The Boy You Once Knew
There's a boy you knew once.
Do you remember him?
Maybe he's still around, watching and seeing…
When you're complaining about your parents, saying you wished they would just leave you alone for a while…
He watches and frowns.
When you whine about your parents embarrassing you, about how they just don't know the cool thing these days…
He hears and wants to cry.
Although you can't tell, although he never cries for help…
Even the best actor can't keep up a façade forever.
Someday he'll explode, maybe turning into a monster, the kind he hates most.
But who will stop him? Who will care about the lonely boy underneath the fake exterior, and stop him from losing himself?
Who's going to be there to cry with him when he does; to pat him on the head and say he's safe, and that he's not alone? Who's going to be there to snap a photo of his first date, to slap him on the back when he offers up his achievements? Who's going to give him a motherly good-bye kiss before he leaves for school, for him to pretend to wipe off in disgust? Who's going to teach him old family secrets, winking and telling him how to be a man?
Nobody, that's who. Because even if someone tries, it'll never be the same.
But who exactly are we talking about? Can you tell?
Is it the little blonde boy, the one with whisker marks and clear cerulean eyes?
It might be. That's who most would think.
But you fail to realize that there are many more suitable answers.
It could the black-haired child, burdened with ideas of revenge and the title of prodigy, and the heavy weight of protecting the family name.
Or could it be the other one, the genius torn between the love for his family and his duty to the village?
Maybe it's the redhead with oceanic eyes, unable to sleep because of the scary thoughts that haunt him at night, and unable to escape to the sunlight because no one is willing to be the sun.
Or maybe it was the other redhead, this one with brown eyes, whose "parents" were a pair of puppets that he made himself.
It could be the brown-haired boy with white eyes; the one who thought he was betrayed by his father's own brother.
It could be the feminine-looking brunette with the power to form mirrors of ice, all reflecting his pain, his sorrow.
And then there's the albino who was locked up and used as a weapon because of his talent with bones.
Or is it the shy little black-haired boy; the one who saw his parents die right before him, all because of the strange black rings in his eyes?
How about the silver-haired prodigy; the boy who clutches to the ideals that killed his father, hiding his sorrow behind a mask?
Which one is it? Can you tell?
.
Can you? Are you sure?
.
In the world we live in, the one of ninjas and of war…
Even in times of peace, there are deaths.
The people who kill others…
Are you one of them?
Maybe you will kill a ninja one day and go back home to your happy family, while the dead ninja's child sits patiently back home, waiting for their father to come back, waiting, waiting…
And you'll never find out that child's loss, that child's sorrow, that child's anger…
That child's stripping-away of what was rightfully his, what he deserves to have, and what he should expect as a child…
It was because of you.
.
So, reading the description of him, that boy, the boy you once knew…
Do you know who I'm talking about?
Or are you lost, unable to fit the description to one single person?
Because those words…
They can be used to describe many, many children in the ninja world.
Many, many indeed.
And tomorrow, you're going to go out on a mission, and kill a few enemy ninjas, and think nothing of it.
And another child will be left waiting, waiting, waiting, all alone back home.
.
Nice going, hero.