at the loopy and rushed scrawl.
Naruto-I'm so sorry your mother and I won't be able to be with you for your childhood. I am so sorry to have left you alone all these years. Just know this-your mother and I love you so much, and we always will. I hope one day you will find this, and maybe find it in your heart to forgive us.
Much love, your dad-Minato Namikaze
Naruto's tears tripled and he tugged the cloak closer. 'I forgive you, Dad, Mom.'
A/N: Another short one-shot. Hope you like it!