Anko was no flower.
Flowers were soft and delicate and girly. They were pretty and beautiful. Flowers needed protecting, to be kept safe and helped to grow.
Anko was none of that. She was jagged, rough and tumble, a fighter. She got bruised, and scratched, and broken a million times only to get up and fuck shit up. Anko was crude, a bitch, her sanity as sheer as her choice of clothes. You call her beautiful she'll break your face, call her sexy you may end up in her bed for the night.
Anko was no flower.
Flowers often withered and died. People picked flowers and used them for attention, they had no real use and just made for scenery. They were defenseless and made to be replaced.
Anko wasn't one to be played. She wasn't some tool and she sure as hell wasn't replaceable or trash. Despite what she'd been told, how she'd been treated, Anko was a self respecting woman that would never be dragged out of the limelight. She wouldn't be thrown out by someone who had the nerve to pretend they were in any way able to control her and her life. Anko was a kunoichi, a ninja, she didn't fear a fight and she didn't fear death. Besides, she didn't plan on being killed anytime soon, not for a long while.
Anko was no flower.
Flowers had alternate meanings. A language of their own. They could hold multiple messages, different meanings during different situations. Flowers could hold secrets and describe a lover as well as any paper.
Anko knew about secrets. She was a ninja, she worked hand and hand with liars and cheats. She could lie her way out of a trap and out of her troubles. Anko had no issues bending the truth or just plain out disregarding it. She was a liar and a cheat among liars and cheats. A fighter and killer among killers and fighters. Anko could read a man like a book, she could give off any message she wanted with the way she cocked her hips.
Undoubtedly, Anko was a flower.
Flowers can kill. They can use hidden secrets to kill a man, woman, child. Self defense and survival of the fittest. They have their defenses, their disguises, their distractions. Flowers prick and hide.
Anko is not unfamiliar with bloodshed. She was raised to kill. Kill or be killed in the process. She'd die for her village and she'd die for her friends. She'd also kill for her village, and kill for those very same friends. Anko was no stranger to distractions and disguises, the thrill of being undercover behind enemy lines left her breathless, the adrenaline absolutely seductive to her.
Undoubtedly, Anko was a flower.
Flowers died. No argument, no question. As long as they could hide and stay alive, death would always happen. Human, animal, natural, not. Death was death even for a plant.
Anko didn't fear death. She knew it would come, but you could be sure it was going to come on her terms. No psychopath or rogue was going to kill her their way. Anko wanted to die a hero, her ledger as clear as was possible for a murderer and a liar. She would die with honor and take down whatever bastard was going to do her in. Anko planned on making the village proud when she was finally done in. And that she did.
Surrounded by other flowers that were scattered over her cold grave. Anko fit in just fine. Like it or not, Anko was a flower. A lovely one at that. Never had she been more like a flower then when she was unmoving and cold in the ground, her name carved into the stone, immortalized. Much like a flower shoved between the pages of a book.
Undoubtedly, even in death. Especially in death. Anko was a flower.
I wanted to try something a bit different, that and finally write something Naruto related. I love Anko, she'd just amazing to me. Like, seriously amazing. Anyways, I had a crap ton of fun writing this and I'm planning/working on some more Naruto stuff, because guess what. It's hell-a-fun to write. This is a bit darker, but I dunno, I like it. Please leave a review, I love to hear what you think.
I hope you enjoyed this little drabble-y-one shot.
~GettingTraught