It is summer and the heat is disgustingly oppressive.
The air around Fujiko feels gross and suffocating —it's so hot she can hardly bear to breathe. A sardonic huff of laughter falls from her lips as she's once again reminded why exactly Yugakure is in a country called the Land of Hot Water.
Her eyes drift to the backyard, and her eyes stray to the small bump in the ground where Kazumi buried the man.
It's been a week but the memories are still vivid in her mind; thrashing around and choking her whenever she tries to close her eyes. Strangely enough, she kind of likes it, in a twisted way. It reminds her that she's still human.
She doesn't want to become like Kazumi. Even if Kazumi isn't her real mother, people always have said that no matter how hard you try, you'll always have pieces of your parents in you.
(She tells herself that she will never, never be like Kazumi.)
There is a cherry blossom tree growing in the dirt yard that is their backyard. It is skinny and ugly and the pink flowers are tinted with yellow and their petals are dead and crinkled at the edges.
But nonetheless, it grows.
Which is why Fujiko doesn't understand why Kazumi wants to grow another plant that will probably be half dead within a few weeks.
She'd told her to buy wisteria seeds, which confuses Fujiko to no end, because Kazumi has never been much of a florist.
And then, most perplexing of all, she'd handed Fujiko a bag of coins.
Never, never in her years living with Kazumi has Kazumi ever been so generous with money. Perhaps it's because of the money they'd gained after Kazumi killed the man. Perhaps-
There is an answer in the back of Fujiko's head; so faint and so horrifying that it is barely there.
Fujiko clenches her fist around the coins, the rough metal edges digging into her palm, and tries not to blink away the scene flashing before her eyes: coins spilling out a dead body's pocket, dyed red, red, red, spilling out just like the blood from the body's veins.
"What are you waiting for?" An annoyed growl breaks through her thoughts. "Let's go!" Hidan taps his foot impatiently by the door and Fujiko pulls herself to her feet, one hand wrapped tightly around the coins and one hand pushing herself up.
Hidan's eyes drift to her closed fist and he eyes it with distaste. "Isn't that the money the bitch gave you?"
Fujiko sighs and nods, not even affected by Hidan's frequent cursing anymore. And she didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to rub off on her. She had to catch herself from calling Kazumi a bitch to her face a few days ago. It'd been a close call.
They begin to walk towards the marketplace — which is basically a grimy street where everyone comes to sell their products, whether it be legal or illegal — when Hidan suddenly pauses in his steps. Fujiko glances over at him and is met with mischievously wicked eyes.
"Why don't we use the money for something else?"
Fujiko stares. "Like what."
"I dunno, anything." Hidan grins, something faintly reminiscent of Kazumi.
"No."
Hidan scowls. "What? Why? It's not like the bitch'll know what we did with it anyway."
Fujiko fixes him with a flat stare. "Are you kidding me? Of course she'll know. She knows everything that goes on in this village."
"Fu-ji-ko." Hidan whines, edging closer to her. "C'monnnnn, we could get some of those sweets you've been looking at for the past month." At Fujiko's surprised look, he smirks. "Don't think I didn't notice." His voice is annoyingly smug.
Finally, Fujiko lets out an exasperated breath. Hidan is a persistent little bastard when it comes to things he wants. Of course, Fujiko should know better by now, because he always, always gets them into trouble, but she can't help it. It's Hidan. He's the only one she's got in this hellhole.
"Fine. Just let me buy the seeds first and I'll give you what's left. Only if there's any left."
She doesn't even have to look at Hidan to know he has that annoyingly smug face on to match his voice.
They walk the rest of the way in silence and once they reach the market, he wordlessly slinks off and Fujiko doesn't bother stopping him. That's never worked out well before, and even though wherever he's going is probably the place that taught him words like "fuck" or "bitch", Hidan's always come back.
Shaking her head slightly, Fujiko sets out to find the florist. The distinct smell of shit and piss wafts through the air and Fujiko coughs slightly. The area here is different from the line of run down huts that she lives in. The huts are closest to the forest, and so there's less marketing activity over there.
Here, there are dark, winding streets narrow alleys, and apartment buildings so cramped that you could reach out the window and touch the brick of the building next to you.
This, and the area where Fujko lives, is the shittier side of Yugakure. The legal and criminal system is totally fucked and the police are corrupt. There's black market dealings everywhere and Fujiko knows that there's human trafficking going on somewhere around here.
So she keeps to herself, trying to take up the least amount of space possible, and keeps a wary eye out for any suspicious movements.
There's a loud shout and a bang and then more shouts coming from Fujiko's right, but she only spares the commotion a glance before continuing on her way. It isn't worth getting mixed up in other people's business here.
