Behind closed eyelids, images of blood flash quickly, one after the other. A child is in the middle of it all, his pale face contorted into a look of pure betrayal and fear. The emotions are too much for the little boy — the betrayal and horror he feels overpowers everything else.
His heart throbs painfully in his chest and tears shimmer in his eyes. Eyes that have just witnessed the murder of his parents by the blade of his brother. Eyes that have seen his clan bloody and lifeless.
It's too much. He can't take it. He falls forward with a scream, loud and piercing through the air. He lands on the wooden floor with a loud thud and passes out.
A tear slips out of his eye.
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A boy walks through a busy village. His blond hair is messy and his face has smears of dirt. He doesn't look clean. In fact, he looks as if he had just come out of a viscous battle with a monster.
In his case, that would be true. The villagers call him a monster, a demon brat and a good for nothing idiot, but in his mind, they are the real evil. They have hurt him countless times — like they had today, with their cruel words and heavy punches and kicks. The bruises have healed. He's not sure why. But a quiet fox sealed within him knows that his dark and twisted presence is the reason for it. He comes to the conclusion that it's the least he could do for the brat. The fox is the reason as to why the blond is in pain so often. The little boy doesn't know of him and the fox doesn't plan on announcing his presence so soon.
His stomach rumbles and the child looks down at it, arms wrapping around his stomach. It rumbles again. He lifts his head just as he passes Ichiraku Ramen. The scent surrounding the shop smells so, so good and his stomach rumbles again.
He sees grown men laughing inside as they slurp on their ramen. A man with spiky white hair and a mask. He wears a green vest bearing a red circle on its back. There are a few others accompanying him with the same attire on.
The blond child thinks, I want to be like them. I want to be a ninja.
He doesn't realise he's stopped until someone pushes him, snapping out an annoyed, "get out of my way Demon Brat!" The person is an older woman, maybe 30 or older. The blond blinks away tears before anyone can notice. He wants to yell at her. Tell her that he has a name and it's Uzumaki Naruto. He wants to tell her to use his name.
But he doesn't. Instead he turns and runs away, those eyes following him as he goes.
In the loneliness of his room, he curls into a ball and cries, asking himself the same questions:
Why am I different?
Why does nobody like me?
Am... am I really a demon brat?