Okay, um...I hope this is good:) This is my first Naruto story here on FanFiction. I mean, I've posted here before. Just never in Naruto.

Warnings:

- Slight gore, though nothing TOO bad.

- Any insults in here referring to Japanese people, Jewish people, or mentally unstable people are not my opinions. They are purely for the sake of the story.

- Sad ending.

Disclaimer: I don't own "NARUTO!" by Masashi Kishimoto. I wish I did, but I'd screw it up somehow, I just know it.

Please, review and tell me your thoughts!

The Imperfect Perfection.

I am Naruto Uzumaki. And this is my story.

I hate my heritage. I hate my parents. I hate my life.

I'm a filthy Jap, living in the heart of Austria. I'm a filthy Jew, living in the heart of Austria. I'm a filthy loon, living in the heart of Austria.

I have blonde hair, matted with dirt and trash that is clearly visible. I have blue eyes, clouded with sadness and the harshness of reality that is clearly visible. I have tan skin, streaked with mud and grime that you can't see.

I have a friend. A Jew, like me. A Jap, like me.

But he's different, you see. He's dead. I watched him die. I watched the Nazis kill him. I watched my people kill him.

I have a friend. A Jew, like me. A Jap, like me.

But she's different, you see. She's dead. I watched her die. I watched the Nazis kill her. I watched my people kill her.

My people hate me. My people round me up like a dog. My people kill me.

But they don't know I'm me.

They think I'm one of them. They think I'm a Nazi, an Aryan, one of the "perfect race."

And I am. But I'm not.

I'm a Jap and an Aryan. I'm a Jew and a Nazi. I'm a loon and I'm perfect.

I was born in Japan, to Aryan parents. I was raised as a Jew, to be forced into Hitler's Youth. I am a schizophrenic, to be announced as perfection.

Do you see how messed up life is? No one is as they seem.

My friend—the first one I mentioned—do you remember him?

He was a filthy Jap, living in the heart of Austria. He was a filthy Jew, living in the heart of Austria. He was a filthy loon, living in the heart of Austria.

He had coal-black hair, matted with dirt and trash you couldn't see. He had equally black eyes, clouded with sadness and the harshness of reality that you couldn't see. He had pale skin, streaked with mud and grime that was clearly visible.

His past was worse than mine. Oh, so much worse. His parents weren't killed by a horrible disease, like mine were. Ohhhhh, no, no, no. They were killed by themselves. They were killed by their son. They were killed by Itachi.

Itachi was the bane of his existence. He was obsessed with revenge. It overwhelmed him, consumed him. It messed with his head. It made him crazy—and his insanity showed.

My friend—the second one I mentioned—do you remember her?

She was a filthy Jap, living in the heart of Austria. She was a filthy Jew, living in the heart of Austria. She was a filthy loon, living in the heart of Austria.

She had pink hair, clean as a whistle. She had green eyes, vibrant and naïve. She had pale skin, flawless and porcelain.

Her life was perfect, with a perfect past. Parents who loved her. Popular, with friends. Pretty, oh! Was she pretty! She also had schizophrenia.

She heard a voice—almost like a second her—only it was so much more violent. It had a need for destruction, and she hated destruction. She needed help—she wanted help—so she asked for it. And they killed her.

Do you see how messed up the world is? Nothing is as it seems.

I miss them. I miss my friends. I miss my family.

Now I have nothing.

No family. No friends. No anyone.

It's my fault they're dead, too. I did it. It's all my fault!

I told Sasuke to go to Orochimaru for help. Whether that help was to kill Itachi, or to cure his insanity, even I don't know. I told him. And Orochimaru killed him. I watched.

Orochimaru dragged him into the street, clutching him by his hair, and called a Nazi over.

"This boy!" he said, pulling Sasuke straight by his hair. "This boy is an abomination! This boy! He is a Jap! A Jew! A loon!" He shook Sasuke, still using my brother's hair. "He deserves death!" He threw Sasuke to the Nazi soldier's feet.

And I watched as the bullet was loaded into the gun. I watched as the gun was cocked back. I watched as the gun was aimed. I watched as the gun was fired. I watched as the bullet soared through the air. I watched as the bullet buried itself into Sasuke forehead. I watched as blood poured from my brother. And I cried.

I told Sakura to go to the doctor for help. I told her to help her schizophrenia. My telling her to go for help couldn't hurt her like it had hurt him, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong.

The doctor had dragged her into the street, as well, clutching her by the hair, as well, and called a Nazi over, as well. It was all so sickeningly familiar.

"This girl!" the doctor said, pulling Sakura straight by her hair. "This girl is an abomination! This girl! She is a Jap! A Jew! A loon!" He shook Sakura, still using my sister's hair. "She deserves death!" He threw Sakura to the Nazi soldier's feet.

And again, I watched as the bullet was loaded into the gun. Again, I watched as the gun was cocked back. Again, I watched as the gun was aimed. Again, I watched as the gun was fired. Again, I watched as the bullet soared through the air. Again, I watched as the bullet buried itself into Sasuke's forehead, only this was Sakura. Again, I watched as blood poured from my brother, only this was my sister. And again, I cried.

I will never understand the way the world can be so cruel and awful one minute, and peaceful and awe-inspiring the next.

The war is over now. The Holocaust is over now. The hell is over now.

The ravages remain, though. I no longer have my brother to insult me, and then do something so ridiculously thoughtful immediately after. I no longer have my sister to cry with, and then do something so ridiculously cheery immediately after. I no longer have my family.

All I have left are my titles.

The Japanese Aryan.

The Jewish Nazi.

And:

The Imperfect Perfection.

I am Naruto Uzumaki. And this is my story.