Eventually, she spots a crudely painted sign, with the word "flowers" written in broad, sloppy strokes.
The local florist is really nothing more than a small stand with a few dried up flowers, and Fujiko approaches the old man with caution. She's passed by his stand a few times before, but she's never actually stopped and talked to him.
As soon as she steps up to the stand, the old man gives her a toothy grin, wide and silly and missing more than a few teeth. "Wha' can ah do fer ye?" His words are heavy with the typical Yugakure accent. Kazumi spoke the formal language of the Land of Hot Water, so she and Hidan had never really adopted the Yugakure accent.
Fujiko tiptoes and stretches her hand up as she gently drops the coins onto the table. "A packet of wisteria seeds, please."
"Ah!" The old man looks overjoyed. "Deym wisterias er real beauties, dey er." He bends down slowly as his spine cracks with a painful sound and rummages through a pile of things that Fujiko can't see.
Finally, he stands up and holds out a small package triumphantly. "Dere ye go, dearie."
Fujiko gives him a hesitant smile, unsure if he's genuine or not — growing up in an area that thrives off the black market and brothels doesn't make the inhabitants exactly the most honest people — and takes the seeds. His rough, weathered fingers brush over hers and Fujiko quickly snaps her hand back, unused to the physical contact. (The last time someone touched her, it was Hidan, and he was planting his fist in her stomach. Fujiko still isn't sure if he was trying to be playful.)
If the old man notices her somewhat rude reaction, he doesn't react. Fujiko winces inwardly and wonders where her manners have gone. She's so flustered that she leaves without thanking him and only remembers it later, when she's lying down to sleep.
That night, Fujiko returns with wisteria seeds and a few leftover coins and Hidan returns with scattered bruises and cuts. She wordlessly hands him the coins. Neither of them ask the other anything.
The wisteria plant is hers, Fujiko decides. She doesn't know why she's feeling so attached to a plant that's only just been planted, but she suspects it has something to do with her name, which ironically, means child of wisterias.
The sun beats down heavily against her back as she determinedly pats the soil around the small lump where the seed was planted.
She straightens, dragging herself upright, as she trudges back into the hut and flops down on the floor; limbs sprawled out haphazardly.
Hidan shoots her an irritated look when one of her arms accidentally collide with his leg, and she doesn't blame him, because it feels disgusting-their skin is sticky and sweaty and hot and it makes everything worse when their body heat feeds into each other's.
The air is stale and Hidan doesn't bother moving his leg away from her arm, and frankly, Fujiko can't find the energy to move either. It's like the heat is sapping away at her spirit. Sweat continuously rolls down her forehead and pools in literally every place possible. She's sweating in places she hadn't known she could sweat in before, and she tries very, very hard not to react in a way that would betray her comfortable upbringing in her previous life.
To be honest, she doesn't really remember much from her previous life. Just bits and pieces, here and there; some triggered by events and some that just fall into her brain.
She's glad for this. There are some things that she remembers, like her old family, and the very sanitary and luxurious life of the twenty first century that she'd been living, that she prefers to forget.
It's always easier to forget.
There is a whale that scientists call the "world's loneliest whale". It calls at 52 hertz; a pitch too high for other whales to detect.
No matter how much it calls, there's never any response.
Fujiko is that whale.
There will never be anyone who will understand her; adults and children alike. They'll never know about the iphone she used to have, the abundant soft toilet paper, the television shows she used to binge all day. They'll never know the world she used to live in and thus they can never understand her-an adultchild smashed into a body that is not quite hers but is hers.
Although she doesn't remember much, she remembers enough.
Mindless movements; memories of the past echo and ghost through her present. She's feeling particularly melancholic today and on days like these, there's nothing else to do but sit and mope until there's nothing left but emptiness.
Today is particularly good for moping, because earlier that day, she'd been in the market, and this is what had happened:
She sees a flash of red hair from out of the corner of her eye and all the blood in her stops pumping as her heart literally stops in her chest for an agonizing, terrified second.
Is it — could it be — is she —
A fearful hope wells in her chest and she slowly turns her head, only to meet a face completely different than the one she had been expecting.
Anguish wrenches her heart and she can't breathe, because all of a sudden, there's moisture building up in her eyes and she has no idea what just happened in the span of the past seven seconds.
She smiles bitterly and the tears in her eyes never fall, because the sun has dried them all up and there's nothing left but a hollow reminder of why she should have never tried to remember in the first place.
Long, red hair, the color of the setting sun over the ocean, twisted expertly into a bun. The girl touches her own hair and whines, "Mom, I can't tie my hair". The woman turns around, clear blue eyes unbearably fond. "Linda, you're going to have to learn how to tie your own hair one day. What will you do when you go to college?" "I'll just drive home every day so you can tie my hair." The woman laughs, a throaty, warm sound, and gathers up the girl's hair; her touch gentle and soothing as she smoothes the strands. The girl hums contentedly, closing her eyes as the woman swiftly wraps the hair into a bun, finishing it off with the soft snap of a rubber band.
