Everyday You Need A Hero

Everyday I walked through the streets, past the flower shop that my friend Ino's family owned, past the dilapidated apartment block that Naruto called home and down a dirt road to the academy. I liked to scuff my shoes along the road and kick up the dirt, much to my mother's disgust. I liked to watch the dirt swirl and change shape around my shoes and watch it just disappear into thin air. I liked simple things, the wind through my hair, the birds singing and the clouds changing shape. Everyday I walked down the path lined with trees that lead into the forest, everyday I saw him there, crouched in the wreckage just staring up at the sky.

I was always curious about this boy; his black hair streaked with dark blue was held up into a style that had bangs framing his face and spikes at the back that looked like they needed copious amounts of gel to be held in place. His eyes were dark onyx just staring blankly up at the sky, almost pleading; they held no life, no mischief, no hope and those blank, black eyes sent chills spiralling down my back. His clothes were dusty and torn, his shorts may have been white once upon a time but now they were a dull, grubby brown, his shirt was dark blue and had a strange symbol on the back that was unknown to me. I always wondered why he was there but every time I gathered enough courage to approach he would turn his head slightly and look at me with those blank eyes and I ran.

I asked my mother about the boy and watched confused as her face turned from sunny and carefree to desperate and upset. She said she would tell me when I was older but to always be kind to the boy. I disliked being denied information and retreated to my room; I searched clan symbols on my computer hoping to get lucky. There it was, the symbol on that boys shirt, underneath it was printed an unfamiliar name: Uchiha.

I clicked on the name and was rewarded with pages of information on the Uchiha clan, they were one of the oldest clans in the village, both feared and respected for their Sharingan abilities. The picture of a family lay next to a paragraph detailing the current members of the clan and there he was. His distinctive black hair stuck up proudly and his face held child-like wonder in his smile, his eyes beamed with happiness and he looked alive. His mother had her hand on his shoulder and her other arm wrapped around her husband, she was beautiful and had a friendly look about her. The father looked sternly but proudly at the camera his arm discreetly slung around his wife. There was another boy in the photo, older than the one I knew. He had scars on his face and looked very much like his father, stern and proud.

I didn't understand how someone who looked so happy could return to a wreckage every day and look so blank, so hopeless. What had happened to make this boy so sad? I continued to read and in the last paragraph I found it. A year ago the older brother, Itachi was his name, had massacred everyone in the Uchiha Complex. Sasuke, the boy from the road, was the only survivor. He walked into his parent's room to find his brother beheading his mother. Itachi made him relive the horror over and over again with his Sharingan, causing Sasuke to all but lose his mind. I turned the computer off, not wanting to read any further, I wish now that I had minded my own business.

He was there again the next day, and I stared, trying to find the right words to say. Wild flowers had started to spring up around the road and I paused plucking them delicately from the ground and tying them into a bunch using the ribbon from my hair. I walked slowly towards him and he turned his blank eyes my way, instead of running away I continued to walk. When I got close enough I reached out to touch him, but he recoiled and backed away, I smiled sadly and laid the bouquet in the wreckage near his feet. I turned and walked away without a word, continuing down the dirt road.

I swear out of the corner of my eye that I saw his pick up the bouquet and rub the petals between his fingers before plucking off the petal and letting the wind carry it away. I smiled knowing that I had done something to help. From that day on every time I walked past I left flowers, still not saying a word and slowly he began to look to me instead of the sky, he no longer stared upwards but instead at the spot where he knew I would walk.

Slowly we began to exchange words he asked my name and gave his in return, we talked about anything that wasn't important, the flowers, the weather, my friends. One day I got the courage to ask.

"Why here?"

He looked at me seriously, his eyes still blank and unfeeling. Silence stretched for what seemed like forever and then he finally answered.

"We were building it together, my brother, my father and I. It was the one thing we did together and now it will never be finished" he whispered brokenly.

I reached out to touch him but once again he moved away, I curled my hand and pulled back not wanting to ruin the progress we made. He looked at me with a pained expression and slowly held his hand out to nudge mine. I stretched my fingers and he placed his hand against mine, palm to palm.

The seasons went by and everyday we would meet and I could see he was getting thinner and paler. He refused any invitations to my home so all I could do was bring his food and blankets. He wouldn't go anywhere, he was determined to stay in the wreckage of the tree house and every time I spoke to the adults about helping him he would disappear into the forest and no one could find him. People started to question my sanity saying I was imagining the boy, but I knew he was there.

It was inevitable that he would get sick, he was staying out in the cold with only a few rafters over his head and my old blankets wrapped around his skinny frame. His coughs racked his tiny body but he refused to take medicine, his nose ran and his eyes were red. I begged him to let the people help him but he just shook his head. And it was then that I knew, he didn't want to get better and he wasn't going to get better.

My heart stopped the next morning when I saw a gathering of Shinobi on the dirt road and my worst fears were confirmed when I pushed through the crowd and saw the white sheet draped over a small lump in the middle of the unfinished tree house. The Hokage saw my distress and put his hand on my shoulder. I refused to cry, I was a shinobi in training and we were taught not to show emotion. I struggled to keep the tears and sobs at bay and pulled my arms around my chest trying to physically hold my self together.

"I'm sorry Sakura" he whispered.

"Who will remember him?" I asked through gritted teeth as I fell to my knees.

The Hokage knelt next to me "You will Sakura"

I did remember him, everyday, when I was put onto my Genine team and my team mates called me weak. I was never weak; there are other kinds of strength. I bloomed and became one of the strongest kunoichi in the village and I always remembered him. Whenever I was home I walked along the same path and left flowers, ten years and the tree house still wasn't finished. It would never be finished because all that it stood for; family, love, friendship, was gone. I sat in the wreckage where I did when Sasuke was alive and listened to the forest around me.

I picked up the blankets that were still there, even ten years on they remained in that wreckage. I put them around and over the bouquet to protect them from the snow that blanketed the ground and a small note fell out of the folds. I unfolded it with my frozen fingers and tears dripped down my face when I read it.

'When I was young all I wanted was for my family to see me for who I was, when they left all I wanted was for anybody to see me and you did, and now, all I want is the freedom to see them again'