Self-inserts and genderbends are basically the bane of fanfictions, and are probably as beaten to death as the time-travel trope, but I just couldn't help myself from writing another one! I've been wanting to write a bit more of a funnier borderline-crack fic that wasn't all serious like my others, hence this was born. However, it is rated M for a reason and will contain lots of strong language, sadism, violence and all that jazz. Enjoy, and remember not to take it too seriously.

Cover by the lovely SunakiSabakuno on Deviantart.

Round Two, I Guess

Oh, for fuck sake.

I didn't kill myself in one life just so that I could be reborn into another. Reincarnation, really? Was that God's sick way of punishing me for killing myself—making me live through yet another soul-draining existence? I mean, if he's expecting me to use this life as a way to redeem myself, then, well, he's wrong.

I mean, I probably shouldn't spend this life in bed like I had in my last. Depression was a bit of a bitch (and my parents never quite seemed to understand that was why I didn't have the motivation to shower for days at a time, but whatever) but I'm not sure if that was really what "threw me over the edge" and drove me to commit suicide. I wasn't really the wow-my-life-is-so-awful type of person—not anymore, at least—despite the fact I lived in a very dysfunctional and borderline abusive home. I had just kind of eventually reached a point where I stopped caring about, well, anything and had practically convinced myself that nothing was actually real.

This probably wasn't the best idea, since I may or may not have lead myself to believe I was utterly indestructible and death didn't matter because I wouldn't actually die, which had lead me to my current predicament.

Being fucking reborn.

Yes, I died through an experimental suicide. I wanted to see what was on the so-called "other side"! The details of how aren't that necessary—I made it look like an accident, so maybe my family would grieve slightly less. Maybe more. I'm not entirely sure, I guess. I feel bad for the driver who will have to live with the trauma of inadvertently killing me though. Don't worry, dude. I wanted to die.

I mean, at least I found out what came next though.

Now just came the fear of wondering what time period I had been born into. (Please God don't tell me the Dark Ages or Victorian Era; at least give me some Ancient Rome or the sixties if you're going to be cruel enough to not allow me the sweet release of death!) And whether or not I was a boy. Oh god, I did not want to be a boy. I don't care if I have less societal beauty standards I'm expected to meet!

Everything was blurry, anyway. I couldn't figure it out yet. And everything was so loud. Lots of talking, lots of which was muffled. Lots of movement. Lots of big, touchy hands. I didn't like it. I mean, I was sure I could hear what sounded like a heart monitor, so maybe that was a good sign. Modern appliances and all.

Maybe I could be a murderer in this life. I mean, my morality might just get in the way, but maybe if I have a traumatic enough experience as a child in this life maybe I could truly convince myself that humans are worthless (except for myself, of course) and unapologetically take their lives.

At the same time, I kind of hope that doesn't happen since I probably shouldn't become a serial killer, for my own mental sanity more than anything else, but, I mean, they'd obviously just be reborn again. Honestly, I was expecting heaven or hell, but no—

"Why the hell can a premature newborn think?"

What.

My thoughts went silent, and, suddenly, my annoyance turned to fear.

"Who the fuck is inside my head?"

The voice went silent for a moment, before speaking again, this time adopting a much more sinister tone.

"A demon."

What.

No. Nope. Fuck this shit. Voices inside my head? Oh my god, what if I'm schizophrenic? I refuse to be schizophrenic!

"Stop with the fucking sadistic shit, you piece of crap. Why the fuck is there another voice, other than my own, inside my head?"

A loud cackle rang through my mind, which sparked an eerie sense of familiarity. Maybe I had just watched too many horror films in my previous life, but I couldn't shake the feeling of knowing I had.

"Let's just say, I'm your mother."

Oh. I guess that's why.

"Are you the fucking Ichibi?"

Silence ensued.

Holy fucking shit.

I couldn't exactly control my body yet, but I grimaced mentally. Even though all my senses felt sensitive and unused to the phenomenon of being outside of the womb, I desperately tried to listen to the voices around me, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. Reincarnation was bad enough, but this? I needed to focus on the voices around me—I needed to get some semblance of what was going on. If I focused, the sound would become discernible. Hopefully.

"Rasa, what was it you and Karura named her again?"

Well, at least I was a girl.

Wait, Rasa? Karura?

Oh, my god.

Was I—

"Gaara."

This was a joke.

That couldn't be my name. That couldn't be who I was. This was some sick afterlife practical joke. It had to be. God just really wanted to scare me so I'd be more content with hell, right? I was in a coma. The car hitting me put me in a coma! This was a dream—this was all a messed up, sick, weird dream. I didn't want this. This—this was fictional. This wasn't real. Oh, my god. No. No. No.

"Her name is Gaara."

Well, at least wasn't schizophrenic.

But I might just actually end up being a serial killer.