Where the Loyalties Lie
Chapter 1: Beginning of the End
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.
It was a gloomy evening. It was raining heavily with no signs of stopping anytime soon, and most of the shops were closed for the day. The streets were near empty. Some people were running for shelter from the pouring rain while others were tucked in their warm bed and stealing warmth from their blankets.
People were hurrying past without looking at their surroundings carefully, never looking twice at others. That may explain why nobody took notice of a small boy in the dark corner, shivering with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms hugging himself tightly. The boy couldn't have been more than five. His only shelter was a small roof that didn't even cover half his body.
His sunken blue eyes spoke of misery and his blond hair waved lifelessly with the wind. Half of him was drenched but his face was wet as well, but with tears. Yet nobody took much notice of him. Maybe a glance or two at most for the observant. Nobody made any move to help him, too caught up in their own comfort.
The boy closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes, ridding them of any hint that the tears had been there. He stood up and put on a silly grin and hyperactive attitude. His happy mask, one would call it. Making sure that anything associated with sadness were gone completely, he ran down the paths still wearing his silly grin.
Soon, he found shelter in the form of a roof of a building. The building was already crowded, being the only building still opened at the moment. He squeezed in between two adults but was pushed back into the rain by one of them. When he looked up, the adult just pretended that he didn't do a thing. If one had been observant enough, he would have noticed the sad glance that appeared on the boy's face for a split second. However, before anybody could take a good look at it, the boy had already covered it up again.
Smiling his "oh well, can't be helped" smile, he took off to find another shelter, preferably less crowded than the first. Fate, it would seem, wasn't with him that day. Every shelter he went to was crowded and nobody wanted to let him in, although the children were more following their parents' example.
By now, the boy was already fatigued from the running and cold from the rain. The boy didn't give up though, and he finally found shelter at the closed library's roof. It wasn't huge but it was enough to shelter a few small people. Few had look for shelter there because of the considerable distance so it was empty.
Sitting on the ground closest to the door, the boy just stared at the seemingly never-ending rain. Then something wet rolled down his cheeks. Something salty. Tears. His tears. He was crying.
He felt like the tears were justified somehow, so he just let them roll. Then he thought back on his brief five years in the village. No, he couldn't consider it his village, because it wasn't. It was more a place where he is staying temporarily until further notice than a place he would like to call home. This place caused him too much pain for that.
He had never understood why the villagers hated him so. From the verbal abuses to the glares, to the cold looks and avoiding him like he's some kind of disease, to the endless ignoring. They had all caused him pain.
Even the children do it, all because their parents told them to. He doubted that they even ask their parents why they're doing it. They are just doing them like robots. Robots with feelings. He can hear them laughing their heads off at him. From his head to his toes, they manage to find fault in everything that's him.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. Maybe there was a better village out there waiting for him, and maybe, just maybe, a better life for him to hold on to. But if he ran off to another village, how would he get the villagers to acknowledge him, he wondered.
Why waste time doing the impossible, his conscience told him. If they don't acknowledge you now, why would they acknowledge you later?
I'll make them, he argued.
Haven't you tried before? In vain, his conscience said.
He had no answer to that. It was true that he had tried without results. Was he ready to waste the rest of his life trying to get the villagers to acknowledge him when it will all go down the drain at the end of the day?
… No, he wasn't. He wasn't ready to spend his entire life persuading the villagers to acknowledge him, especially if they are not about to anytime soon. He had seen the sneers had he not? And he had heard the cold remarks had he not? Of course he had. And now it was time to accept the fact that they weren't going to accept him, not in this lifetime or, he was almost 100 sure, the next.
If he was going to lead a better life, the best way was to get out of the current one. But was he ready to throw away the things he had lived on for the past year? He looked at the empty streets. Yes he was.
If they weren't ready to accept him, it was their problem. He shouldn't be there to take it sitting down. If he didn't fit in this village, then he'll have to find some other village. He nodded to himself. He would leave immediately. There's nothing he had to take along with him, and the villagers probably won't mind. In fact, they'll probably jump for joy the moment he stepped out of the gate.
He ran through the now subsiding but still quite heavy rain towards the gate. He hid himself behind a bush, waiting for the gates to be opened. It must have been about fifteen minutes, but the gates finally opened. The guards were changing shift. He ran through the gates as fast as he could but he was sure the guards saw him. Yet they made no move to stop him. Proves how much he means to the village.
He ran through the forest until he became too fatigued to carry on. Leaning against a tree, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Konoha may not know it then, but they have made an enemy. A potentially dangerous one, by the name of Uzumaki Naruto.
Author's Notes: I hope that that wasn't too boring. All I wish for now is an honest feedback from those who read to the end. Whether you think that it's good or bad, as long as it is honest, it is more than welcomed.