First fanfiction with poor English skills.
The day was slowly turning into dusk, the sun dipping on the horizon which caused the sky to turn from a bright blue to a mix of pinks, oranges and reds. A breeze rustled through the sparse trees in the village, the pockets of greenery providing mild relief from the burning heat of Sunagakure.
Mahiro Sato had long since gotten used to it, her earlier years were spent in confusion and dissociating at first. Memories trickling in slowly and melding with her existing experiences, it made her feel like both an old soul yet impossibly young at the same time.
Her feet trecked the ever shifting landscape of sand and like every shinobi, there was a thin layer of chakra covering the bottom layer of her sandals, making it easier to walk through the streets. She was heading home from the academy alone today, her mother wasn't able to pick her up since her father was in hospital again and she was tending to him.
Mahiro gave a brief, polite smile to the old man at the dried fruit stand once he came into view at the halfway point, like he always did. The elderly food stall owner waved back, "Hiro girl! Back from the academy earlier than usual! What about some dried dates for the road. You can share them with Fuka-chan."
She nodded as she approached the stand and bowed respectfully towards him before gratefully accepting the small brown bag tied with red string. "Thank you, Takahashi ojii-sama." Mahiro felt him ruffle her hair and as she looked up, seeing the rough flaky skin of his lips split as he smiled kindly at her. She didn't want to engage in conversation or explain why she was early this time round, it was a sore point for today.
"You come by any time, Hiro-chan!", He waved her off and she bowed respectfully once more, turning on her heel and continued her journey home. The bells of nearby stores tinkled gently with the breeze as store owners began closing up shop. With evening approaching, the jinchuriki for the one tailed sand spirit, 'Shukaku' her mind whispered, would be active and homicidal again.
Eventually, Mahiro reached the small home she shared with mostly her mother, Fuka, since her father was rarely around. She fished out her set of keys from her pocket after a few seconds. There were holes in this old brown jacket of hers which forced her to look for it whenever she reached home but she eventually got it and unlocked the door.
The rusty hinges creaked after the telltale click of the lock as the wooden door swung open and she stepped inside gingerly. Mahiro slipped off her shoes carefully while still holding onto the bag of dried dates and closed the door behind her. Her now bare feet padded against the wood flooring as she ventured into the now familiar surroundings, "Tadaima!"
The call reached no one but it was still done out of habit, she placed the bag down onto the small glass dining table. One of the few well made items in the home before going back to lock the door for safety.
A few hours later
Memories always came back at night, unfortunately, and after having snacked on the fruit, Mahiro lay there on her single bed as they came rushing back.
Before she had been a 25 year old woman in a dead end job, her name forgotten to her. The same grand office building came to mind. The company name in bold blue and red letters embIazoned onto the front, Impetus.
Living an a tiny apartment an hours walk away from it near a run down shopping plaza, and it wasn't the most enjoyable or glamorous life. But she was strong, resourceful and seemed to overcome obstacles quite well. In particular, her boss... he was faceless now to her now in these memories but the burning feeling of resentment towards him was stark and clear.
She opened her eyes and glanced out of her window, the radiant moon hung in the sky with stars twinkling around it. Mahiro sighed quietly into the silence of the cool night air, her stomach rumbled breaking the reprieve temporarily which she swiftly ignored.
If the memories were true and not just something of her being crazy, that meant her 16 years of new life were some form of reincarnation. It was a belief she held before even though there was no religion which she resonated with in particular.
Were the stories she knew about her 'new world' true? If so, it meant Mahiro had no direction or overpowered skills or knowledge to sleuth or pass off as a genius. She was an average teenager under the rule of the Third Kazekage, Seiji, on the precipe of what was meant to be the Third Great Ninja War. He would, according to what she vaguelly remembered, die at some point afterwards and Gaara would be born.
Thinking about this stressed her out, so she shifted beneath her sheets and buried her face into her pillow. 'What's the point in thinking about it? I should feel lucky that I've even survived this long. Hopefully... hopefully I can survive this war too...'
Mahiro squeezed her eyes shut and after a few hours of tossing and turning, she finally managed to fall into a restless sleep.