Underlined Italics= words MC doesn't understand.
It's warm. The world around me is completely dark. I move my leg as best I can, but it barely moves. The dark warmth is calm and comforting, lulling me to sleep. Didn't I die? Is this hell? It seems far too mild to be so. Soon, my world fades back to black.
I hear voices.
They're muffled and unclear, but I hear them. It's like a distant humming, as though someone is singing. I take comfort in it, knowing that at least someone is nearby. I can sometimes feel soft, gentle touches on the warm walls, soothing strokes of what might be a hand. Perhaps I'm not so alone after all.
It's tight in here. Claustrophobic. The walls are squeezing me, the safe home I had grown accustomed to is now rejecting me, pushing me out. I kick and squirm, feeling something soft and slithery wrap around my neck and start choking me, making me panic as I kick harder. Am I going to die again?! I don't want to go down so easily this time around, so with my barely functional legs, I kick one more time before I finally burst free. The world burns my skin with the freezing cold, making me gasp against the choke hold around my neck, shivering insanely as I hear distant voices shouting. The thing on my neck is suddenly ripped away and I'm tossed and turned, doused in warm water and wrapped. What's going on?
I shiver again, hearing panicked voices and hushed tones. Is something wrong? That's a stupid question, actually- everything is wrong right now. I can hardly move, I can't see bull unless it's right in front of my face, and it's kinda cold here. Coming from me, that's saying a lot.
I hear a few sobs as I'm manhandled by the insanely large hands into calm, soothing arms. I blink as hot tears drop onto my face, the blurred figure coming into my view. It's a woman, a smiling, happy, but crying one. Her beautiful, slim face is red with happiness and exhaustion, her raven black hair concealing us like a curtain. I... don't know what to do. I can hardly move my arms to comfort her if I could- why is she crying? Wait, why am I here? Wasn't I... dead?
"Hello, little one." She sobs, laughing a little as she sniffs, her tears brimming in her eyes but do not fall. That's... Japanese? "Hello, my little... Hotaru. Do you like it, little lightning bug?" She asks me, her thumb gently gliding over my cheek, holding me tenderly and close. I lean into her touch, a shaky breath shuddering out of my tired, cold body. I had never been touched do carefully, so lovingly before. I never felt quite so... Loved. I never felt so much love. Questions could be asked later, right now, all I want is to sleep and pray I never wake up. Perhaps this dream may never end.
I hope it doesn't.
Dreams are but dreams and nothing more. At some point or another, you wake up, even if you don't know it.
That's what it feels like to me.
I feel like I'm in an eternal dream, always awake, but always asleep. The days are a hazy, monotonous blur. I don't quite register anything; too caught up in slow, drunken thoughts that I gradually accept in my new, and admittedly frightening world. My vision gets better as the weeks progress, and I feel that soon I'll have the same sight limit as before. My body is more useable now, but I still wobble when I walk. Himetaru, my 'new mother', is adamant in stating that I'm growing insanely quick for my age of two years at seeing how I'm constantly walking around. I can't blame her for looking at me so nervously. I'm a weird baby.
I'm silent as the grave and constantly looking at something and am completely disinterested in human interaction. I only really listen to her, and don't see the point in impressing the few visitors we every get. I'm too busy studying the world around me. I've confirmed that I am, in fact, a baby in a new world. I don't quite understand how it why, but it has made me reconsider my ramen shop and Buddhist monk joke that wasn't even really that funny and I might have jinxed. But still, it's happened and I haven't the slightest clue or means to change it. I'm the type that registers traumatic things slowly and just come to accord it after a while, and honestly, I've never been more glad for that fact.
My mother and I live in a shack, from what I can tell. A one-room house. Her small futon mattress is tucked away with a thin blanket in the left corner of the room, my manger-like box propped half an inch above the ground and filled with torn fabrics and a single, soft, fluffy pink towel. The kitchen is comprised of a small, Japanese fire pit with a pot hanging above it, dried rosemary and sage hanging on the walls in collective chunks. A washing bin for clothes sits in the right corner, and the mosquito net square window on that side of the room gives view to a hanging rack outside. The only thing remotely electronic is the small fridge, no bigger than a large cardboard box. Our house is completely wooden save for the little electricity outlet connected to the fridge, as well as the single fan in the middle of the cieling.
