disclaimer : Naruto is property of Masashi Kishimoto.
disclaimer : Minamoto Raikan is property of aheartstruecolours.

Welcome the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling..

Suffering comes crashing into our lives and washes away, leaving nothing but broken dreams, heartache and memories of what there was before. We find a way to move on; we find a way to cope. Or we don't. Some people don't. I am one of those people.

I don't even know myself anymore. I hear people talking about me, it's almost as if I have no idea who they're speaking about or if any of what they say is even true. It's to the point that I've begun avoiding mirrors or catching my own eyes in the reflection of windows, because I don't even recognize myself anymore. My hair is a mess and my clothes don't match, but none of that is even important anymore because I'm struggling to keep pretending that I'm not uncomfortable in my own skin. I've become a stranger and it scares me because I've always been most afraid of things that I don't know.

And I don't know myself.

So I'm running. I don't know where I'm going or when I'll get there, all I know is that I need to get away from this misery, that for too long I have considered a life. Away from this Mansion that was never really a home, and all the memories that haunt me within it. I had been waiting for an absolution that would never come. I had turned myself into a monster, to spare myself the pain of being a man.

None of them could ever understand me.

Never understand the rage that was driving me, that impossible anger that was slowly smothering me, and strangling the grief of my loss. I wanted nothing more than to forget, forget my duties to my Nation, forget him, forget every memory I have; these useless memories that had become nothing more than a poison in my veins. They could never understand how I wished he had never existed, how selfish I am. All I truly wanted was to be spared my pain.

So I ran.

I'm tired. I'm tired of being afraid and I'm tired of being alone and I'm just tired of being. It's two o' clock in the morning and I'm running from my subordinates, running from my home and I'm starting to wonder if exhaustion has a flavour or if everything tastes this kind of bitter. I hate how it feels against my teeth and I hate the way it burns the back of my throat like the sake we used to drink together. All I want is to sleep, to forget this feeling, to forget breathing, or blinking, or being alive. Instead I'm counting the raindrops as they pelt on my face, and I'm happy because for a moment I can feel. But really I'm worrying that I'm losing track. Of everything. I've been derailed and I don't know where I'm going. Maybe I'm on a collision course with regret. Maybe I'm a crash route of tired words and overdone ideas.

In any case, I'm a wreck.

It's to the point that I don't know what to do with myself. So I stop and use a flash bomb to blind my pursuers, and the blinding white reminds me of bleach and I think of how they need to make some for my memories, because if I could I'd white out all the things I've been meaning to forget. And I would forget that I'm a mess and I would forget that I deserve this and I would forget that running away is starting to hurt more than I care to think about. Then I'd make myself someone new, someone I can stand; since right now I'm nothing but an endless cycle of secrets who's finding that it's becoming harder and harder to pretend that she's okay. And all of a sudden my heart is beating backwards, and I'm so afraid of what will happen when it reaches zero.

Because negatives can never be anything positive.

And I'm so sick of being a negative.

So sick of being less than nothing.

And I'm talking to myself because nobody else will listen, and I think that I'll surely write letters back to Kumogakure, but then I realize that they would all just end up addressed to me no matter what because I have nobody to send them to anyways.

I'm living in my lies, but I never was a good liar.

So maybe I'm not living at all.

I could hear them, my subordinates and comrades surrounding me. I was going to have to fight, as much as I hated it. I would avoid causing them injury for as long as possible. I sent a burst of chakra to my feet and propelled myself into a clearing where I sat in wait of the battle to come.

"Commander Minamoto Rakan, we have direct orders from the Yondaime Raikage to apprehend and return you to Kumogakure no Sato. If you do not cooperate then you will be killed on site." I recognized the ANBU Captain almost immediately. He had trained beneath me, though I am 6 years his junior. I had trusted this man with my life, and now he was pursuing me with the intent to take it. I took note of the lack of cloaks about the ANBU, despite the harsh climate.

"Genji Seiwa, it isn't surprising to find that you are the one leading the attack on your former sensei." The man visibly tensed, obviously unnerved by the fact that he was identified and called out in front of his comrades.

He cocked his head to the side slightly and analyzed me. I hadn't changed much since we had last met; I was still a full foot and a half shorter than any ninja in our presence, my hair was still a shade of ebony that shamed the midnight sky above; despite the small specks of light that made it appear as if a blanket had been pelted with senbon that left holes just large enough to make you feel completely insignifigant as you rested beneath them.

