"There are wounds that do not bleed… wounds of the heart… There are times when those hurts never heal and go away, but if you want them to stop aching you need another person to heal it for you… Gaara, you need love."
But, what is love? How do you get it? Who gives it to you?
Gaara gazed at his hands, his pale skin standing out in the darkness of the night that surrounded him. The stars high above his head twinkled in the night sky, as Gaara tilted his head upwards to look at them. While he contemplated each question in turn, a gust of wind rustled the red hair on his head, causing him to shiver, at the same time as pulling him out of his thoughts. However, it wasn't long until the Jinchuuriki was immersed in those questions again. As he continued to contemplate and debate in his mind, the night grew colder and, strangely, the scent stagnant water wafted through the air, reaching his nostrils. He stood before a small, cloudy body of water, gazing down at his reflection, he saw a pale and emotionless boy staring back at him. His turquoise eyes held an icy gaze that would freeze even the warmest of deserts and his lips held no sign of a smile or a scowl. What stood out most about him was the red kanji character for love etched into his forehead.
He kneeled and reached his hand down towards the water, causing a fingertip to lightly touch the small body of water, immediately sending ripples through it, distorting the image of his face.
"Is it possible for something to happen to shake this image of myself, like these ripples?" He mumbled to himself, then stood up, watching the ripples get smaller and smaller, "even if it did, it always go back to what it was before," he shook his head and turned to make his way back to his house through the sandy streets of Sunagakure.
"Gaara, I've been looking for you. Temari hit me with her fan because you weren't home when you said you'd be," Kankuro grumbled, standing in front of him and rubbing the side of his head. Gaara showed no sign of a smile.
"Let's go," he said simply, deciding to walk instead of going on his sand, whilst walking towards Kankuro. Kankuro stared quizzically at him, but then nodded and started walking with him. Aside from the the wind howling in their ears and the shouts of villagers that were still out and about, the two walked in a comfortable silence, both immersed in their own thoughts. However, suddenly, Gaara broke the silence.
"Kankuro," he said, causing his older brother to turn his head to look at him, as they continued walking. Once he had spoken, the wind stopped howling; it was as if the whole world was holding its breath to hear what he had to say. All that could be heard was the crunch of sand underneath the two brothers' feet, as they continued to walk onward.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gaara watched a son falling to the floor in fatigue and start crying. His father, who was walking beside him, stopped and turned around, giving his son a smile, then picking him and putting him on his shoulders. The son immediately cheered up, causing the father to laugh and continue walking onwards.
"Hm?" Kankuro asked, stealing Gaara's attention. He ripped his eyes away from the scene and looked at his older brother.
"What is love?" He asked.
-/-/-/-/-/-
"Love can not be defined, because it's different for everyone. However, the factor that does define it is the person or people you love. Love is wanting them happy, wanting them safe and it is unconditional. Love is wanting to protect them, their happiness and the things they find important. Love doesn't waver or fail, because it's the strongest force in the universe," her six year old self's sensei told his pupils passionately. The small boys and girls before him stared at him in awe.
The sun shone through the large, open windows of the classroom and a light breeze flew into the room, gently rustling the leaves of the tree outside on its way in. The scent of clean classrooms hung in the air.
"So, what do you love, sensei?" A boy with bright, innocent blue eyes asked, tilting his head to the side, showing his curiosity.
The sensei smiled widely.
"Me? Well, I love my village and all the people that live in it, that's why I'm a shinobi; to protect what I love," he answered proudly, grabbing his forehead protector to prove his point.
At this, murmurs started around the room, all talking about the subject of love.
"I'm going to become really strong to protect my mummy and daddy!"
"Yeah? Well, I'm going to be really strong and protect all the mummies and daddies in Konoha!"
"Well, I'm going to protect all the mummies and daddies in the whole world!"
The two boys now began fighting with each other, trying to prove their strength. The sensei laughed and walked to their desks, grabbing the two boys from the back of their shirts, like a cat would pick up its kittens, and lifting them in the air for the rest of the class to see. The two boys' faces portrayed dismay, in the form of pouting, at the fact they were being embarrassed in front if their whole class.
"This is what I want to see," he laughed, seeing the surprise on the two boys' faces, "I want you all to have the will to protect what you love. I want you all to not just dream of it, but to do it! Train hard and get stronger to protect what is important to you!"
As the class erupted in a cacophony of cheers, no one noticed the small, silver-haired girl shrouded in shadow, that was sitting at the back of the classroom, scowling at everything and everyone. Her blood red eyes glimmered in the morning light; if it wasn't for the scowl on her lips, she wouldn't have looked like an enraged dragon.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Ten years later, the kunoichi sat in a tree and reminisced on the memory. A small smile played on her lips as she remembered her cynical six year old self.
It had been six long years, she thought to herself. Six years of being imprisoned, tortured and experimented on by Orochimaru. From the moment she was born, she was ripped from the arms of her parents, who were then killed, to be a guinea pig of his. But he had made a huge mistake, because he had given her more power than he had intended. And she hated it. However, with this power, she had escaped and, with the help of village people and shinobi alike, she had somehow managed to find her way back to Konoha. But, instead of welcoming her with open arms, many shunned her, while others feared her, because they knew she was abnormal. A freak of nature.
He had named her Kotori; bird of luck (however, many just called her Kuro, she didn't know why). When she had survived four years in his laboratory, telling her not many had lived past a year. She wished she had been one of them. Upon returning to Konoha, she had asked around about her parents and found they were, in fact, ordinary civilians and, at that moment, she had decided she would not die like them. She would become a shinobi and train to become stronger and stronger in order for her not to be pathetically massacred, like her parents.
She shook her head, not wishing to delve into such dark things. Instead, she thought about her first day back at school and the topic of love that had strangely come up while her sensei was on one of his tangents. She knew differently to him and everyone else. Love was an illusion. One created for those that were afraid of being alone. For someone like her that had always been alone, she did not fall into the illusion and, as long as she didn't, she would remain stronger than those that did. She might not have been a Jinchuuriki, but she didn't need to be. She was hated and feared, all because of this cursed power she possessed as a result of his experiments on her. At first, she had wanted revenge, but had given up on it, simply because she wasn't bothered to. Nothing motivated her mind. Nothing touched her heart. Nothing moved her soul. She might as well have been dead. So, why wasn't she? Because, she needed to find her purpose and that was why she lived. She had wasted enough time regretting the past; she had to move on, do something, find her place in this cursed world, even if it meant using her loathsome powers. She knew every shinobi would die to have what she did, but she didn't want it. Because it was just a reminder that it wasn't her own; she wasn't anything special.
"The truth is always difficult to digest," she murmured.