I didn't know I wanted to be a ninja.

Not until a boy, at least five years older than me, brushed past my shoulder on his way to celebrate becoming one.

Not until a shimmer of light in the corner of my eye finally got me to look up from the ground.

Not until I saw the boy's headband, sterling silver and glowing with dignity.

Not until I finally seen the symbol that's practically everywhere, where it truly belongs.

Only then, did I realize how blind I'd been thus far in my life.

'A frog in a well knows nothing of the sea.'

Immediately, I ran home, storming into my parent's bedroom with a sparkle in my eye that had never been present before. Papa practically spat as I jumped on him, his eyes buldging out in a commical way.

"Momma! Papa! I want to become a ninja!" I practically scream into their faces.

Momma, a civilian around twenty seven years old, groaned under my weight. "Sweetie, ninjas have lots of responsibilities."

I huff and cross my arms. "So? I can be responsible."

"It's not just responsibility, sweetie, but ninjas also have a special school, which starts in a couple weeks." Papa chuckles and reaches to ruffle my hair, which he quickly retracts after I try to bite him.

I whine. "But I want to be a ninja!"

Momma looks at me like she did when I called grandma 'fat', like I don't understand what I'm asking. "Ami, it's very dangerous to be a ninja. Ninja risk their lives everyday so that civilians like us can be safe."

I smugly smile like I have them cornered. "Count me in! I love danger!"

The life in my parent's faces drain as I exclaim that I, their five year old daughter, want to do one of the most dangerous professions in the world, and that I'll have fun doing it.

With all rational thought out the window, I squirm and continue to beg. "Please? I really, really, really, really-"

Papa cuts me off. "Alright! It can't hurt, can it?" He glances at Momma, who's looking at him very distraught.

I get off the bed, and I'm so overjoyed that I completely block out their silent discussion about the sort of child I am, and that I'll probably give up in a few weeks after enrolling.

How wrong they were.

'Those who chase two hares won't even catch one'

I wasn't smart, that much was obvious. I failed half my tests, and I skipped studying in favor of hanging out with my friends. School was a bore.

Of course, that was only when I had to listen to the teacher blather on about rules or techniques.

When it came time to learn about history, and the totally awesome stories behind the big names, I was the happiest, most attentive student in the class.

Passing a test was a fifty-fifty chance, but if it was about clans, or history, or anything else pertaining to ninja greatness, I got a perfect one-hundred!

By the fifth week, a quarter of my class had dropped out. Many of the students were smarter than me. Even more of them were stronger than me. However, I wasn't the type to quit without putting up a fight, or ever quit at all.

My parents quietly watched me as I sped through homework to go out and play, probably doing all of it with minimal effort. However, they never once asked me to quit, and for that I was thankful.

Maybe they'd thought I'd quit on my own, like so many other kids did. However, it felt incredibly satisfying every time I bullseyed a suriken or correctly performed a jutsu from sheer luck, and I was chasing that high ever since I first learned what a ninja was.

No way I could quit, not when I had a goal, a dream. One that could be achived.

Sure, I wasn't the best at school, and I wasn't the most dedicated at studying or diciplained at training, but I was still going to become a ninja.

I was close. Nothing could ever change that.

'The nail that sticks out is the one that's struck'

I never realized just how far I was from being a ninja until kunoichi training started. Girls from every class in the grade were merged.

That was how I realized why I was in class three. The civilian class. The lowest class. The failing class. Murmurs from class two reached my ears. They weren't the top, but they certainly weren't at the bottom.

My class had shrunk exponentially by the time joint training started. Even I, with my small, pea-sized brain, could figure out that class one had a reason for having no dropouts. Why the class with the lowest number had the kids with the special traits, the bright eyes, colorful hair, and symbols on their clothing.

The part of my brain which wasn't filled with junk, was instead filled with stories. The clear connection between the heros in the story and the kids in front of me screamed at me.

Clan kids. Talented kids. Gifted kids. Good kids. Graduating kids.

Ninja.

If my first viewing of a ninja had formed the cogwheels in my brain, then the reality of my bloodline caused the wheels to turn.

I wished I was a little dumber, like every other civilian was.

Maybe then I wouldn't have felt so insecure.

Maybe then I wouldn't have started doing something terrible.

The only thing I could do to feel greater than the clan kids, great enough to be a ninja.

That thing came in the form of a girl from class one, with light pink hair and a large forehead.

Only a couple words. That was all it took to watch her face change from unsuspecting to self-conscious.

A couple words turned into a couple words per day, and a couple words per day turned into a couple actions per month.

