Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Note at end

He felt empty, an existence floating through time and space, a lonely specter moving through the cowered streets of the village. A presence never sensed, always forgotten, and a silent witness to the growing life around him. He taught diligently knowing all his efforts would be forgotten the moment the children left through the school doors. The day they graduate to become new soldiers, his face would simply become a faded photo on their mindscape, and his guiding light will dim to be replaced by someone or something stronger.

Behind a wooden desk he'd sit. The desk, he felt separated him for their world. Each grim face and dark eyes glance pass him. He'd watch as their eyes grew dimmer and dimmer as mission by mission they fade and closed off. Quietly and kindly he smiles, "Thank you," he'd say, "For protecting the village, good work." For an instant life would spark in their eyes and they'd nod their heads, but he knows that by the time they leave the room, he is already forgotten.

His apartment filled with pictures of both past and present. Each face he can remember along with name and event. He was unimportant, valueless, forgettable. He could not say he was angry or jealous or hurt. He could not blame the people of the village or comrades for not seeing him. He could not hate the children for growing and passing him by, or his friends for drifting from him as their lives developed.

When it was time to do his job to protect his home, he'd step up and never complain about the low levels he'd be given. He'd run scrolls here, take out a small group of thieves there. When he returns home and turns in the reports, he never lingers hoping for a complement or a brief smile. He wouldn't whine about the village not being more grateful for him putting his life on the line, or that his leader was trying to drive him into the ground by exhaustion. He'd simply return home, to the cold empty apartment with the smiling pictures. He accepted his role as a forgotten existence.

That is why he supposed he was not angry now or afraid, as he hung by his wrist in the cold empty cell. The captor's face shrouded in shadows and growling for some important information. He's mind played before him the smiling faces of his students both past and present as they all boldly proclaim how great they'd be come. A sharp pain drew him out of his pleasant trance, "Tell me," snarls the man with crooked teeth, "Tell me where the scroll is." Brown eyes darken and dulled by pain glance at the man, but no answers are given. Carefully he pulls back into his trance remembering, reliving each moment he witnessed and idly wonders who will take his place at the desk and in the class room. He closes his eyes the faces of children and comrades become brighter more focused. "I'll kill you if you don't tell me," warns his captor, "Then I'll leave your body out in some gutter for your people to find."

It is then that he breaks his silence, "No one is looking to begin with," he replies quietly, "No one will miss me." His tired brown eyes look into the angry ones. A sharp fist grinds into his right cheek snapping his head to the side, as the rotting breath of his captor stole the air around him.

"We'll see about that?"

As the man storms from his cell, Iruka's last few words quietly follow, "I've already been forgotten."

Mhmmm...It's been awhile. Perhaps I as well have been forgotten. There are 42- 43 chapters I have to go through and look at. so far I've barely gotten through half of them. But I figure what I have I'll put up and reinstate myself.

Some Chapters have had things added or deleted, and some have been rewritten. I make no promises of getting a chapter up every day or week for that matter. But for now here is the first chapter remastered.

Petague Killaboo