Sorry about the long wait. This is a Sakumo piece I was dying to write. Don't forget to tell me what you think!
I am a somebody nobody knows. Maybe that makes me nobody, I do not know.
They say that we are tools—emotionless, existing, exorcising. We do not love, laugh... live. We are a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.
As though something like that even exists.
But now my Gothic ramblings may have confused you. You see, I am a shinobi. A weapon for my village, unfeeling. People here my name and quake. My hands are stained red as my heart burns black. Yet, we aren't all the legends say.
We do hurt, and we do care. And it kills us everyday.
I killed a man once.
Yes, I have killed many men and women; but that is different. On missions, people are no longer humans; but rather prickly obstacles from your goal. Killing an enemy, be it civilian or ninja, is much like tearing down an obtrusive wall. When comrades speak with each other, missions aren't included: If you had to seduce and sleep with the target, you can still be a virgin. If you killed an entire family, you can still be innocent. Life is always separate from missions.
Yet, I took the life of a comrade. I murdered.
They told me I was not to blame, that he was foolish and selfish and shamed. But I know it was me.
We were on a retrieval mission, and I was carrying the scroll. But the enemy ambushed me and so I tossed it to him. He took it, pouched it, and went back toward me. We fought together against the enemy nin, but one poorly-aimed slash with a kunai and the scroll was destroyed. It held important war tactics for our rival country.
When we returned, I looked up to him as my rescuer. However, all they saw was a failed mission. Another loss in another war and another fallen hero. They hated him, because they had loved him. Because he had been their hope.
I could have stood up for him, protected him for my life. But I didn't. I turned away from until it was too late to do any good.
Suicide. He was twice the shinobi half of us were and he took his own life. It was sick and unfair and I felt dizzy when I heard. Shame.
Now, I see his son. A lonely, broken man who stares longingly at the memorial gravestone for all he lost. And it started with his father, who I murdered with my silence and weakness.
I wonder if he will grow weary of life one day too. I only hope it is after me.
There are no words I can offer to console the boy; for I was his father's murderer.
Who am I?
I have no name but the wolf mask I wear. I am an item with feelings, an impossible thing. I am nothing more than a mediocre ninja.
But I killed Hatake Sakumo.