I feel bad for the woman since I, as a baby, seem to have made her hard life even worse. She hardly has anything. The least I can do is try to take care of myself. Especially when she has no one to take care of her.
She's pale and very, very sickly. Her face is sinking slowly every day, lips chapped and once beautiful, silky corvidesque locks a dull and harsh dark grey. Her skin crumbles under my touch, and I fear I will kill her if I do anything more. She hardly speaks to me, but she always smiles and pats my head lovingly. I try not to feel guilt.
Here I am, chubby and healthy, while she's all skin and bone. I wonder what her life was like before she was cursed with me? Maybe she had friends, a family. A dream. Now she has nothing.
Funny how alike we are.
It's my third birthday.
January here in the Land of Fire is taxing on my mother and myself. Our little garden full of vegetable greens and wildflowers that we relied on for food has wilted and fallen asleep for the winter. Mother is getting worse as the cold weather howls in the wind through our poorly barred window, coughs wracking her skeletal form. I can't take looking at her like this much more. I've decide to go out and dig up our savings under the loose floorboard to buy food.
"Haha-ue, I'm going out to buy food." I tell her in a quiet voice, sitting on my calves as I sit beside her bed prone form, gingerly pulling her thin blanket up more to her shoulders. She is covered in my baby rags as well as her old, beaten comforter blanket. Be back soon, alright, darling?" She says, my untrained ears only picking up snippets of her whispering sentence, but I understand enough and nod to her. Opening the creaking wooden door, I spare her one last glance before walking out.
As I walk through the little, clear, snowy path through the woods, I can't help but notice the stones. They stand upright, square as well. The ground before them is upturned individually, and whispers of engravings on the stones sometimes show with the shadows of the light and dead fireflies resting in the nooks.The graves surround the forest in our little house, each of them marked with at least one firefly. The fireflies always gather in our small section of land every summer and spring, but never leave in time to escape the cold and the death this place brings.
I feel it important to say that none of the villagers treat me very kindly, seeing me in rags and racoon-like bags under my eyes. Something that quite bothers me, considering that I live in Konoha, the 'nice' village. I discover that on my first venture out of the house for food, a quick and easy wakeup slap to the face called the Hokage monument. Minato's face has yet to be carved on it, and considering the high food prices and theif-wary shop owners, I can say with relative ease that I'm in the Third Shinobi World War era. I'm not quite sure how to handle it, I'm mostly just ignoring the fact that I'm in a fictional world. Okay, I'm actually having a bit of a panic attack. Naruto? Of all places? The manga and anime are great and everything, but I'm old enough and have seen enough fanfictions to know that this world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. I brush past that worry. I don't need things like that, all that matters is here and now.
I harden my resolve and walk a little faster with my purple and white feet on the bare ice, calloused soles gyrating off of the slick substance. Snow falls gently from the sky, flickering silver hues like white fireflies before landing on the ground and disappearing. I try my best to remember the way back home, taking note that we live near the place where people with black eyes and hair and pale skin roam. Perhaps this is the Uchiha district? I receive odd glances from civilians and ninja alike, shop keepers giving me wary eyes as I leave the district area. Now that I think of it, my mother looks a lot like an Uchiha. Perhaps I'm one, too? What do I look like?
I walk a little faster, tiny legs jogging through the growing inches of snow as the wind dies down to be almost nonexistent. The road from the Uchiha compound is bare of any apartments, but two minutes into walking through it, houses appear to have taken over the area. Konoha is very densely populated, and with the amount of houses on the street, it reminds me of Washington D.C. with all of the hustle and bustle. It's obvious to see that war is hitting the people, but all civilians seem fairly happy if you don't count grocery prices.
