A lone girl sits in a tiny room. It was sparsely furnished and held tell tale signs of decay. The walls were coated a dingy beige, the paint cracked and chipped in some places. Discoloured with water stains and yellowed along the edges that connected to scuffed moulding. The room itself was pathetically sparse. There were no signs of its occupants residence. No pictures or intimate possessions decorated the space. It was cold. Merely a means of shelter and nothing else. It lacked any visible personal comforts or luxuries. Furnished with only the bare minimum required to constitute a living space.
A lone wooden stool occupied one corner of the room. Perhaps the most extravagant commodity in the dwelling. Its purpose was largely unessecary and appeared visibly flimsy at a glance. It rested at an awkward angle, uneven legs a result of either poor craftsmanship or deterioration. A bulky sac rested atop the stool at a precarious tilt. The display was unnerving as the bag looked as though it would either topple over or the stool would simply collapse under the packs weight. Across from the rickety stool a visibly withered mattress lay haphazardly on the dirty floor. The makeshift bedding lacked a frame and was only covered by a ratty blanket. The lumpy mattress did not inspire comfort and silently promised a restless nights sleep. Not that silken sheets and feathered pillowing would allow its inhabitant a peaceful slumber.
She had not slept easily for some time now. Her nights were plagued by nightmarish images and inner turmoil. She felt constantly exhausted despite spending most of her days confined in the dingy room. She lounged around the small space, seemingly content to do nothing but let time pass. Existing within the walls of her haven, sheltered from the harsh reality that lay beyond her doorway.
That door was a barrier between her and the world that lie beyond it. She wanted no part of that world. She would often allow herself to starve for days on end before resigning herself to leave her dwelling in search of necessary provisions. A part of her simply wished to let herself starve to death. Allow her emaciated figure to wither away in the shelter she had created. Death seemed peaceful. Vindictively she hoped that there was no after life. That her soul would simply slip away into an eternal void of nothingness. A numbness that avoided her on Earth could be found in her death.
She had contemplated death. Ending it all often seemed like a favourable option from her tortured existence. However, the possibility of a spiritual realm tugged in the corners of her mind and quieted thoughts of suicide. Would it be the fabled paradise crafted in scriptures and religious doctrines? The thought evoked a semblance of comfort. Surely he would be there. At home amongst the ethereal rays of blinding light and inescapable warmth. He practically radiated it himself. He had. She liked to think of him there. Thriving in a Utopia that granted him all the luxuries and prosperity that had escaped him on Earth.
Would she be granted her own blissful infinity?
Or perhaps her actions on Earth would warrant her soul condemnation to perish in the fires of hell. Perhaps the higher powers that be would determine she deserved to be punished, and perhaps she did. An infinity of suffering to bleed penance for her sins. Her failures. Though she could hardly imagine a suffering that rivalled her current agony.
She sometimes wondered if she would be reunited with the souls of the departed? The people she had lost. That she had failed. What would they make of the husk of a human being she had become? Were they already aware of her miserable state? Had the after life allowed them means to gaze upon the souls of the living? Perhaps they walked amongst them. Like silent spectators unable to interact with the world they had left behind them. Forced to bare witness to the twisted state of things the living had constructed.
She sometimes wondered if he watched her. It was a comforting fantasy to imagine him next to her. The mere illusion of his presence brought her warmth as much as it did guilt and shame. He would be saddened by her current state, disgusted even. A pathetic shell of her former self. Drowning in misery and anger at the world around her. Silently begging for someone to end it all. How she wished she could simply end it herself.
But he would not have wanted that. Death by her own hand would be an insult to his memory and everything he had lived for. That he had died for. How could she arbitrarily toss away her own life when his had been snatched away far too soon. That thought alone motivated her to continue on. Hers could hardly be considered a meaningful existence. She was living without truly living, only forcing herself to accomplish the bare minimum. To stay alive for his sake. She owed him at least that much.
She would live out her days until fate decided her time was up. However, she felt herself incapable of anything more.
Thus when her ribs began to emerge beneath her pale skin and stabbing pains of hunger reached her stomach, she would muster the vestiges of her will power and cross through the barrier she had created. These brief departures from her sheltered quarters were always quick and efficient. A remote village existed along the outskirts of the forestry that surrounded her lodging. It was roughly a half days journey away but provided her a means of obtaining supplies. The tiny town was simplistic in nature and its residents were largely introverted. Her presence was tolerated amongst the villagers, despite being somewhat unusual. The tiny suburb seldom saw many travellers. It's location warranted an inconvenient detour from regularly traveled pathways, and had it little to offer in terms of trade. It's existence was relatively overlooked, if not unknown, by the common traveler passing through the area. It was perfect for her. She shuddered at the thought of encountering an individual from her past.
