I don't own Naruto.
Weepy old killer
Mystrivin
…
He had hidden blades.
…
The sky was the same color as the steel edge of a blade.
The air was frigid like the pieces of icy clouds suspended in the sky.
The barren trees stood stalk still like the frigid air.
The man stood over the gravestone like a sad old guard.
In his left hand he held a bouquet of flowers. His right traced the names of everyone he knew. And he remembered them.
…
Once, long ago, they were his comrades, his friends, and yes, his family. That all ended when he took up the blade. To become a ninja. To become a killer. Thus, it was the world of predator and prey. The only prayer was not to become prey.
His village, once a proud, vicious, respected predator, now reduced to nothing. It had become lazy, perhaps even sedated when the war came. He took up his blade against his village's enemies. They were numerous. But it wasn't enough. Thus there was no village.
There is no village to protect.
He put down his blade.
But he always regretted.
…
Proud trees which once donned leaves like a fur coat, leaves that fell and danced and swirled in any direction. Magically fluttering with the wind, horizontally, like graceful dancers in a swift and complex dance.
Barren trees.
He strolled under those trees.
…
The wind picked up, yet the sound wasn't right. There was no applause from the leaves. The applause that sounded like rain. No more pitter patter upon the slate stone while made the cliff he stood upon.
There was no rain.
Not anymore.
No life.
Save him.
…
Why didn't he die?
Why was he still alive?
No, this wasn't living. This was just simply existing.
He had nothing to live for.
All that he lived for was lost.
There wasn't any point to it.
No point indeed.
He feel.
Freedom.
…
I felt like I was being forced into a small tunnel. Shoved, really. It wasn't all that pleasant. Idly, I wondered if this was death was supposed to be like. Because if it was, it wasn't all that interesting. Did all of my friends have to go through this?
Slowly, the pressure on my body eased somewhat and it felt like I was suspended. As if multiple strings were attached to my body and holding me in mid-air.
"You are fortunate."Coming from all around me, this is what I would describe as a disembodied voice.
"…" I made no response. There was no need to.
"You will take a second journey. Very few have this chance. You should enjoy it. It isn't everyday that I'll do something like this," It continued, musing, "You have so much of this thing your psychologist called PTSD that I think you won't listen to me even if I told you about what I'm doing. Maybe I'll get around to explaining it to you when I wake up." It sounded sad, "And when your mind isn't broken."
…
In the breeze there was applause, the rain of life.
My body basked in the warmth of the sun.
My back lay upon something soft. This wasn't the ground I was used to. It actually had grass. Huh, imagine that.
"Hey mister! What are you doing lying on the ground?! Is it a form of special ninja training?"
I cracked an eye open. I saw orange.
What.
The.
Hell?
…
Myst: A short intro/prologue. Yeah, it's has a touch of time-travel. But this time, it'll be a short story, I promise.