The shinobi I pass by have haunted eyes, unfocused steps and are not quite 'there.' I immediately pass by the convenience store and grocery store. They're both too expensive from what the signs say.
I wander for a bit until I reach a run down shop. The wooden planks at the top crisscross to read 'Lost Hand', a sign below it entitling it as an antique store. Cheap.
I go into the secondhand shop and immediately search for anything made of leather. Shinobi rarely use it and it's everywhere, so it's always cheap.
A bell rings at the desk as the door closes behind me, dust clumps raining down and up as I walk. Everything in here is made of old, suspiciously stained wood with shelves and desks clattered with miscellaneous items from rusty buckets to old, bloodstained shinobi medicine packs. A wall with surprisingly well-taken care of weapons sits behind the checkout counter. The weaponry has everything I could imagine being used in combat; swords, a gunbai, katana, tantō, kusarigama and many more. I think I even see a metal umbrella.
I manage to shake my eyes from the sharp, gleaming metals and search the shelves only to find a pair of old boots, I sniff them and immediately toss the back onto the shelf. Gross. Who the hell has feet that smell that bad? An old satchel catches my eye, and I immediately probe it for anything that makes red bells ding in my (admittedly low) hygiene department. Other than the obviously loved outer shell, nothing seems to be wrong with it. I toss it upside down, trying to read the price tag on it. 350 ryo. Huh, what do you know. Finally something within my price range. And for a pretty big bag, too.
I haul the enormous bag over my tiny shoulders up to the cashier's counter, ringing the bell once. "Coming..." a muffled voice grumbles through a door surrounded by the weapons, followed by a crashing sound and a groan. I wait a bit impatiently, knowing that my mother is waiting back home as I rub my hands on my arms that feel colder than death to the touch. I glance around as I wait until my eyes catch on the tall mirror at the back of the shop reflecting my view. I'm a small, surprisingly skinny child. My skin is an unhealthy shade of grayish tan (perhaps it's permanent...) and my hair branches out in short spikes at the top, grey bangs framing my face before cascading down my back in long locks. I look surprisingly like Izuna, just with grey (not Kakashi grey- that crap is white) and silverish hues. The tips of my hair are white. I'm wearing a large white tunic to act as a makeshift dress.
My name doesn't suit me at all.
A bumbling and grumbling shop owner comes out from the door, hand cradling his head as if he had hit it on something. He's tall and muscular with generic brown hair and eyes, the signature tan of Konoha compliments his rugged look. His chestnut orbs look at me for a moment, seeming to evaluate me before he scoffs.
"What are they feeding kids these days?" He grumbles, slumping down onto his plastic, cushioned chair. He snatches the bag from the counter and looks at the price tag and then me, expectantly. "Leather." I reply to his question despite it's rhetorical status. I dig into the sewn-in pocket on the side of my off-white dress, pulling out one copper and three silver ryo.
The currency here works eerily similar to Japanese Yen. One ryo is worth about a dime in this world, thus making 350 ryo equal to about three dollars and fifty cents. Thankfully, under the guise of a confused toddler, I won't need to revise long division in my head for a while until I actually get money over the thousands. Otherwise, I can live on as I am for now.
The man raises an eyebrow but takes the coins, poking at them for a minute before shrugging and shoving open the register. "What do you even need this for, anyways?" He asks, taking the tag and ripping it off as he hands the bag to me. "Leather." I repeat, as though it will answer all of his questions. Leather is a good meat substitute if you boil it enough. I'll blame my lack of an elaborate response on my horrible vocabulary.
He stares at me blankly for a moment as I awkwardly shuffle my new bag (meal) into my tiny arms. He huffs and scratches the back of his head. "Not my problem..." He mumbles, disappearing into the back room once again.
With a quiet heave I gather the last of the crumpled bag and shove through the door with my shoulder.