She loathed encountering anyone really. It had not always been so, she could recount a time where she revelled in the company of others. Extroverted and unabashedly buoyant, the girl had thrived amongst people. A stark contrast to the antisocial hermit she had become. The towns people normally kept to themselves, perhaps attracted by the isolated nature of the village. She in turn minded her own affairs. Conducting her business with as much discretion and limited interaction as she possibly could.
Her signature flamboyant loques were tucked beneath her hooded cloak. Dull green eyes were rooted to the ground beneath the soles of her feet. Avoiding eye contact with anyone she came across. The townsfolk granted her a familiar regard, accustomed to her occasional presence. Some would chatter in hushed tones as her figure passed. Speculating upon her identity and personal history. They would weave tales of her elusive past and craft presumptions that held no basis. She paid their idle gossip little mind. She reasoned it was a means of entertainment for them in their quiet, little town. Besides, the truth was far more radical than anything their imaginations could conjure up.
Swiftly she weaved through the isles of a familiar grocer's shop located in the heart of the tiny village. It's wares were limited and lacked variety. Exotic fruits and plantains seemingly unheard of. However she would have ignored them regardless. She only required the basics. Her meals were normally bland and tasteless. She took no pleasure in eating, merely shoving down whatever she could stomach in order to stay alive.
A heavy sack of rice and pickled vegetables normally sufficed. They were easy to store and relatively non-perishable. Protein she found she could acquire through hunting or fishing at a nearby lake. Making her way through the quaint shop she gathered other basic necessities, taking care to avoid the shelving she knew the packaged ramen noodles to be kept. The thought of the salt laden dish made her sick.
Eager to begin her journey back she headed to the shops counter at the front of the store. The shopkeeper was a gruff man who omitted any social pleasantries, simply grumbling out the total cost of her purchases. She rummaged through her bag to hand him the desired amount, silently appreciative of his lack of conversation. Handing over the coin she noted that her funds were once again beginning to dwindle.
Her way of life was relatively cost efficient, exempt from most materialistic luxuries. However, basic necessities such as toiletries and other items required finances. Admittedly she would be lying if she claimed her spending to be completely void of self indulgence. Perhaps it was her former masters training that was ingrained into her mentality, but she religiously made a point to stock herself with basic medicinal herbs. It was a foolish endeavour as she had isolated herself from anyone to heal with them. Furthermore she had long since considered herself retired as a healer. What good had the ability done her? Her healing abilities had failed to save the one she had loved the most. Useless.
Still against her logic common sense was over ruled by instinctual habit, and when she had the cash to spare she found herself splurging on the plants she had once dedicated herself to.
Despite her listless demeanour, her isolation from society had not granted her the ability to forego basic morality. The idea of stealing repulsed her and she had refused to consider it a possibility. Similarly the life of a ninja was quickly rejected. She had had enough of that world. The bloodshed and wickedness she had seen plagued her nightmares and haunted her thoughts. Being a ninja had brought her nothing but suffering. It took all that she had ever known and loved, drowned it in darkness and stained it with blood. Her hands were still drenched in that blood. In-between every digit, beneath every finger nail, flowing through the grooves of her palm. She could have spent the rest of her life trying to wash away the rusted crimson from her hands. Scrubbing futilely until her fingers ached and her skin was raw. But, she knew it would never be washed away.
However, in her life's typical fashion of cruel irony, she found the answer to her financial woes was through more bloodshed. Not human blood per say.
There was only one person who's blood she would gladly stain her hands with.
However, hunting animals in the surrounding forestry proved to be the best method for obtaining coin. Once every two months or so she would drag herself from her melancholic apathy, and set a variety of traps for the local wild life. Harvesting pelts and trimming the meat from their bones, she would venture into the small village once again in hopes of selling to the few merchants. She found her offerings were mostly well received by the shop owners. Quality goods such as meats and furs were of a limited supply. Local hunters were scarce and outsourced products came irregularly.
Packing her things from the grocer she grimaced at the idea of returning to the village so soon. Perhaps she would set the traps upon her return. Begrudgingly hoping to simply get the entire ordeal out of her way quickly, so she could once again be left alone in solitude.
She began lugging her purchases across the village with her head hung low and eyes glued to the ground. Vaguely aware of the surrounding villagers milling about. Making her way towards the trail leading back to her shabby dwelling, she made a point to keep a swift pace. Her tiny frame seeming strangely unencumbered by her heavy load. She had begun to near the towns perimeter when a shrill sound from her left side halted her steps.
She paused to briefly glance at the source of the sound, finding it to be a small child. The little boy was covered in dust and clutching his knee. Examining the wailing child she could see the beginnings of blood seeping from the wound beneath his hands. The scrape did not appear life threatening or serious from her trained medics eye. Nothing more than a common scrape gathered in the throes of adolescence.