I knew what unnerved him though. For many years I had been considered the shining star of the ninja force in the Land of Lightning. I was happy; and my laughter was always lingering behind my lips, anticipating an opportunity to escape. And this bliss was present in my eyes even when my laughter wasn't heard nor my smile seen; but the eyes that my former comrade had come to recognize in his life were not there.

He was gazing into the eyes of a person haunted by their past, and fearful of the future. The glittering cerulean had been reduced to a shade so dull that it was more of a grey than anything.

These eyes were empty.

Dead.

Broken.

"Commander, I will not repeat myself. Surrender now or prepare yourself for battle." At this, the ANBU stepped back slightly and drew forth their Ninjato, completely primed for a struggle.

Breathe in. Relax. I knew of only one Jutsu that could immobilize so many high level Ninja long enough for me to run again, and it required an enormous amount of chakra; regardless, I don't have a choice.

"Kanashibari no Jutsu."*

Only one ANBU escaped the Body Freeze Skill, and I knew that it would be an encounter that only one of us would walk away from. Genji Seiwa would not leave this combat zone with his life. I made eye contact with a familiar face through a porcelain mask that had a startling resemblance to a crow.

I relaxed once more, and readied myself for the imminent pain that I was about to bear. My voice was quiet as I spoke, and Seiwa couldn't have been ready for my next moves if he had been informed of them before he even began his pursuit. "Shomon : Gate of Pain, open." Chakra surged through my weary body, the locks in my spine opened and I shuddered as a wave of agony ripped up the vertabrae that supported my tiny structure. "I am truly sorry, Seiwa-kun; but I am not going back to that Village."

The young ninja began backing away, terrified by the aura radiating from his former friend. He knew what was coming, he had known when the Raikage called him to his office in the late hours of the night. He would die on this mission, and he wasn't afraid. He wasn't about to die without a fight though, and as he charged at his rogue comrade she unleashed upon the clearing a combination fire jutsu that would consume them all.

Katon Karyuu Endan Goukakyuu no Jutsu.** Fire Style : Grand Fire Dragon Flame Blast Skill.

The flames ripped through the ranks of ANBU, viciously consuming and greedily devouring the men alive. Only one survived, pulled from the line of fire by the caster of the jutsu herself. His mask held a startling resemblance to a crow, though it was singed to a point nearly beyond recognition. I gently pulled the mask from his face and smiled down at him, telling him everything he needed to know without saying a word. I slashed my hitai-ate now, showing him what he already knew. I would not return.

I handed him my former forehead protector, and then I walked away, and I did not look back.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget those faces; obscured by glazed porcelain, whose bodies I turned into wreaths of smoke, polluting the midnight sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith, my humanity, forever.

Never shall I forget that God awful silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the will to live.

Never shall I forget that I murdered my comrades; never shall I forget that moment that turned my soul and my dreams into dust.

Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God himself.

Regardless of whether or not I had the will to live, my body was behaving on auto pilot; forcing one leaden foot in front of another again and again until a gate was visible in the distance. It was dawn, and as I drew nearer to this Village the melody of life floated to me on tender winds. A child laughing, a dog barking, vendors shouting and bells ringing.

I found myself drawn into a current of people until I made it inside the Village, at some point or another however my ragged appearance must have been noted; for throngs of people parted like the sea as I walked, stumbling, into the centre of the Village. On many occasions a kindred civilian would approach and offer help, but my voice could not function.

I made it all the way to the Kage Mansion when I realized that I was in Konohagakure. The infamous Memorial Mountain throwing any suspicions that I may have harbored about my location into the tender caresses of a spring breeze. Had I not battled with these men and women, I would wonder if they had ever seen a battle weary kunoichi.

Is this how the Gods reward the faithful through the ages? Forcing us to prove that the hardest things we've ever done are easy? Can they not see the face of this worn, defeated hero? Did they not see a father and a nation who wouldn't let this coward run?

I'm all brittle bones and empty promises, and if my body could be made of anything but flesh and blood then I would be empty liquor bottles brimming with regret and heartache. But they do not see that. This is the time when the Gods expect me to beg for help, but I won't even try. I want nothing in this world but myself to protect me.

The walk up the never ending spiral of stairs was enough to fill my lifetime, and when I finally reached the summit I had to stumble few feet to the door of Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor, the Sandaime Hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. I leaned against the door, the weight of my conscience doing more damage at this point than the broken bones, aching muscles and gaping wound on my back, from which my life was draining.