The walk back gives me just a few more peculiar stares than before, courtesy of my awkwardly huge leather bag, but it is otherwise peaceful as I walk along the ice. Things are better in the Uchiha district, though their eyes (eerie things, sometimes I thought they even activated the sharingan) linger a little on me. I've got to give them credit- only a minority of my looks resembles them, and the further I walk back into the compound, it must become obvious to them that I'm a resident. I guess being a ninja clan makes you used to weird people within your family. I would have never guessed that Obito was an Uchiha if it wasn't for his last name. My situation is similar, I guess. Obito didn't have the personality to match, and I don't have the looks. Ever seen a tan Uchiha? I don't think so.
I walk among the graves with fireflies once again, taking a deep breath in as I prepare to open the door-
I halt.
I hear voices- more than just my mother's. It seems to be her and one other. Quietly, quietly, I breathe a shaky breath and reach for the handle, gingerly sliding the door open as I try to hear.
"Your situation is getting worse, Himiko." A man, tall and entirely Uchiha from the clan marking on the back of his shirt speaks. "The child must be compromised within a year. As the crypt keeper you may stay, but the Elders won't stand for it much longer if you keep the child away." He sniffs, and I see my mother, Himiko, glares at him with such intensity that I flinch. He reminds me of someone with his voice and his looks, but I can't know for certain until he turns around...
He sighs. "Come out, child."
Oops. Caught.
I tentatively creak open the door, stepping in a bit fearfully into my house. The man turns to face me and my heart skips a beat. Fugaku Uchiha.
Panic. What the hell is he here for!? I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Oh crap. No one gets this guy's attention unless you're a prodigy or you got put on his hit list.
What did I do (in this life or the other) to deserve meeting this horrifying man? I just want to live in peace!
His black eyes regard me cooly, taking in my tense but otherwise blank state as I try to hide my shaking hands in the bag I press against my chest. "Nice to meet you..." I say, my harsh, wispy voice a bit hoarse as it comes out. I bow a little from what I remember of Japanese etiquette, quickly making sure that my feet are touching. He nods in what seems to be approval.
"You're lucky with your hermit's lifestyle that your daughter is at least adequate in ettiquite. The clan will take over her raising for now." He states, looking down at my mother. Her look is withering and I slightly scrunch myself into my patched gown. My old parents had that look a lot; it meant that they weren't happy and that my opinion wouldn't matter. I may not know Himiko very well due to her constant illness, but social cues are where my intelligence reigns.
Children are meant to be seen, not heard.
"Hotarubi will not be taken from me. She doesn't need to be a ninja- and I won't have her wasting her childhood doing things that children her age shouldn't." She growls, her harsh voice cracking in her dry throat, but despite her feeble state, I feel as though I'm staring into the face of an enraged lion. I shiver and step back a little. Me, a ninja? It would be...
Horrible.
I know that I'm no Naruto. I don't have the luck of the cosmos or the right words in the right time, nor an entity comprised of practically radioactive energy. For all I know, I will most likely become like Kakashi- drowned in blood and bad memories. I'm not strong enough for such a life- their society is built on murder. Mine is built on deception and prideful old men. Different, but not quite the same. What they would be asking of me- what they will be asking of me- goes against years of ingrained morals. Manslaughter in self defense? No problem. Murder because someone tells me to?
I'd rather drop dead.
"It doesn't matter what you want, woman. If you hand over the child, you will be given all the best medical care until you're capable again. The Uchiha clan will take custody of your child if your health doesn't improve within the year. It is the law." He finalizes his speech with clear disdain for her, his words heavy in the air that becomes ten degrees colder. Suddenly, Himiko's heavy coughs wrack her body before she can reply, her hacking breaths ratting her bong form.
Fugaku snorts and turns around, facing me and staring him dead in the eye. I feel uncomfortable, but stare right back into his black eyes. "Child, do you know basic math? What is your knowledge level?" He asks, his folded arms shifting as he taps his index finger on his cloth thoughtfully. I hesitate for a moment before answering slowly. "I can do math up to simple forms of Algebra two. Biology is easy, beginner chemistry is okay, reading and writing are..." I think for the word. "... dismal. Chakra theory..." This one is easy. I was always better with metaphysical things, anyways. "... exceptional. Physical Education, not very good... I think." My mind has all sorts of moves ingrained into my head. Maybe it has already had my muscles memorize them? He nods, scrunching his nose as I mention my horrible literary skills. "Adequate. Those can be fixed quickly." He hums, his face softening.
