Hey, I'm back, not too long a wait I hope. Just so you know, I collect epic fanfiction, and if I deem one to be exceptionally great, I will add it not only to my community, but I will give it honorable mention on my profile. For anyone interested, the requirements are such.

Must be over 100,000 words. NO EXCEPTIONS

Any pairing except yuri (Yaoi is okay)

Must be Naruto

Anything else goes

This is the next installment of Tomorrow Unknown, and as I promised, it is longer and more detailed, forgive me, I changed the tense, it is now in past tense, so please do not comment in your reviews concerning that. \m/.\m/

The songs used are cited at the bottom

-Chaos

Chapter II- Histories Rewritten

Hinata got out of her father's Cadillac and shut the door quietly, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. 'Not right here, not in front of them, not in front of her.' She looked over at Hanabi, and mentally broke, 'She's only seven and more the Hyuuga prodigy than I ever will be.' She sighed and walked dejectedly into the gated mansion before her.

The beautiful marble walls looked down upon her in disgust, and the ornamental fountains of weeping angles mocked her very existence, as if to say she would one day join the ranks of the fallen Angels. Hinata shook her head as she passed the grotesque statues, suddenly suppressing the urge to throw herself in the waters that over flowed in the angels out stretched hands and cascaded into a bottomless pool below. She took a deep breath and continued up the steps to the grand set of double doors that were the bars to her prison.

The door was opened by her cousin Neji, who worked for her uncle as a butler and body guard for her and Hanibi on their few excursions. Hinata gave him a half bow and continued inside, cringing as she heard her father spit on Neji and call him useless because of a scuffed shoe.

" . . . And further more I will cut your pay by two hundred dollars for this lapse in judgment. How dare you walk the halls of my beautiful home with filth like that upon your feet?"

Hinata felt hot tears of shame well up, but she suppressed them, she couldn't cry, it was disgraceful; it would mean punishment . . . again. Finally she was upstairs and in the safety of her room, or what could be called such. There was nothing wrong with the room itself; in fact it was beautifully furnished. Tucked into the far corner was a queen size bed with a black and red comforter, topped by matching pillows. There was a large window on the opposite wall with a window seat with little cushions with her initials H. H embroidered on each, and a large cashmere rug beneath in brilliant blue and green hues. Across the back wall, an old bookcase filled shelf to shelf with books ranging from biographies and histories to folktales and mystery stories, and next to that was her desk, a small but elegant roll top with carvings of fairies and flowers all over, the last gift of her dying mother.

The room however does not reveal its secrets at first glance. Hinata glanced instinctively at the camera in the corner above her bed, and at the bars across her windows. She was trapped in luxury when she craved freedom, the dirt beneath her feet, the feel of the grass on her legs, the gentle breeze rustling through the tree's into her lavender hair, and the pure beauty of being her own property.

Depressed, Hinata sets her bag next to her bed and pulls out her homework, memorization of the Hacker's Manifesto (1) and a written history of herself for English and a couple hours study for her AP history class (2). First she pulls out The Hacker's Manifesto, relishing how the words seem to have been written for her.

"The Hacker's Manifesto

by
+++The Mentor+++
Written January 8, 1986

Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...

Damn kids. They're all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?

I am a hacker, enter my world...

Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...

Damn underachiever. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..."

Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me... Or feels threatened by me.. Or thinks I'm a smart ass.. Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...

Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetency's is sought... a board is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..." I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...

Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike."

Hinata reads over the words many times, wishing with all her heart to have the cyber freedom of the hackers; the ability to obtain unaltered knowledge, to find things unknown to others, to have the edge of danger, there was escape in these words and Hinata memorized each word willingly drinking in the pseudo freedom.

Hinata's POV

"We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic." I see this line and cannot believe there are others who live in the way I do, expected to achieve, only failing in the eyes of the sadists, never meeting standard, and being denied simple courtesy. My heart skips, if there are people like this . . . maybe there is one for me. One to love me.

I shake my head. Only dreams.

I pull out my essay and mentally cringe. I must write about myself, but I cannot. My history cannot be told, I cannot be known. I must lie, my history must be rewritten.

I reach for my paper, and begin to manufacture a life upon the desolate paper, the scripted words telling of a wonderful childhood,

"I grew up in a large family surrouned by love and nourishment

How could I tell them of the hate and the neglect?

"My mother and father were amazing people, my mother a nurse, my father a great leader and government official."

I couldn't speak of how my father abused my mother, I couldn't tell of how he ripped the spirit from her body, and beat her into submission.

I started out in a private school and learned of the beauties of life from my teachers who were truly passionate of their arts, and eventually I too gained a love of knowledge.

The only thing I learned from them was what my father wanted me to know, my love is for music not the simple subjects of natural laws found in math and physics and language.

I lived life simply and soundly, only disrupted by my mother's passing a few years ago due to pneumonia.

Pneumonia is not what took my mother's life, my father was. How could I tell them of the fight that shattered my mother's bones and sent her falling down the stairs? Is it even possible to convey the feeling of loss that occurred when the doctor, paid by my father diagnosed it as pneumonia?

~flashback~

"I'm sorry to inform you that Lady Hyuuga passed in the night from severe pneumonia of the left and right lungs."

I ran up to the doctor and grabbed his hand, "No! she's not dead, daddy hit her she'll be okay, she's just asleep again."

My father stormed up and backhanded me. "Don't mind her; she invents fantasies of this sort all the time and I mean to break her of this awful habit." He glared at me before taking the doctors hand and walking into the office. I tried to follow but the door was slammed in my face and the blinds were drawn.

Undeterred I pressed my ear to the door, only catching snippets of the conversation between various rustles and chair scrapings.

". . . But Sir, what you are proposing is against all my ethics and . . ."

