Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or the heroic Yondaime….
AN: I suppose I wrote it because I found myself having trouble writing Monster. In a way, I kept on asking myself what I would do if I was in Yondaime's place. My interpretation was that Arashi spent his entire life trying to fool himself and the others that he would actually sacrifice himself for people he didn't know, and even when he died, it was to preserve his own reputation. It's not Yondaime-bashing or anything; just that sometimes, I get the impression that Yondaime was too 'heroic' in a way. Here, I gave him my own reason. Think of it however you will…
Do people even read these rambles? U
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I thought that, with all the things I've been through, I would have been prepared for death.
But I wasn't.
Most people thought that ninjas were unfeeling, or unafraid of dying. Heck, even some ninjas think so. But if you look deeper, we all have a beating heart, regulated breath, and others important to us. We'll do anything to protect the ones we love, and that is what makes us 'brave', supposedly.
When I go out onto the street, little kids would look at me and thank me for protecting the village. Their parents would murmur respectful greetings, always followed by "Thank you, Hokage-sama." It gives me a sense of purpose, of knowing that all the close calls I've had with death were, in the end, worth it. Moments like those filled me with a determination I've never knew I had before; a determination that will make those kids grow up into adults, and make the parents be there to make it happen. Those moments made me Hokage.
Then, there were other moments. The blood-stained battlefield, the enemies. The moment when one mistake would kill me, and one correct move will kill the enemy. I would repeat the word enemy enemy enemy over and over in my head, because if I stop thinking so, I would see the look in their eyes, a hopeless, desperate look, not for themselves, but for their families, and then images of lonely children would leap unbidden into my mind, and choke me on my own blood. At those moments I felt so weak, and my kunai would shake in my hands, and my mouth would be dry, so dry that I couldn't even utter a sound when my arm came down on its own and sliced dead a child's life forever. Those moments made me a killer, a destroyer of dreams and deserving of nothing.
My life tethered on the edge of destruction and rehabilitation all the time.
Sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night because a voice would whisper in the back of my head. You killed for yourself, it would say. You became Hokage because you could pretend to care, and instead protect yourself. And then I would think back on it, and it would become clear to me that I barely knew those kids, and that trying to protect them was only because I was guilty of myself. I was guilty because I killed like that, and I wanted to make up for it. The voice would say If it was you or the children, which would it be? And I would tear at my hair until the blood mixed with gold and pieces of my scalp came off in my hand, because deep down inside, I knew I would choose myself. I was so undeserving.
Then, the Kyuubi came. Watching so many people I knew die and struggle and pained me so much. They would gladly give up their life for the young ones; they would do it a thousand times. And then, the voice in my head said several things.
You didn't even care that your own comrades died.
You were just jealous that they could sacrifice their lives.
If it was you or the children, which would it be?
Now, I suppose, my jealousy drove me on. I want to prove to the others that I am not who I am. I searched all the scrolls I knew of, and studied and invented and tried and tried until I found a way to defeat the Kyuubi, and then my throat went dry. Kakashi was standing by me at the time, and saw me, though he gave no comment.
And that time, I thought to myself that I needed to prove to Kakashi I was no coward, because no matter how mature and calm he seemed, he was a child, and children makes me hurt. Before I left, I patted him awkwardly on the head. I remembered how oddly fluffy his hair felt. To him, my smile was probably one of reassurance. To me, it was irony, both at my actions and at, surprisingly, why his hair was vertical and soft of all feelings.
One masked kunoichi stopped me on the road, and held out a bundle to me. She told me that it was her sister's son, born that very day. Her sister, as her dying wish, wanted for me to use the baby for the jutsu. I froze for such a long time that the kunoichi got worried.
A woman, about to DIE, still wanted to save the others?
I stared at the child. He had blond hair, just like mine, and blue eyes already open and smiling. I held him gently. Naruto was his name, the kunoichi said. Uzumaki Naruto.
I wanted to cry. I bade the woman farewell, and sprang away so fast the trees were flashes of color, and the wind would erase the voice in my ear.
If it was you or the children, which would it be?
The Kyuubi was sealed, but the voice still flashed in my mind.
You?
Or them?
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AN: Gahh! I don't even know what I'm talking about here anymore! Just think of this how you will, cuz life's meant to be all confuzing and stuff...
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