It is better to forget than to feel at all.
...Fujiko knows.
She knows.
She lifts a trembling hand — when had it started trembling? — towards the pot that holds the only plant in their house — a lily of the valley — and slowly pushes her fingers into the dirt.
Her fingers sink deeper and deeper until —
Fujiko flinches and yanks her hand away in a single horrified movement.
There is something else in the pot besides the plant.
The feeling of the thing is indescribable — simply because she had never touched anything like this before.
Her hands are shaking so much she can hardly think straight and her breaths come out unsteadily. Cautiously, she dips her fingers back into the pot and begins to tentatively push the soil to the side.
She's making sure not to let any of it spill onto the side, lest Kazumi discover what she's doing, and when she's hit something solid, she gingerly pulls it into the light. And drops it the moment it reaches the dim lighting of the lamp.
What's inside the pot is the rotting remains of a human ear.
Gagging, she quickly shoves the soil back into a flat surface, returning it back to its original, peaceful state.
I need to wash my hands — I need to wash — I need soap — god, I need to wash my hands that was so disgusting ohmygod where's the soap —
Her mind is racing as she dashes towards their small, bedraggled shared bathroom. She slams her hand on the knob of the sink and lets the water wash over her.
She knows.
She knows for sure now, why Kazumi had wanted those seeds. Why Kazumi is getting into gardening these days. Why Kazumi has begun to visit the weapons shop more often. Why there is a cherry blossom tree in their backyard.
Kazumi is an intelligent woman. Intelligent enough to become a serial killer without getting caught.
She plants flowers on top of her victims and when their dead bodies break down, they become the nutrients necessary for a plant to grow.
There's a vague recollection of her studies in psychology, that serial killers like taking trophies from their victims.
Fujiko supposes that a corpse is trophy enough.
Worst of all, though, is not that Kazumi is a serial killer. It is that this does not bode well for Fujiko and Hidan's future.
They are going to have to continue helping her.
Fujiko doesn't know why Kazumi became a serial killer — she's not sure she wants to know why — but she and Hidan are five years old and for Kazumi, that's more than old enough to join the ninja Academy.
Becoming a ninja isn't necessarily a bad thing — it's necessary, in fact, to survive in a place like Yugakure — but Fujiko doesn't want to be a slave to Kazumi for the rest of her life.
She wants to get out of this godforsaken place and live her life, far, far away from Kazumi.
(Even a ninja isn't enough to kill Kazumi. That man she'd killed... He'd been a fully grown ninja. And he'd been brutally slaughtered by Kazumi.)
Suddenly, Fujiko wonders-who were the people the Kazumi killed? Did they have family? Were they alone? What kind of people were they? Did they deserve to be killed?
...Fujiko blinks. And then she goes to the market.
The old man doesn't ask her why she's suddenly buying so many purple hyacinth seeds, but he does ask her if she'd like to drop by again sometime soon.
"Ah have sumedin ter show ye dat ye might loike." He'd told her, with his friendly, toothy grin.
Fujiko hadn't given a straight answer but she considers the idea of making a friend, even if the friend is decades older than her.
Gently and meticulously, Fujiko plants the seeds around the garden, in various, scattered places.
She plants so many that she can barely straighten her back by the time she's done.
"They called me the hyacinth girl."
Fujiko laughs upon remembering the line.
She wonders if she'll be the wisteria girl or the hyacinth girl by the time she's old enough to get out of Yugakure.
A/N: kazumi is smart and she knows how to manipulate the hell outta her kids. except fujiko hasn't realized that she's being manipulated yet. and kazumi has one hell of a backstory.
also: purple hyacinths mean "i'm sorry. please forgive me."
in japan, apparently wisterias are used to decorate houses. but i used a different meaning for them here-wisterias are one of the most poisonous flowers; so even if they're pretty, they can still hurt you.
thank you to everyone who followed favorited! and thank you to UniCryin, Enbi, Cee, Firemages96, MyNameIsLaura, fanofthisfiction, and Slytherson for reviewing!
quote once again taken from T. 's "The Wasteland".
and as usual, thank you for reading!
reply to guest review:
Cee: i know i haven't updated in a long time, but reading your review still makes me really happy. ;-; actually, it was your review that motivated me to get this chapter done. so thank you for that!
kazumi definitely does have a past, and i'll expand on that in future chapters for sure. she's got her reasons for doing things and she may not love her children like mothers normally would but she does have feelings.