Playground
A boy with dark hair, looking to be in his late teens, 17 or 18 was making his way, against the wind towards the little playground before the academy. He didn't know what made his step by here. He had graduated from the academy ages ago – he was already preparing to become a Jounin. So why did he come here of all places? To the academy? He could hear the teacher's voice above the chatter of the kids from inside. He stood there listening for a few seconds. Memories flooded back as he listened to the din of children's voices from within the building. They weren't good memories. Most of them weren't at least. They say that memories from school remain with you for a long time. They also say that school teaches you about something more than just the program. He didn't believe it. School never taught him more than how to set traps, the theory of chakra manipulation, the geography of fire country and it's neighbors, and things like that. A single lesson about life he carried in his heart, did come from school, but it was not school that taught him. It was a single person. And indeed, he would never forget that.
The boy shook the memories out. Then he walked over to the swing which was swaying lightly on the strong wind. He couldn't quite decide what to do. He hadn't sat on a swing for ages. Not since he left the academy really. He looked around, somewhat nervously, then sat down on the wooden seat. When he was young he couldn't reach the ground with his feet, now he had his legs bent and feet planted on the ground. He pushed his legs lightly of the ground. Then once more. The swing started to sway. To and fro. To and fro. Like waves. Like the waves that destroyed his sandcastles when he was a little boy. This time he pushed his feet harder of the ground, and in turn the swing swung higher. He felt the air rush against his face. He felt the ground disappear from under his feet and then come back. The air, the wind, the earth, it felt good. He had almost forgotten.
He raised his head at the slight sunlight, and with another gust of wind his hair blew from his face and eyes. Above him, on the branch of a tree that grew close to the swing, sat a large black bird, a crow. He smiled softly, suddenly extremely glad to be alive. The bird watched him with a single, still eye. He swayed a couple of times more, then jumped off the swing and jogged off. The crow watched him a bit longer, then flapped it's wings, so black you could get lost in them, and with a cry, flew of. The swing kept swinging in the wind.
DISCLAIMER: Hayate and all of the Naruto characters belong to, and are copyright of, Masashi Kishimoto.