As I pulled the impossibly heavy door open I felt the ligaments that held my arm together tear and fray, but a cry did not pass my lips. I entered the office and noted the presence of a Jounin to my left, though my attention was undividedly placed upon the man sitting behind the desk, puffing on a pipe. The perplexed look on his face remained as I continued to drag myself into the room, collapse sitting right there in the corner, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

The Jounin moved forward as if to block my path, but the wizened man raised his hand and removed the pipe from his mouth. "Stop." I obeyed, though I'm not sure if the command was for me or not. The Jounin, who I now spent time analyzing, had fly-away steel grey hair and hid his face from the world with a navy mask and his headband.

Flashes of the men I had just killed filled my mind; memoirs of pain best left forgotten. I felt tears pour down my face and the salt stung my chapped, bleeding lips. A gentle touch on my shoulder pulled me from the wreckage of my silent reverie. I gazed into the solitary eye of the man before me, scarcely visible through the tears of remorse filling my vision.

Sarutobi soon joined him, his voice soft yet gruff as he spoke to me. "Child, what happened to you?" The concern present in their faces was overwhelming. I do not deserve their concern. I'm just the broken shell of a girl, who's afraid to close her eyes because it means facing the friends that she condemned. And I remember when I told myself that this would be a new beginning, but I was lying, because I know as well as anyone else that there are only endings. And I keep wondering if they made me who I was, who am I supposed to be now that I'm alone?

I tried to speak; I did. But my lips were so chapped, and my throat so sore. It felt as if I had swallowed small flecks of glass that were tearing and cutting away at my insides, making me cough up heart shaped splatters of red that turned black when they came into contact with the forest green of the Jounin vest. I raised my hand to wipe away the offending liquids, but his gloved hands stop them halfway there. "What happened to you?" His voice was gravelly, and it sent a chill up my spine, but that only caused more pain. And I stared into his one visible eye, pleading that he understand what I wasn't capable of saying. I was choking on indecision and the blood from my irresolute heart, and it was killing me.

I could feel myself fading away, and it made me think of the little half heart pendants that have been eroded away so they can never be complete and I pitied myself, because I was nothing but a broken tool that once had a purpose and will now be forgotten; left with nothing but this crushing sense of regret that I'd hidden between the folds of my heart and the curve of my spine, making it harder to breathe than it already was.

And I was drowning in these tears but I really didn't care anymore because I was mesmerized by this man before me, whom I'd never seen before in my life, and I felt safe for the first time in a long time. He had these arms that radiated warmth despite the cold in the building, and every time he moved I could feel muscle ripple beneath the skin like a current hiding beneath placid waters. His breath was warm, I could feel it on the top of my head despite the vast distance from his face to mine.

Vaguely, I had wondered if Sarutobi remembered me. Surely he would've, I looked the same and I was too weak for my behaviour to raise suspicions. I reached a hand out from the Jounin and felt him steady me as I reached for the Hokage of his Village. I remembered grasping the pure linen of the ceremonial robes that Sarutobi had donned and useing them to pull the tall man down to my level.

The look in his eyes had struck fear into every fibre of my being. Many things floated in those platonic ebony orbs; confusion, fear, pity and care. But I did not see recognition. I opened my mouth and closed it, many times in fact. I couldn't believe that he did not remember me. Finally I found some strength, some willpower to speak. Blood had flecked across the front of the robes in a pattern similar to the constellations under which I had slaughtered the ANBU of Kumogakure only hours prior.

I felt more tears flow as I begged for him to remember me. "Have you forgotten?" My eyes pleaded with his own, and the last thing that I recalled before I began my descent to the carpeted floor beneath us was the flash of acknowledgement that skimmed into the eyes of my former sensei.

*Kanashibari no Jutsu : Body Freeze Skill - Causes an opponent to loose their sense of movement. Stops the opponent, leaving an opening for more powerful jutsu to be performed. It is assumed most Anbu know this technique.

**Katon Karyuu Endan Goukakyuu no Jutsu : Grand Fire Dragon Flame Blast Skill - A personal creation, the combination of two existing jutsu. ½

1.) Katon Goukakyuu no Jutsu : Grand Fireball Skill - Uses a high amount of chakra, which allows the user to breath out a large portion of flame.

2.) Katon Karyuu Endan : Fire Dragon Flame Blast - A jutsu that sends a stream of fire towards the opponent, in the shape of a large dragon, from the users mouth.

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