I had never known death, how could I? I was alive and had a life- so to speak, albeit not the best life imaginable, but it kept me fed and dry with a roof over my head (disregarding the fact that the heating tended to break a lot). I had, well, not really friends per say, more like acquaintances or colleagues. But they were enough to fill my life, I worked most of my time and slept the rest, there was not much chance of a social life.
Truly, I cannot remember the last time I was outside, when I was alive, at least I assumed I was dead now, if this was death then it was very… boring. When I was alive, there was not much time for a social life or friends, and I couldn't exactly walk up to someone and introduce myself, I didn't have a name.
Number 008.
Not exactly what many want to hear when they ask your name. Not like it bothered me that much.
I was twenty- three when I died, I think. I had lost count of my age a few years ago, I never remembered my birthday because I had no one to celebrate it with. Now, at least.
I was taken to the rebels when I was eleven, if I remember correctly. It was their first act of rebellion, slaughtering a town and taking five or so prisoners, all of them were children, and they needed time to brainwash us to make us think, breathe and live to fight against the government. I was the oldest out of the six they had chosen. I had grown up with them and could barely imagine myself without them, at that time.
My best friend, Mary. She was the sweetest girl anyone could ever meet, she was a bit dim, even I could tell, the little things she did like doing the maths homework meant for the Year 1's. And making a couple of mistakes on that as well, I never held it against her, how could I? She had the personality of an angel, something I severely lacked. I was exceptional at maths and anything academic while Mary was doing the younger children's work I was doing my older, teenage sisters homework.
Mary had golden hair that fell in ringlets the size of sausages, beautiful blue eyes that shone with childlike innocence, she was the epitome of adorability and she knew it. She was taken from me. And I would never forgive them for it.
The last time I saw her she had been crying, the tears were falling down her face like the depressing rain outside, there was nothing I could do, and she was very emotional. Although a usually sweet little girl, her temper tantrums were something feared and she could get upset and cry very quickly, her moods changed like the wrinkles in the sea and weren't half as forgiving.
I was being dragged away and she was screaming out for to "DON'T GO, DON'T LEAVE ME!" she screamed, thrashing against her captors, she couldn't get loose and I knew it. So I just gave up. Laying still in my family's murderer's arms, I gave out- no protest slipped out of my bruised lips, as still and as peaceful as a sleeping new-born I did not utter a word or tense my muscles in defiance. I let it happen, without protest. And I hated myself for it.
Back to the point. Death.
I thought, more like speculated, it would be more interesting than this. Does not having a faith restrict you from the afterlife? It was a problem for thought. Many had wondered what the afterlife was, was there Hell, Heaven, and Nirvana? Was that real? It was human philosophy and curiosity, I suppose, to wonder about something you have no way of knowing the answer to, to form beliefs and write books on that theory when we have no way of knowing if it is true or not.
There are other theories, the white light at the end of the tunnel, maybe? Nope, well it didn't happen to me. Maybe I should have had a religion, like Number 032, then I would be saved from my thoughts of contemplation.
My thoughts are straying again. So, death. One word to describe the phenomenon, apart from being a let-down. Boring. Boring as fuck.
Sure, it's comfortable, like being inside a warm cocoon of blankets on a Saturday morning, where it is inevitable that you just won't move your arse even if it kills you.
I couldn't really complain though, what did I have it to compare to? Was I expecting the grim reaper to appear from his shadowy corner? Sharpened scythe and all that jazz? I couldn't imagine myself going to heaven, and I guess I'm not going to hell either, unless the Grim Reaper really wants to fuck with me by bringing me out of my womb of warmth.
It was so quiet here. I'm not particularly sure where here is, but its welcoming, affectionate (as far as I know) and ever so cosy. I don't think I want to ever leave, though I think I knew, deep down, that all good things come to an end.
