The sunset looks soft, a pretty pastel mix of colors that belie the dusty, shabby shacks that the people of the poorer part of Yugakure call home. The sky is a piece of fantasy in a hard, vicious world. (Except here, everything is a fantasy for Fujiko.)
Hidan finishes chewing the bread he stole from a vendor they'd passed and uses his free arm to roughly wipe away the bread crumbs stuck to his mouth. They are almost back to where they live, and both of them know there's only going to be one person left living in there. And Fujiko really, really hopes the dead body isn't Kazumi's.
She swallows nervously, her saliva sticking to her parched throat, and casts a perfunctory glance at Hidan. His face is stiff but hints of anticipation threaten to burst through his trembling lips. Whether it's nervous anticipation or eager anticipation, Fujiko doesn't know. Hidan has never been predictable.
The two approach the sloppy mess of wooden planks that they call their house. The dry ground burns the soles of her feet and but her skin has grown tough through her earlier years of shedding the baby skin. Good shoes are hard to come by in such a poor village like Yugakure, and oftentimes, Fujiko and Hidan just choose to go barefoot.
Hidan makes a sound that resembles a hiss as he leans forward, peeking through the front doorway of the house. Fujiko's heart pounds in her chest and she tries not to breathe loudly, making sure that whoever is still alive won't notice them.
There's a loud grunt and a thud and Hidan turns to Fujiko with a strange expression on his face. His eyes glint with something she can't name and he pulls her forward, teeth bared into something that was supposed to resemble a grin.
Fujiko's legs tremble as she passes through the doorway and she can't help but feel a tingle of relief as she looks into the face of Kazumi, alive and breathing heavily.
The woman's face is still twisted into an ugly snarl that looks out of place on her delicate features. Beads of sweat roll down her face and a hint of a bruise is starting to bloom on her shoulder where her kimono has started to slip.
"Come and help me." She snaps, though it's more of a grunt. Kazumi is trying to move the body of the dead man, but the weight of his body has him continuously sagging towards the floor.
Fujiko's eyes stray to the large kitchen knife sticking out of the man's neck and she blinks, hard, because it looks like something out of a movie and she has a strange urge to touch it and check if it's real. If he's actually dead.
"Aren't you going to help me?" Kazumi half barks, half screams at them, irritation seeping through her voice. Strangely enough, there is not one hint of fear, and her gaze only holds a cold, remorseless satisfaction. It is terrifying.
Hidan is the first to move. He lets go of Fujiko's hand and walks over to Kazumi, dangerously calm. Gripping the man's thick ankle, he begins to help heave the body toward the direction of the backyard, which is really just a patch of dirt and dying weeds.
And just like that, whatever had taken a hold of Fujiko's body releases her, and she feels her feet moving toward the body—dead body—as she reaches down to take a hold of the man's other ankle.
His ankle is hairy and meaty, and it's too large for her small hands to hold. But she digs her fingernails into his flesh and pulls, the still developing muscles in her arms straining and screaming with the weight. She's pulling a dead body, and none of this feels real.
The past few hours feel like a dream—no, a nightmare—and it just can't be real.
None of this is real.
Her mind swims with the knowledge of everything that has happened and is happening and she wants to scream because nothing feels real.
(She was supposed to be dead.)
Together, the three of them haul the body into the backyard, leaving behind a trail of blood. Fujiko lets go of the man's ankle and slowly lifts her hand to her face, surprised to see a smear of blood there.
She feels numb and hollow and even though there's blood on her hand, it doesn't feel like blood. Her gaze shifts to Kazumi and she stares at the red staining the woman's hands and clothes.
This isn't real.
Her feet lead her back inside as she walks blindly in a daze and she stops and collapses onto her knees in front of the pool of scarlet where the man's body used to be.
And for some reason, a reason she has yet to understand, the blood looks like corroded flowers drowning in rivers of acid and it's too bright, too bright—
—too bright red spider lilies crumbling and falling to tatters—
It's the most beautiful scene she's ever seen.
It is the fine line between life and death in all its glory, the swiftness and power in the single strike to kill, the savagery in survival. It is beautiful, in all its ugliness, and Fujiko wishes she could be disgusted, but she really isn't.
Her heart beats in the empty cave of her chest and her fingers reach out, as if they have a mind of their own, and skim over the blood, sending ripples through the shimmering red.
(She has seen fake blood in movies, seen them in those cheesy horror movies where stupid people get killed and blood spurts everywhere and there's just so much blood. But it is nothing like the real thing and Fujiko wonders if she's still dreaming.
[because how can this be the real thing?])
The worn tatami mat dips slightly next her and small, pale fingers reach out alongside her, filled with wonder, dipping themselves in the blood like a lover's caress.
Fujiko doesn't have to turn to know it's Hidan. The two of them don't say a word, but their silence is more than enough.
There is one thing that Fujiko now knows and she knows it without a single doubt: blood is red.
A large, smelly cloth hits Fujiko in the back of her head and jolts her out of her reverie. Next to her, Hidan yelps loudly as the same thing happens to him.
"What are you waiting for? Clean it up." Kazumi's voice is pure ice and disdain and Fujiko feels like an ant beneath her gaze, waiting to be crushed.
She dips her head meekly and begins to mop up the blood, watching the color seep through the towel, reminding her of a piece of crimson silk she'd once seen (a long, long time ago).
(A long time ago. Perhaps a lifetime before.)
She works mindlessly and her thoughts inevitably drift to her death. It is, after all, difficult not to think of it when cleaning up the remnants of a murder. But there isn't much to think about, simply because she doesn't remember her death.
All she knows is that she died, and the next thing she knew, her soul was inhabiting the body of a newborn baby girl.
