Less Than Human

They had always been different.

They had always been monsters in the people's eyes. Monsters that shouldn't be there, shouldn't exist in this world.

Yet even through all that contempt and hate and misery, they kept the true monsters back. The reasons for the death and the animosity and the crowd parting before them like Moses parting the sea.

They acted happy to the passive world. But to them, true happiness could never be found. No rational being would approach them – unless they were assassins, of course. There was virtually no human contact. Nothing for them to be happy with.

And yet, people never wondered whether they would break off and betray the village. They were the village's property, and it would stay that way.

They never once complained. They knew it would do no good. It had been engraved into their brains the moment the first glare had been sent their way. They bore their burdens quietly, elegantly, with their heads held high.

But just because they bore their burdens quietly didn't mean everything they did was quiet.

They were loud presences, whether they wanted to be or not. Their simple existence was enough to turn heads.

They were annoyances. But even if they yelled and shouted and caused general pandemonium, the annoyance that they caused was never truly enough. Nothing was ever truly enough to compensate for the hurt they received.

They were less than human. Tools. Tools to be used and broken and thrown away.

They were mysteries, the type that you leave there and never truly try to solve. The puzzle staring you in the face that you spit on.

But they had their own mystery in the people. They knew what made them hated. But why did it make people glare at them with contempt, to openly snarl at them?

Each of them had different answers, or none at all.

But they didn't dwell on this question, this mystery, it wasn't for them to figure out.

After all, they were less than human, what would they know?


AN: If you can't tell, this is referring to the jinchuuriki.