There was something strange about my new home, resting place, haunting grounds, or whatever it is called. It didn't seem like I was alone. The thought was fleeting at first, it happened when I felt a brush against, what I has assumed was, my forearm. Over the time I had been in my safe haven (Days? Weeks? Months? Years?) I had gradually begin to entertain the idea that I was not alone. I had someone with me. I would not spend eternity wasting away in my thoughts.
My companion, Cell mate, Ghost-buddy, whoever they were, never spoke. I let that slide because neither did I, it wasn't like I didn't want to communicate, on the contrary I felt as though I needed to at least make some sort of sound. But I didn't. More like I couldn't, it was like there was some sort of leash that restricted my vocal cords from making any sort of sound. And I hated it. I might not have spoken a lot when I was alive, but I enjoyed the odd conversation, it was refreshing.
I loved tinkering with things in my spare time, it was something that grabbed my attention and could hold it for a long time. The things I usually played with (that's what everyone else said it was. Playing? Pft) were electronics, torches or games consoles mostly. I had a thrilling time trying to figure out if I could make that torch go just slightly brighter or if I could invent a better and more efficient graphics system for a play station. They could never fully occupy my time for long, I was trained to know this stuff in a heartbeat, and could quickly correct the mistakes and improve simple machines easily. But that was never fun.
I always liked a good game. Chess, mostly. That was always fun, though not many people enjoyed it at the base, I couldn't see why- they preferred to play poker and black jack, betting beer and food usually, money was short in the base. Strategy and tactical thinking was what I excelled at most, though it rarely came into use, unless I am needed; that would only happen once in a blue moon though, as the rebels had a tactical division, and I am needed elsewhere.
Stop!
What is this feeling?!
My chest, it hurts. Has the devil finally come to drag me down to hell? It feels tight and squished, I and my cell mate (I refuse to call it any different until I know where we are) are compacted together until it becomes almost painful, and I came to feel it pushed up against me.
I finally realise that going through a small doorway (was it a doorway?) together won't work, it felt like we had been trying to escape our place of rest for hours. Then I thought, why would we want to leave this place? It's safe, its warm and its ever so comfortable.
So I leant back, I let my friend (I believe it was my friend, they didn't seem threatening; though I doubt I could call it a friend- we hadn't made any sign of communication for as long as we have been here) take centre stage and go up first. It can fight the unknown on its own, first.
I felt the presence of my companion leave me, and was left feeling strangely alone. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt like this, but I guess over our time together, I had grown fond of the other 'thing' in here with me.
I was suddenly thrust forward. The be speckled gap of light looked- well not looked, I couldn't really even see- a lot less daunting and tight now that it was only me being pushed through, but it still seemed like a very hard fit.
I was dragged into a memory of a long time age when I rethought my situation. This felt very similar to the time I got myself stuck into a car tyre, as a dare, of course. I was sixteen and had just got drunk for the first time, it wasn't a pleasant experience, I then swore off all alcohol when I woke up with the mother-of-all-that-is-good-and-holy-hangover. I broke that vow six months later when it was Number 24's birthday and he had decided to get the entire unit drunk as some 'fun'. So, I was dared to-stupidly- try and fit myself into the inside of a spare tyre, and be rolled around the base. I was sick sooner than you could think. Definitely not a good idea.
The light was upon my now. My head was touching it, almost becoming one with the light, and breaking its barrier. A clawing grip suddenly made itself known by grabbing onto my heavy head, and pulling me. Now that, is what you call painful. I didn't have the strength to resist. Therefore, I was fully dragged out of my home and brought into this new world kicking and screaming- literally.
It was blinding. Not the 'it's so beautiful!' type of blinding, it was bright and it was-most of all- painful. It felt like it was burning my cornea's right out of my skull, I as forced to close my eyes.
I released, what was supposed to be a yell of pain, but came out a high pitched wail. I was overcome with embarrassment- what a great way to make a first impression, crying like a new-born. My vocal cords wouldn't obey my command to stop the infernal noise they were projecting; I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't focus on anything.
