She wakes to the feeling of dying.
Her skin is tearing – tear tear cut the flesh dye it red and black – apart, pulled at the seams like one of those old woolly jumpers, stretched and tugged until it's wrenched from her flesh. Peel the flesh back, layer by layer, make a mountain of her – take my Sword, my Shield, but never shall you touch my Will – she laughs and laughs – what Will is this you speak of, you impotent worm of the masses, you liar that damns with every breath at once itself and another –
Agony, fiery agony that lashes through her, thrums of pain that seek to dominate her, to destroy her, and it is working – her bones are crunchcrunchcrunching snapping like sticks, like weak little sticks of white and might that are so so easy to snapsnapsnap. It is a pain of the basest sort, a torturous lullaby that rots with each line it croons, a soothing smile that twists and tears because it can, because it is strong and she is weak and what power do you have now? What good is your glory and your honour when you are dead.
It is music, a dying symphony of screams that fills her head with its grand crescendo. The body the mind rip its apart she is nothing she is everything because everything she is is being broken burnt ruined and she is falling flying dying singing sighing – how human, how inhuman; which is which, that's the question –
And she is remade. The pain is gone like it never existed – how can something so terrible have never existed? – and she is aware in a way that the agony had deprived her of. She is breathing – huge, heaving gasps that shred her throat and feel oh so wonderful – in and out, lungs inflating, not pierced by broke ribs or shredded by merciless claws. It's all she can focus on breathebreathebreathe because it means she's alive - she's not supposed to be alive – and that's good right rightrightright?
She- she's lying on the ground, she can feel the cold surface. She's on her left side, arm trapped beneath her and head resting just above it. Her feet are bare – bare of your trophies and your medals, where is your worth now? – and her toes are a little numb. She – she's cold, she realises, and such a fact has never been more fascinating. She can feel it, feel the prickling of her nerves in response, feel the goose bumps raised on her flesh, and it is glorious. It's a pain that's not a pain, a burn that doesn't burn and blacken and decay.
Eyes- she has eyes – eyes that see eyes that blind eyes that pick and choose the truth of mankind. She should open them, right? Pull the eyelids back, that's it, you can do it. And she can see.
It's dark, but she can make out a wall and a bed. No, it's not a bed, it's a futon. Her friend has a futon. They used to sit on it and play Truth or Dare, and she would always do the dares, no matter how reckless or embarrassing the dare was. Her friend was good at coming up with fun ones, dangerous ones, it's how she got this scar, see?
The wall is painted an off-white colour, like the paling skin of a man who has learnt his wife was dying from an incurable disease, or old piano keys that have seen much use over the years. She's facing it, with the futon between her and the wall, and she watches it for a time before realising it isn't going to do anything – silly silly why would a wall do anything? Maybe maybe it would go on an adventure, rescue the princess and defeat the evil dragon? But but I like dragons no no you're not supposed to like the dragon, the dragon is the bad guy and everyone knows the bad guys always loses and the hero always wins hmmm is that sooo? – so she thinks she'll try to move.
Where to start where to start – fingers! She thinks and remembers how they work, and soon they're curling into a fist. She stretches them again to make sure that she can definitely move – can anyone give me the definition of living? Uh, things that breathe and move and stuff, I think. Not quite right; all organisms don't necessarily breathe – try to get used to the term 'respire' instead – and plants certainly don't move, do they? No, sir, I guess not – before rolling over onto her back.
She stares up at the ceiling curiously, wondering if it is staring back at her with eyes she just can't see. Should she introduce herself? That would be polite, wouldn't it? Mother always said it was best to be polite – puts them off guard, you see – so she lifts her hand in offering of a handshake. But then the sight of her arm distracts her, and she ignores the ceiling – oh how rude, she hopes she hasn't hurt its feelings – in favour of the appendage.
It's shorter than she expects – yet it's just as she expects – thinner and paler than she is used to – no, it's always been this way – and when she turns it she can see her palms are slightly calloused, and there are a burn scars painting her fingertips and a little of her middle and index finger down to the knuckle. This isn't right – this is right. She doesn't have burns on her hands – she does – her skin has an olive tint to it – her skin is pale like the rest of her clan – she doesn't have a clan – of course she has a clan, the clan is everything-
Her breathing is quickening and her head is hurting and what is this what's going on where am I what happened and and andandand who am I?
The answers clash against each other, vying for dominance within her poor, fractured mind.
She is Rei Harris Uchiha Haruka-
She lives in Konohagakure London-
She is twenty-three eight years old-
She is an Academy student a medical student-
Her family is dead dead-
The concurrence slams her thoughts together, fragments colliding and twisting and filling in the gaps and she's screaming and she's laughing and she can hear people talking panicking ordering and her eyes are closing and-
She wakes and opens her eyes. She is somewhere else – the piano key walls and the watching ceiling is gone – somewhere with whitewhite walls and it is bright and it hurts and makes her want to shut her eyes, so she opens them wider instead. She is in a bed this time, sheets stiff and uncomfortable and there's an IV in her arm. There is the familiar smell of antiseptic in the air and she knows she is in a hospital.
"How are you feeling?" A hesitant voice asks, and she turns her head to them. It is a woman, a nurse she guesses from the uniform, with a pretty face and dirty blond hair. She's considering answering – Japanese she's speaking Japanese she's glad mother was so insistent she not forget her heritage – when the nurse tacks on, "Uchiha-san?"
