This path that I take is the path of beasts, the path of creatures that often left ignored, a path made of scratching and collecting whatever fragments the harsh world could offer. It's a life made of choices that bring little comfort, choices that all lead to a trap, suffering. Somehow, though, it is from such choices that bring power. Although such powers, may not last. Power comes at a price, so people say, but I just find myself wondering what I have gotten myself into. Is being a chuunin, or more appropriately, a shinobi, the profession for me? I doubt it. I really do.
The forest often hides danger with it's beauty, and this lesson came to me hard today. A normal C class mission was indirectly upgraded to a B or A class mission when we were attacked by Sound Ninjas, who I thought had became dormant and weak. My insolence, and stupidity, perhaps made me forget to analyze the combat patterns of the sound. No. That doesn't make a difference. It was my fear of combat, my fear of death, that caused myself to be separated from my teammates. It is my weakness, that led me to this sad state, outnumbered two to one. My first real combat experience, and my head is blank, clueless on my proceeding actions.
My heart pounded, my legs shivered slightly, and then, the two ninjas attacked.
Confusion struck me hard, as everything around me was a blur. My arms was cut slightly, and a crimson slit began to bleed. I... was afraid. A kick landed on my stomach, unblocked, and I found myself flying into dirt. Will I die here? Another kick landed hard on my right hand, and I was in pain.
"Heh, too easy, not even worth our time." Afterwards, I could hear footsteps that fade in strength, and soon, I heard none. I couldn't stand up, even if I wanted to. I was still shivering, still... afraid.At that moment, I had no idea what was happening to my teammates, nor do I care. I am still alive, at least for now, and if anything, surviving is all that matters, at this moment.
Soon, I blacked out, unconscious, and beaten. A pathetic existence, with little value. All the training, all the practice was thrown out the window in my first real battle.
My consciousness returned later in a place foreign to myself, my arms shackled, my left leg chained to a stone wall. I smiled slightly, 'I can't even fight a battle, so how could I escape?' To a point, I was honored that they would chain me, in this dark, damp prison. I laughed when I noticed a skull next to me. So, this is how my pathetic existence will end? Rotting in a prison?
A hand appeared out of the veil of darkness, holding out a plate of food, food made for scums, and animals. "Eat."
I despise myself for becoming so weak, but then, I also blame fate for giving me so little talent. I ate the 'food' anyway, out of the need to survive. As horrible as it tasted, I somehow liked the feeling that someone would be giving me something, for nothing. My mind revolted after that thought. 'Am I so... despicable?'
After, I was soon forced to follow the figures, and soon, I came at a dark mine, filled with strange stenches and dirt.
"Dig." The figure spoke malevolently, and I obeyed. Digging, was far easier than being a shinobi, as it did not have the unpredictability.
Days passed, with little deviation from the norm, of digging with other slaves. Yes, I consider myself a slave now. I have little idea where I am, and little idea when I will leave. But I don't care. Digging for ores, metals, and often we had little rest. Yet it was less stressful, less hard. Physically taxing, no doubt, but still easier. By now, I would be reported as dead, or missing in the annals of Konoha. Whatever. It makes little difference now.
A month passed, or so I believe. Then, I was dragged out of my cozy place in the mines, and into a place I do not know.
A closed room, with a small light to illuminate it's pale yellow walls, and dull brown floor.
"Wait here." Then, the man left, and closed the thick metal door.
"The speciment is ready, Orochimaru-sama."
Not in the mood to write anything.