Soon, I found myself to be the complete opposite of who I wanted to be.

I wasn't a ninja. I was a bully.

All because I was a civilian.

'After three days, the monk returns to normality'

I was stopped near the end of the first year by a girl by the name of Ino Yamanaka. Yamanaka, a clan name.

The person I wanted to be stopped the person I was.

I can never be a ninja.

That thought swirled around for quite a while until I finally had enough.

I want to be a ninja.

With a newfound determination, I stopped slacking.

During the time up until the midterm of the second year, I plunged myself into my studies, taking extra time after school to ask my instructors about questions I had.

I found myself doing surprisingly well.

My aim got better, my pass rate for tests went from fifty-fifty to eighty percent.

The leading up to the midterm, we started working on chakra control, which I surprisingly excelled at.

I was on a roll.

Until the midterm.

The midterm consisted of a single jutsu, the only one we've learned. Rope Escape. An easy one, really. I had gone through the handseals a couple times, and performed it successfully the few times I attempted it.

Chakra control came easy to me.

Chakra exhaustion also came easy to me.

The jutsu worked, at least.

In the end, I was lying on the ground, blood coming out of my nose and my ears ringing.

The shouts of the instructors echoed in the back of my head.

My fingers and toes twitched, and a tingly feeling overwhelmed my entire body. I couldn't move a muscle.

Before the test, I had done some warmups by sticking a leaf to my forehead with chakra.

During practice, I had always taken it easy with the advice my mother had given me.

"Take it easy, Ami, civilians don't have much chakra."

Today I realized how little chakra I truely had.

I can never be a ninja.

The thought returned to me like a hungry alley cat, meowing for attention.

Upon waking up, I found myself in the medical ninja's office at the academy.

I was given some water and a chakra pill before getting sent on my way.

As I walked out the door, the tail end of a scornful word caught my ears.

"-Civilian."

The word that was once part of me now felt like a slur. An insult. An obvious bashing of my way of life.

Ninja and civilian. The two are complete opposites. I can't be both.

I want to be a ninja.

The thought crushed any lingering doubt I held.

I'd find a way, surely.

'Fall down seven times and get up eight'

My search brought me back to the library, my days spent with my nose in a book. Chakra control. Jutsu. History. Strategy. I learned it all in the hopes of finding a way to become a ninja with my low chakra reserves.

During my time at the library, I took great care to avoid a familiar looking pink-haired girl, who I recognized as the girl I used to bully with a passion.

Now, when we make eye contact, I duck and walk away.

I can never compare to a clan kid, after all.

However, even if I'm not a clan kid, I can still be a ninja. No matter what I have to do, I will be a ninja.

I won't ever give up.

'Words cut like a knives, but without an edge there is no blood'

I walk out of my bedroom one late night to get a glass of water. Voices from downstairs stop me on my way.

"She doesn't know what she's doing. She'll give up on being a ninja soon." Papa's voice. A voice that has always been filled with concern, but never directly against what I wanted.

"We have to take her out! She almost died! What happens when she's in battle? What happens when she tries a harder jutsu?" Those words were from Mama. She's always been the cautious sort of person.

"I understand both of your opinions in the matter, but she'll only be able to unenroll if she makes the choice herself. Personally, I think she should resign. Her chakra control isn't good, and neither are her grades. Although she'll scrape by... her civilian background will only hinder her. However, I cannot force her to make a decision." That voice was my teacher. He had always been encouraging me, but I guess it was just because he was supposed to.

Because I'm a civilian.

It's always because I'm a civilian.

I clench my fist.

My parents probably didn't know I was here, but my teacher probably did. He, after all, was a ninja.

And ninjas aren't civilians.

I quietly walk back into my room. I open my pouch and pull out a kunai. I stick a rag in my mouth and pull out a scroll. I pull down the collar of my shirt. I put the tip of the kunai over my heart, and press until it draws blood.

I clentch my jaw on the rag as I trace the leaf village symbol over my heart. I shakily breathe, the rag falling to the ground and dip my finger in the wound.

I start writing with it on the scroll.

The makshift ink bleeds into the paper, reading, 'The Shinobi Rules.'

For the next few minutes, I speedily write each and every rule, as well as what happens when you break them. At the end, I press the bloody leaf village symbol on my chest onto the paper.

I have no clan.

The village is my bloodline.

These are the Shinobi Rules.

I am a Shinobi.

I treat the wound before going to bed. The scroll is pinned open on the ceiling with two kunai to remind me each day I wake up and each day I fall asleep.

A civilian only knows to look ahead.

A Shinobi knows to observe even flies on the wall.

I am a Shinobi.