And suddenly her head is full of noise. It is flashing images and sounds and memories and faces - she is Rei Harris she is Uchiha Haruka - and it hurtshurtshurts.
One part of her – Rei - insists that this isn't real, that this world is fictional; she can't possibly be in Konoha, and she definitely can't be an Uchiha. This world is just something a man made up, something she reads and sometimes watches as an idle pastime. The real world doesn't have things like chakra – hum hum humming beneath her skin crackle and burn and smoke – or ridiculously superpowered shinobi – blurred forms leaping across rooftops "you need to practise with your kunai more or you won't get better Haruka-chan".
Another – Haruka – says that this is her life, this is her home, it's real. She is an orphan of the Uchiha clan, taken in by her aunt and uncle when her parents died. She's near the top of her class at the Academy because she knows the only way to survive is to get strong enough that no one can hurt you. She doesn't have any friends at the Academy because the girls think she's weird for being so focussed on learning and not having any interest in typical Kunoichi skills like flower arranging – "Rei, what are you doing with those matches?!" "The flowers wanted to hug the sun, see, but the sun is too far away. They're so cold, kaa-chan. I want to help them." But she doesn't care; she pairs up with Sasuke on group assignments and they work well together so her teamwork score isn't abysmally low, and when she gets home Shisui is always willing to help her-
But Shisui is dead – Danzō takes his eye and Shisui gives the other to Itachi "…protect the village…and the Uchiha name," he says before falling falling falling and how does she know this?! - and her aunt and uncle were killed – Itachi? Why is he – and she is killed – it's a clean stab, Rei observes, meant to kill quickly and cause as little pain as possible – and her head hurts.
She's hunched over her knees, cradling her head and rocking backwards and forwards, desperately trying to quell the noise. Flashes of memories taunt her and batter her, demand her attention even as they flit away. Two sets of lives fight each other – which is right which is wrong which is real which is false who is she who is she who is she who is she – and she can't think.
A hand touches her and she flinches back away, eyes scrunched closed as she presses her face painfully into her knees. The distraction brings relief for but a moment before it is overwhelmed by the noise assaulting her mind, physical pain drowned out by mental.
"Uchiha-san?" A voice says but it sounds gargled like it's from far away or through water and it makes her head pound.
She – Rei Haruka who is she who is she what is real what is false who is she – starts speaking, begging, barely registering the words as they pass her lips in a helpless prayer. "No no no no no leave me alone leave me alone. Go away go away go away stop stop stop it hurts hurt hurts hurts help me help me go away go away!"
At her shriek the hand retreats and she feels relief for maybe a second before she is consumed once more - Rei Haruka who is she who is she what is real what is false who is she- and she is dead, dead twice but if she is dead what is this how can she be alive? How can she be two people in one and one person in two torn apart ripped apart tear tear cut the flesh dye it red and black and sewn together but it won't work because the pieces of the puzzle won't fit aren't the right shape but they keep trying, keep jamming themselves together and it hurts-
More voices. "What's going on? What did you do to her?!"
"U-uchiha-san! I'm sorry, you can't come in here-"
"Get out of my way!"
"Uchiha-san! Wait-"
"Haruka?" There are hands on her shoulders, and she realises she is shuddering violently – Haruka Rei Haruka Rei Haruka Rei Haruka Rei – "Haruka! Open your eyes," the voice demands softly, gently, and she finds herself listening even as – Rei Haruka Rei Haruka Rei Haruka Rei Haruka –
She's looking into black eyes just a few centimetres from her own, pretty black eyes that really are black, pupil near indistinguishable from the pupil. The face – his face – is rounded childishly, pale skin like her own – not her own – with black hair and a worried frown. He's young, around her age – much younger – but what catches her attention and holds it is that she recognises him, both parts of her do, and the cracks in her mind latch onto that fact.
"Sasuke?" She murmurs hesitantly. The fragments of the lives – her lives – stretch and shred and grapple with each other, trying to find order in the chaos, but entropy must always increase for a reaction to go but this isn't a reaction this is her mind and its begins to click.
The boy, Sasuke, smiles a little in what looks a lot like relief and hope and fear and a heart-wrenching grief. "Are you okay?"
She's stopped shaking. "I'm here," she answers, because she's not okay, she's really not, but she thinks that both Sasuke and she need to know this. "I'm here," she repeats, and she is Haruka and Rei.
His smile wavers and she sees the tears forming in his eyes, but she knows he understands. "Y-yeah, you're here." He throws his arms around her and she jolts, before slowly relaxing as she feels the dampness forming where his face presses against her shoulder and his shaking as he stifles his sobs. A child, he's just a child she thinks with the memories of the story Rei knew, of the hours of watching his clan die over and over and over Sasuke had likely woken from not long ago. Since when has that meant anything she thinks with the memories of Haruka who watched her parents die and heard her uncle and aunt's screams and felt the blade as it pierced her heart.
So her arms hang limp at her side and she doesn't notice when her spinning spinning red eyes soften to black, before sliding shut into the cold grip of unconsciousness.
It seems that lack of sanity is something increasingly common in my OCs.
Well, Haruka/Rei here is my experiment in writing a rather nonsensical thought process, sort of inspired by reading Alice in Wonderland.
I wanted to make an OC who doesn't care/realise the consequences of their actions not because of stupidity or short-sightedness, but simply because it doesn't register in her mind. Expect a 'blue and orange' morality and a habit of giving away key information.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far. Pairing ideas are always helpful, though romance won't be the focus.