Chapter 4: Scarecrow Royal
"In the ninja world, those who break the rules are trash. However, those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash. And the ones who abandon their friends' feelings are even worse than that. I won't get rid of your past feelings, even if it's you who's refusing them."
It wasn't that his life had ever been pitiful, however, there were much worse lives he could have been living. He could have been his father. He could have been his sensei. He could have been his students.
It wasn't that his life had ever been sad, every shinobi had to deal with the past feelings of regret, anguish and frustration. There were so many with stories like his own, it made him wonder if there was an author, somewhere out there, who was writing each individual's life story, word by word, brick by brick, and slowly building up their lives, only to tear them back down again. The never ending cycles of emotions too deep and cutting like razor edges. It was all... never ending. The beginnings of things were always shiny and new, only to become tarnished and gray with little to none of their original luster after time had worn on them. All of these things he held precious were gone, and jewels stolen from him. He was the king of fools, a right court jester, with little in the way of anything really. His mask was no shield, just an extension of himself. Perhaps there had been a different beginning to his story, but he cared little in the way of that as well. The past had been lived in, so much that it became a comfortable sweater to throw on. He was weary of seeing the same scenes flashing through his addled mind. The boy that had been a little too much like Naruto for his liking, the girl with the name like her grin, and the sensei that was all too kind and a father that was all too loving.
In their own little ways, he had met them all over the years. The jonin's father had been given peace at last, and it pained the jester that his father had been ill at ease even in eternal life because of him. The scarecrow ninja was tired of the past, and the present was not all too exciting. The future looked bleak, but it was more of an opportunity than he had ever wished for. He was more than ready to let go of the past, too dragged down by it, like drowning in water that was only a foot deep. He felt that everyone in the community around him lived in their own little bubble, a world crafted from one part misery and two parts pain. This war was the war to end all wars, one he knew would tear people apart. He almost wished he had been allowed to pass on with his father after his fight with Pein. But, it seemed he was needed here, if not by himself, by his teammates and fellow shinobi. He did not rue the day he had been born. He was all too ready to stop peering into the looking glass, and all too ready to welcome the uncertain future.
The shinobi granted himself the reward to watch the rising moon in the horizon, as the sun slowly sank from the sky. He was ready. Ready to leave behind the sod, muted and blurring watercolor pastels to finally feel the cutting edges of razor sharp hues. Sitting on the rooftops of the village of the leaf, frost in the cool night air forced the moisture collecting on his mask from his breath to freeze quickly. He could feel the dull numbness fading away, and feel the desired kiss of tangible pain biting gently at his lips. He took in the surreal moment, the hushed village dark, and bathed in the melted silver moonlight and molten obsidian.
The stars like lights floating slowly upon the flowing river just south of the village, and the moon like a silver plate reflecting the light of the sun. It was all too earth-shatteringly, breathtakingly and world-rockingly real. He knew of the fiery passion of the sun that would one day soon run out. He knew of the depression soft, springtime cherry blossoms could hold in their petals. He knew of the light that could creep into the blackest of souls, wrenching at the twisted hearts to be set free. He knew of the happiness that might one day be granted to all, or to none, depending upon the abilities of the sun to warm the cherry blossoms, and its sunshine to be released upon the darkness. The shinobi knew it depended upon the soft breeze of the cherry blossoms to cool the burning sun, and the lightest of winds to breathe life back into the most obscure corners. He knew it depended upon the darkness to reach out to the sun, and take its light, none too greedily for all the years it had been missing, and to treat the pink blooms with all of the awe and wonder of leaving behind winter for spring. He knew.
But for now, he hoped for a better future. The jonin tightened his scarf around his neck as he stood, hands in pockets, and the cloak he had been wearing cast itself like a ghost refusing to be let go. One last glance upon the black and white of the world around him. With the mask on, even he could not tell if he was smiling or not. Like a peasant farmer, dreaming of precious treasures he had never had, a scarecrow royal.
Soon all that was left was the whisper of the wind, and the ghost alone with the moon.
A/N: Leave a review of whatcha think. Thanks!
~Narutard77