"I will pay you whatever you want, just get rid of the evidence, if the police found another . . ."

". . . Fine, I will accept no less than three hundred thousand"

"Three hundred thousand!!! No way, I will give you a hundred and fifty"

Some papers rustled and the voices were covered momentarily

"Fine, I will accept that, but next time . . ."

"Next time it will be you that needs a coffin"

"Just give me the check and get out"

I heard the door know turn and I slid back on the floor and pretended to be asleep on the tiled floor.

"Get up you lazy slob, you have work to do."

~end~

The memory burns, and makes me cry. I haven't thought of that day in years, and as I begin to bawl, my mental gate turns on and I stop crying, I cannot cry. Looking down, I finish my paper.

"My father has taken my mother's place as best he can, and I am forever glad to have him. When I get out of high school in 2012, I plan to go into college majoring in literature and language."

I have no such dreams; I plan on majoring in music. As for my father, I wish he would have gone to prison for my mother's death, I don't need him.

I close my work and put it up before going to bed. If only it were my past, if only my lies were the beauty of what happened, if only I was the child my father wanted, if only . . .

Naruto's POV

My grandparents took me home today, and it was as a normal day goes with them.

"Why were you in D-Hall again Naruto?"

I look Nana in the eyes, "Because I didn't turn in my homework, and Kurenai wanted me to pass and not fail, so she gave me D-hall."

Actually it was because I cussed her out for giving me a fifty on said homework. My makeup work tonight seems like bullshit, but I need to pass my sophomore year, so I may get to it tonight. I dig through my bag, and pull out my homework. I have to memorize the Hackers Manifesto, and write a one page essay over my life. God, that will be a work of fiction if I have any say.

Nana looks back at me and notices the ink on my hand and begins an endless tirade on how I shouldn't do that, and art is the Devil's work. I roll my eyes as she babbles

"Naruto Uzumaki! How dare you draw that devil's work on your arms? You know how you grandfather and I feel about that, you should show more respect to us for having raised you as our own . . . "

That hag did not raise me. My mother raised me and turned custody over to them when she had problems finding the money for us to eat. What little money we did get was spent by my go forsaken father, if you can call the bastard that.

The tirade goes on until I get home, and even then I give it no heed, I've heard it a hundred times over, and I doubt it would change this time. I walk up our house path and huff when I see the state our yard is in, the decaying plants wilting in the path that wound around to the front door, the un-raked leaves littering not only our yard, but our gutters and roof.

I slide my key into the door and let myself into the hovel we call home. It's not all that bad, It's clean inside, but only because my grandmother believes it sinful to live in a soiled house. I walk to my room and throw my bag into one corner, taking careful heed of my guitar Excalibur as I call it.

Pulling out the first of my homework, I glance over it and toss it aside; I had the Hacker's Manifesto known by heart. I lived by its beautiful words. For as the great Mentor was "spoon-fed baby food at school." So was I. Once upon a time ago, I was one of those student's you heard about in the news, you know, "Student Makes First Place State as Freshman Mathematician" or "Uzuamki Prodigy Makes Tokyo in World Science Tour."

That was me before. . . before my family fell to shit, and I realized that my brilliance was coming from the regurgitation of useless information, pre-chewed steak, flavorless and pathetic."

I pull over my paper and scribble down my essay so that I wouldn't have to do it when I got home god-knows when from my endless rounds of church.

"I have lived in Tokyo only seven years, mostly with my grandparents. My mother lives in Bangkok, with her lesbian lover. Other than that my life consists of daily rounds of school and church. I like to play guitar, and basically I live for music. I'm not fond of school, but who is. I hope to graduate and move. Far away."

I look at my pathetic excuse of an essay and frankly don't care, that is the history I will let them have.

~Flashback~

"Hey honey, you have to live with Nana and Papaw for a while."

"But Mommy? Why. Is it because Daddy took me?"

My mother looked saddened and then back at me, a tear forming in the corner of her eye as she said the last words before our parting.

"Your Daddy didn't love you. He was going to sell you for drugs." She began to bawl and the next thing I knew, she was smothering me in kisses. "Be Strong Naruto my fox, be strong and someday I will come for you"

~End~

To my shame I begin to cry. The merciless tears I keep bottled up tuned traitor as they ran from my eyes, down my face to drip onto my hands and paper. I glare at the offensive work in front of me and crumple it up, what was the use in hiding my past, rewriting it for the pleasure of others.

Normal POV

There was a knock at Naruto's door, and he had just enough time to wipe away his tears and set a straight face before his grandfather came in.

"You ready to go to church?"

Naruto huffs and nods his head. "Yes Sir."

"Good, it should be a great night, the pastor is preaching on the evil of homosexuality." He smiles and walks out, leaving Naruto fuming behind him.

Naruto stops trying to contain the anger and punches the wall before walking out into the main room to join his grandparents, and the hypocrisy of their, not his, Pentecostal church.

The Hackers Manifesto was a piece of work written by an 80's hacker who went by the alias, The Mentor. He published this work after having been caught in 1986 on hacking charges.

AP classes are classes taken in high school for college credit, they usually weight the grade to make it count more towards the final GPA

I hope you enjoy my second installment of Tomorrow Unknown, and this like urges you to review. My next post may be delayed a bit, seeing as I have testing next week and AP tests the week after, but I will do my be to write in-between. Reviews could speed the process *wink wink nudge nudge*

This story is really emotional for me, and I will explain to you when the story is finished, or if you PM me. I almost cried writing this chapter, and the reason will be unstated until later. I will however give you a hint each post. Whoever can guess it gets mentioned in my next post. My profile may give you some help

Hint 1. I am emotional when writing this.

Bye my people, pip pip cherrio and all that good rot. Until next time I bid ye adieu.