"Lipstick of Blood"
by: Kage-Ichihashi
A Naruto One-Shot
Rating: T/PG-13 for Blood
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto…Even if no canon character is used in this fanfiction…
Author's Notes: Uh, not sure if it's the right genre, so let me know if it's wrong. Also, this fanfiction is not about any character in particular. It is written through a Kunoichi's point of view.
I looked upon his ashen face, gazing in his eyes. His eyes, I recalled, had been such a lively blue. A radiant ocean of sapphire blue. Never before had I now seen such a dead blue. It was deader than black and colder than ice. These signs spoke to me. His life was over, and I was his reaper.
I dispersed from his eyes, studying the man more thoroughly now that he was dead. He had been handsome. With a well-built torso, two strong legs, and a tongue. I remembered he'd bitten it off to suppress his screaming when I tore off his leg. He certainly was a bleeding mess, his side gashed deeply with everything pouring out…
I knelt down for a closer look. It wasn't just blood, I confirmed at the analysis of the thick, red puddle. How pitiful. This would have been so much less painful and humiliating for him had he just cooperated.
I continued to look at his massacred body. It was, after all, my first kill. I returned to his face to look at his eyes again. His black hair had been blown in the way of them, as though trying to hide the death in shame of his failure. I brushed the tresses back, then ran my fingers through its smooth waves. He had beautiful hair as well.
I cast my eyes back to his face. It was difficult to avoid it. I looked at his crimson mouth, blood leaking from both corners still. Crimson red. My favorite color. Ironic it was the color of blood.
I sighed, my old adrenaline evaporating into fatigue. Standing up, I placed my giant kunai back on my back. I smirked lifelessly at the thought of it. "A tool's tool," I muttered, the meaningless smirk disappearing as though it were never there.
I took one last glance at his body and suddenly spotted the man's other hand holding on to something for dear life. Hesitating as I decided whether or not I should give in to curiosity. I finally picked at it to realize it was a photo. It was of a woman, his love life without a doubt. She was beautiful, dressed in a blue kimono of silk with purple cuffs. It fit to her figure and showed off her natural beauty without trying. Her hair was pulled back in a wavy ponytail. It was brown, shining dark copper in the sunlight. Her face was practically glowing as she smiled, her lips red.
I was reminded of my mother, who had not approved of my choice to become a Kunoichi. I hated it when she was upset with me more than anything in the world. I hated the fact that I couldn't please her, but being a ninja was the one thing I was actually good at. My mother had wanted me to dress up, look pretty, marry, and have kids, and because it was what she wanted, in my heart, I wanted it, too. But I couldn't abandon the life of a Shinobi!
My choice had forced my mother to disown me, and I was left alone. Not that I couldn't handle myself – I am a Shinobi – but I loved my mother.
My eyes returned to the man. I frowned at the sight of my mess. A female who does such a thing as what I'd done could never be a woman. His blood, guts, and innards were spilled by my hand. I was the grim bringer of death to this man. The choice of whether this physical body should have lived or not had been given to me. And I chose gruesome death.
A woman had to be beautiful. She had to refine her walk and stand up straight with her chest put out. She had to attract a man and be able to manage a house and family. She had to bear a child and raise it.
But I am not a woman. I had blood splattered on my clothes and scars on my arms and legs. When I stood, I stood up straight, though my trained body was alert and ready to strike in the blink of an eye.
And I was willing to kill life, not bring it to the world.
I found that death so beautiful. That blood, the lifeless look in their vacant eyes, the cease of a beating heart, and that absence of the rise and fall of a chest. This wasn't an attribute to all Shinobi, but it was not an attribute to a woman. And it was a feeling I couldn't stop.
As a Kunoichi, I was deprived of being a woman.
But as a woman, I would have been deprived of being a Kunoichi.
Those two worlds would never truly mix. A Kunoichi could disguise herself as a woman, but she would always be a Kunoichi at heart. And a woman could pretend to be a Kunoichi, but she would never be one at heart.
My eyes flew one last time to the man and fell to his blood. I blinked at the revelation his face now gave me, and I wiped my finger in the blood of his mouth. I rubbed that blood on my lips, painting them with crimson. Then I turned to the river to observe my reflection with unexpected satisfaction. This was what a true Kunoichi-woman is, I thought as I smiled…
…With my Lipstick of Blood.