She had been fully prepared to leave the boy and continue along her journey. His mother could easily tend to his wounds, perhaps give him a gentle chiding to be more careful.
However, when the little boy had looked up to meet her gaze with weepy eyes as blue as the ocean, she had been jolted. Those eyes were so like his. The tufts of blonde hair atop the boys head only added to image her mind had begun creating. The scrappy youth before her had been blessed with the same sunny features as him. It was difficult for her to not draw a comparison between the two. Those eyes jarred her most. Sparkling with tears as they gazed up at her she felt her gut clench and knees go weak.
She felt her body moving before her thoughts could register her intentions. Subconsciously drawn towards the child sniffling over his scrape, like a puppet being lead by invisible strings she came to kneel before him. Gently taking the boys hands into her own she set them aside to inspect his wound. Instinct taking hold of her she felt her fingertips come alive with a familiar buzzing chakra. The boy had since ceased his cries and now stared on in awe as she glided her glowing digits across his cut. His eyes widened dramatically as his skin began to heal itself beneath her cooling touch, baffled at the feat of magic displayed before him.
For Sakura the ability had come as naturally as breathing. Her healing chakra felt achingly familiar, accompanied by a refreshing rush as it pushed through the neglected ducts of her pathway. Making itself known in the humming green glow at her finger tips.
The moment had not lasted more than a second or two and soon Sakura was wiping away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. All traces of any injury erased as though it hadn't even been there.
Gathering her own bearings she raised herself to stand before the speechless child. Subtly she scanned the area to see if anyone else had witnessed her healing the boys knee. It would not do to have herself be recognized as a ninja. Ninja were not regarded favourably these days. Most had taken to going underground, hiding their abilities and living off grid.
The ninja that did not, wore their headbands proudly and were generally the basis behind the flawed reputation for shinobi.
Ninja recognized by the state as shinobi were militant and brutal. An army that only answered to one leader and his word was law. God help anyone who said otherwise. The registered ninja became a tool of enforcement for a dictatorship spreading across the nation. Those ninja that opposed or refused to join their ranks were heralded as traitors and menaces to the general public. Many were imprisoned and many more executed.
In the beginning there had been multiple attempts of rebellion. The people fought against the new regime with fervour and the streets ran rampant with anarchy. They had fought and they had died. Underground movements were squashed beneath the hands of a mad man. Slaughtered in the name of peace. More began to join his ranks from being cowed into submission, finding it pointless to fight against his will. Others had shared his crazed vision for reformation and aligned themselves with him in a misguided venture for glory and world peace.
Sakura herself had bore witness that attempting to fight against this regime only lead to death. Yet, she would sooner die than join their ranks.
The rebellions had been one failure after another. They had suffered countless tragedies in fighting a losing battle. Ninja involved had been forced into hiding, leaving their villages and abandoning their titles. They had vowed to eventually regroup and return stronger than ever. But as time passed the prospect only became more hopeless.
Civilians now feared ninja, the militant police force had slandered the once honourable profession. Furthermore civilians feared the repercussions of harbouring an unregistered ninja in hiding. Failing to report an unregistered ninja or aiding them in any way was a punishable offence. Homes were raided and families were imprisoned on the grounds of mere association. The civilians were petrified of the turmoil ninjas brought and eventually rejected them entirely.
Should someone have seen her performing a healing jutsu there was a significant threat of it being reported. She trembled at the thought of being caught by the police force. Of being brought face to face with him. The thought of him twisted her guts in fear and sent hatred coursing through her very bones.
Suppressing the horrific implications, she quickly turned to gather her supplies and continue her track home. Satisfied no one else had witnessed her healing she began trekking towards the village''s exit once more, cursing her foolish impulses.
"Are you magic?" She heard a squeaky voice ask halting her steps once more.
Turning back to the small child she raised her hand and lifted her index finger to her lips. She let out a small hush accompanied by a mischievous wink, as though he was privy to a secret. And in a way he was. The boy appeared simply delighted at her gesture. He watched her once again depart, seemingly entranced by her figure walking out of the village. Almost as if he expected her to magically sprout wings and fly away.
She was fairly unconcerned whether or not he chose to mention their encounter to anyone else. A magic lady with healing hands sounded like a fanciful fib born from a childs imagination. She highly doubted anyone would take the tall sounding tale as truth. She decided to err on the side of caution however and avoid returning to the small village anytime soon.
The rest of the length of her journey she found her thoughts wandering back to the little boys blue eyes.
They had held so much life and radiance in their blue orbs, despite living in a world devoid of such.
She found herself contented by the sight. Almost as if a small piece of him still existed.
The thought brought a small smile to her lips and it felt strange on her features. She had not had a reason to smile for so long now.