The Two of Me
A brat is such for two reasons; they can't obey and they can't share and by this definition, I must grudgingly attest to being a brat for an ashamingly long time. As a shinobi I obey instinctively and have nothing really of value to share. I'm a good shinobi. Excellent really. "Like his father," they say. But you weren't a brat. Because you were only ever a shinobi and sharing me was no issue, it was my duty. But I was a son. And sharing you was murder. I never questioned you, Lord Hokage, but I can't understand why you, otousan, did what you did. It was for the village, I know, but it wasn't for me and I'm a good shinobi. "Just like his father," especially now while I, shinobi, pay dues to you, Lord Hokage, because I, son, am all that's left of you, dead father.
Me and a rock, good luck.
I never thought I would be this bitter, I never suffered being lost in a shadow, but I was never proud. Genin me was, Chunnin me was, Jonin me was, but they're not child me. Not alone me.
Death is noble but it hurts like hell, dad.
I, shinobi, come to the stone to see you, KIA Hokage, so I, son, can cry for you, otousan. I'm not ashamed, nicotine's not in my eyes. I cry openly. All of me. Because all of me misses you, all of you. I loved you, all of me.