My body was suddenly moved and I panicked, letting out another high pitched cry. I could feel myself being moved, I was roughly taken away from the person who held me first- wait. Held me? I did not like the person holding me right now, I didn't lie anyone holding me, but this person felt wrong, sinister. I was suddenly full of motion, my body flying through the air, and it was not my own doing. This malicious person had thrown me.
I could hear the ringing wails of someone else, my hearing wasn't the best but it sounded like a baby, was that what I sounded like? I wonder if that was my cell mate's voice crying out to me, I think. I could feel the air licking at my skin as I flew threw the air, despite the fact that I was covered with what I think is a blanket, I'm not sure where it came from.
My body was suddenly cushioned against someone's chest, the person was obviously male, and he worked out a lot, but that was all I could tell. I still was unable to open my eyes. The other wails were further away now, they sounded some distance away.
A roar was heard in the distance, it was full of anger and rage- fuelled with the intent to kill. It struck me to my very core, and I was definitely not afraid to say that I was scared shitless by this 'things' mere presence. The roar was animalistic and definitely not human. Nothing else mattered as I became silent, shaking in fear, though I knew the 'thing' was nowhere near me.
My fear lessened as the man began to hush and coo at me, him being near me gave me a sense of comfort I couldn't understand. I instantly trusted him, yet I do not know him. I still could not fathom how he had picked me up and was moving very fast with me in his arms- I could tell by the amount of air brushing over me that we were going fast. Were we in a car? No. I couldn't hear the unmistakeable blare of an engine vibrating my ear drums. I had no idea how we were travelling.
The air suddenly stopped as we also came to a halt. I couldn't hear the other cries anymore, I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. The man holding me suddenly set me down and I let out a whimper of disagreement, much to my humiliation. He gently hushed me in response.
He gently, yet hurriedly, began to remove my blanket. I didn't like that and it showed as my forehead creased as I began to get ready to let another cry echo into the air. The stranger must have sensed this as he began to hush me, again. I quickly became quiet again, much to my chagrin.
Slowly, he began to remove my blanket from my person, and I did not make a sound. Seconds went by and I suddenly felt something cold, wet and foreign on my stomach. It tickled, and I made a noise of discomfort, but did not make a loud fuss.
Why am I so vulnerable right now? I am a full grown, independent woman that should not have been reduced to the snivelling, whining and crying mess that I am now!
The man suddenly bent down, right nest to my face and whispered something to me that I couldn't understand. It didn't sound like English though.
He pulled away from me, I couldn't see where he was -I had yet to open my eyes- but I guessed that he had stood up. I heard to man shout something to the sky (I think) his voice was laced with pain, I could tell that much, though I couldn't recognise anything else, I had never been good with identifying the emotion of others.
The wind suddenly thrashed around me violently and I heard the beast let out another piercing roar. This time it was, not only filled with rage, but also pain, like it was withering away from something that was inevitable. And it was definitely not happy with this outcome.
The Man (the named I -very creatively- dubbed him with) suddenly poked my stomach, and hen the pin came. I thrashed and kicked and screamed, my insides were going crazy, it was like molten hot lava was slowly moving underneath my skin and it was staying put until it cooled, but it never cooled, and for hours I sat there screaming.
I did not notice the man leaving then returning with my cell mate, lying him next to me.
I did not notice as the man curled up around us- me and my cell mate- to keep us safe.
I only noticed the pain. The pain only relinquished its unforgiving hold on me once my vision began to darken, as I slowly lost consciousness, my cellmate following soon after.
I did not notice the sound of foot prints as they made their way toward me, stopping right next to us.
I did not notice as they gazed sadly among the sight around him, then, gently picking us up and turning around, leaving. Not glancing back. Only calling for someone to deal with The Man.
NUMBER 008
Word Count of this chapter: 2707
Disclaimer- I do not own Naruto.
Question: Who would win in a fight Sakura or Temari?
My Answer: … wait for the next chapter.
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