It is a rather strange thing to know death, yet not remember it. Fujiko knows death like a distant memory, but she does not know it like she should. Sometimes, she wonders how she died and about the people she left behind, but it is easier not to think about it and Fujiko just wants a life to live, not to suffer in.
Because nostalgia is perhaps the loneliest feeling of all.
The past is not something to be looked upon fondly but rather is to be longed for; something that is flightier than a dream, like sand falling through the smallest of cracks in cupped hands.
(Or perhaps it is a dream, and this life is another dream within that dream. And right now, she can't wake up. [she's afraid to sleep because what is a dream within a dream within a dream? maybe she'll never wake up, falling farther and farther into the realm of dreams.] Whatever it is, Fujiko doesn't know. She just misses what she once had.)
Life in Yugakure is absolutely miserable, and Fujiko longs desperately for her past pleasures, the little things, like actual toilet seats and freshly printed books and soft beds and clean food and everything and more. She snorts to herself, because there are some days she's so bored she'd willingly spend it playing the Kim Kardashian: Hollywood game from the app store.
Suddenly, there's a loud slap of wet towel against floor and Fujiko looks to her side to see Hidan's frustrated scowl. "We're never gonna finish." He growls, though it's more of a whine.
Fujiko can't help but agree—her shoulders and back ache from bending for so long and her knees throb against the hard floor. "We have to finish." She says quietly, trying to convey the importance of not letting anyone find a dead body in their house.
Hidan kicks the wall closest to him and lets out a small scream. "I hate this! Why d'we hafta be stuck with that crazy woman anyway?"
A shadow looms over them and Hidan's eyes widen before he looks up to meet Kazumi's eyes. Her gaze is demeaning and she sneers at him. "That's right, I'm crazy. What are you going to do about it?" Hidan's fists clench angrily at his sides and he glances away. "Nothing." He mumbles, an uncharacteristically soft sound compared to the loudness that always explodes from him. His tone speaks volumes and Fujiko doesn't have to hear anything else to know that this relationship isn't going to end well in the future.
Fujiko inches closer to Hidan as Kazumi gracefully turns on her heel and turns away, presumably to finish burying the body. Her fingers are stained with dirt like Hidan's, but no matter how much blood and dirt gets on Kazumi, she always looks like a queen. A regal figure made of glittering ice and snow, untouchable and bitterly cold.
The moonlight turns the blood to a rich burgundy and Fujiko holds back a yawn before settling back into her previous posture and once again wiping the floor clean of any evidence that could incriminate them.
The criminal justice system here is flawed, like every other thing is, but even so, everyone knows that murder demands a punishment of execution, no matter civilian or ninja.
Fujiko allows herself a wry grin. Good thing there's no police system in this small village, or the whole area would get arrested.
But no one can find out about the body—the people here are treacherous snakes and they will smile at you one moment but stab you in the next.
By the time they finish cleaning up, the night air has infiltrated the house through the many cracks and it is freezing Fujiko's ass off. Her thin clothes have never been any help against the cold and she huddles with Hidan under the piece of cloth they call a blanket.
This is the only time Hidan will let her cuddle up to him—he isn't prideful enough to let himself freeze to death. She relishes in this closeness to another human being; her blood, her brother, and it is only these times that she doesn't feel lonely.
Kazumi carefully lies down on her futon, her limbs straight and head facing the ceiling, looking every inch as composed as she is during the day. Making sure Hidan's asleep, Fujiko asks the question that's been eating at her ever since she saw the body. "Why did you kill him?" She whispers. The man's name hasn't been given, and Fujiko would prefer it to stay that way. The less she knows, the safer she is.
Fujiko's hair glimmers with pure moonlight and stars as she fixes Fujiko with a sharp gaze. "Because I wanted to." The answer is quite simple, but it sends shivers racing down Fujiko's spine, nonetheless.
There is nothing but lust in those eyes—the need to kill, a bloodthirstiness that Kazumi tries to cover up with blank indifference, but is unable to suppress. Not for the first time, Fujiko wonders if Kazumi could be a psychopath.
Kazumi must see the fear shivering in Fujiko, because she gives her a shark-like smile. "At least we're richer than we were before." Her eyes drift to the pouch she took from the man and Fujiko's follow hers.
And then, Fujiko realizes, that this is only the beginning. The beginning of long, horrifying years to come, and she so desperately wants this to not be real.
"That corpse you planted last year in your garden, has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?"
Fujiko eyes the lily of the valleys resting innocently in the clay pot tucked away in the far corner of the room, and shudders.
A/N: Quotes taken again from "The Wasteland" by T S Eliot!
Anyway, I realized that different flowers have different meanings so I'm just using the Japanese meanings for the flowers for the rest of this story.
Fujiko doesn't remember her death because she was so traumatized that she forgot her death and her past life along with it. So her memory comes back in flashes and when something random triggers a memory.
(I also have a headcanon that Hidan has a slight accent as a kid because he lives in a different village/country.)
Anyway, please let me know what you think. And thank you SO much to everyone who favorited and followed and thank you again to Cee, enbi, and UniCryin for reviewing!
Reply to guest review:
Cee: Thank you so, so much! The storyline will probably be pretty slow paced, as I want to develop more about Yugakure and growing up in a ninja village that's slowly transitioning into a tourist area.
And yes, I really wish Hidan was a character more focused on as well. His devotion to Jashinism is really interesting too and his bloodlust and foul language makes him such a fun character to write. Plus, his background was never mentioned so there's a ton of stuff to fill in there.
Ah, yeah, as you can see, there's already hints of insanity in Fujiko in this chapter! She's got a not so sane brother and mother and things are already pretty crazy.
Awww, thank you so much for your kind review and I really hope your days go wonderfully as well! :))))