Suddenly, he shifts down onto one knee right in front of me and smiles. I panic and clench the bag harder, my facade falling as I stumble backwards a bit and lightly purse my lips. My spooked, unsociable behavior doesn't sway him as he stretches a hand out to me. I stare at him, switching my haze back and forth between him an his clenched fist. Seeing my distrust, he opens his palm to reveal a wrapped candy. I instantly zero onto the treat, my breath hitching. I haven't seen such a sweet, tempting treat held before me for so long; the taste of boiled leather and bitter herbs too ingrained in my tongue to remember what sugar felt like in my mind. I gulp as my mouth waters feverishly, my world narrowed down to a tablet of caramel (I don't even like caramel) and sugar. "Take it." He says, pushing his hand a little closer as I take another step back, snapping out of my reverie. "You can have more if you come to the main household as well." He promises me, making my eyes light up and shoot up to his. His smile grows a little at my responsiveness, making the corners of my mouth twitch up as I gently nab the candy. He pats my head as I lean into his touch, the feeling of a warm hand on my head so comforting that it makes me face glow like a firefly's light. He smiles wider and stands up, brushing me aside gently as he leaves. I wait for a moment until he leaves, pocketing the sweet.
"Kaa-san, I-" I turn to her with my face flowing in excitement, but she immediately grabs my shoulders with a bruising grip and shakes me. "K-kaa-san-" I stammer, my head pounding and bones aching as her nails dig into my skin and sharply draw blood, making me cry out. "You foolish child!" She cries, her black hair thin and disheveled wreathing around us like a veil of darkness, her sunken face and bloodshot eyes like a demon in the dark. "How dare yoU!" Shescreeches, pushing me into the ground with monstrous strength, pulling at my long hair. I push and shove and kick, adrenaline pumping in my veins as I try to run, try to hide from the demon that has hidden from me all this time. She screams and slams me against the floor repeatedly, my head screaming in pain as we hit the hard, wooden floor and my breath is knocked out of me, bruising my ribs. "YOU uNgRatEfuL ChiLdThe demon hisses her nails like claws as she drags them across my temple to the bottom of my right cheek, scraping the corner of my eye as my blood flows like an angry river. Her fingers grab hold of my neck, throttling me more as bile rises in my throat. I brokenly scream in agony as she's torn away from me by an unknown man, his long, white hair flying like a halo as he pins the Demon down, fingers tapping her neck gently as she slumps still.
I cough feverishly and sit up immediately, my savoir rushing over to me as his hands hold me up tenderly. My entire body is screaming in pain, my legs shivering in the aftershock as the world around me blurs, muffled comforts falling on my ringing ears as pain shoots through me with every breath.
Amidst the blur of colors, something glows softly like the light in a firefly's afterglow, green and calm as it soothes the pain from my shivering, sobbing form. The green light reaches my head and the headache fades away, my blurred view slowly clearing to see crimson eyes. "There, I'm no expert, so I can't erase all damage, but the pain shouldn't bother you. Speak for me, please? I know it still stings but I've got to know if you'll be okay." He whispers softly, stroking my hair gently as hot, silent tears stream down my face. "W-who... Are-re y-you?" I rasp, ignoring the way my voice was dead and husky, a stranger's voice. He smiles bitterly and his hand clenches my hair a little, making me wince from the fresh memories. "You seem to be handling this well, daughter." He says wrly.
I'm the type that takes a while for trauma to set in. Right now, I just really want to take a nap. I'll freak out later...
"Daughter?" I squeak out before immediately regretting it, coughing as my raw and sore throat is struck with pinpricks of pain.
"Yes." His flat, gravelly voice confirms my words. "I'm Hiruko. Former Konoha-nin."
Former?