Regardless of what faith or philosophy she once believed in, none had prepared her for this strange limbo.
They would not have described this place as an afterlife.
Sounds—crying, laughter, a fragile yet comforting voice—swirled around her, but none were clear. She struggled to make sense of them, as if they came from behind a thick fog. She couldn't even describe the overwhelming assault on her senses—or what remained of them. She wasn't sure if these sounds had been there for an entire day, a week, or longer. Time didn't flow as it once did. Or maybe she just couldn't comprehend it.
And sight? That was no better. Her body refused to respond. Was she in a coma? She'd read about how some people, aware of their surroundings, remained trapped inside bodies that couldn't move. Anxiety crashed over her. Christ. That was a bad fucking way to spend what was left of her life.
She couldn't even remember how she got herself into this messed-up state. All she remembered was driving down a busy highway on a stormy night. There was…something—what, she couldn't recall—and then everything went black. And now, left with nothing but her thoughts, she had more than enough time to mentally smack herself for breaking the fundamental rule of driving: Keep your eyes on the road, idiot.
Congratulations. This is the rest of your life now, genius. Should have paid attention. Guess your luck's gotta run out sometime, huh?
And then, after what felt like either a century or a split second, her eyes cracked open, and searing light—blinding in contrast to the darkness she'd become resigned to—invaded her vision. It was like having a flashlight shone into her eyes after being in the dark for ages. But this light felt more present, more real.
The first sensation she welcomed was warmth—not familiar, but deep and comforting, like being wrapped in layers of soft cloth. Her eyes, adjusting to the brightness, began to make out shapes. Blurs of white, blue, and crimson drifted into view, and as hard as she tried to focus, all she could see were silhouettes. The forms moved, lips shaping words she couldn't quite understand, like watching a blurry film reel. The only reason she knew they were faces was the way these lines shifted and the soft murmurs she could just make out if she tried hard enough.
Maybe she wasn't dead, or in a coma like she feared? Maybe something had gone terribly wrong, and she'd been left unable to move because of injuries?
Well, now that she thought about it, she hadn't even tried to move since regaining her senses, had she?
So, for the second time, she willed herself to move, trying to lift herself up. And never in her life had something taken so much effort. Never had she expected that she'd fail at something so basic. Her body felt…wrong. Present but unresponsive. She could feel her arms, her legs, but they refused to obey. It couldn't be paralysis, she thought—she could still feel her limbs, they just didn't work the way they were supposed to.
So she tried again, and again, and again.
Until it finally happened.
A clumsy wiggle—barely anything, but enough to make her feel her body. And the feeling was all wrong. Her arms were too short, her legs didn't extend the way they should, and the familiar ache from an old biking injury was gone. What the hell is happening?
Reality seemed to hit all at once. Her frustration with this bizarre situation spiked, and a wave of emotion crashed over her. She couldn't stop it; before she knew it, she was crying—louder than she'd ever cried before. The tears poured freely, her wails echoing in her own ears, and even her voice felt wrong.
Am I in Hell? Purgatory? The Bad Place? What kind of messed-up person was I to deserve this fate?
Through her blurred vision, she noticed something new. The faces around her grew clearer. Human, but somehow…otherworldly. Not faces you'd see every day. She didn't even notice when her crying stopped. All she could focus on was the young girl in front of her with crimson, glittering eyes looking down at her with a mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and a warm kind of affection. She caught a scent then, earthy and floral, like tea leaves and flowers.
It looks like your sister likes you, Kurenai. She stopped crying when she saw you.
Kurenai? She knew that name…
What's her name? asked the girl they called Kurenai, wide-eyed and looking up at a taller man with a similar expression. He placed a hand on her head, fatherly, protective.
We were thinking of naming her Kimiko, he said, his voice filled with warmth. It seems appropriate. Like you, she's going to be a great kunoichi, someone who will make the village proud. Someone who will inherit and defend the Will of Fire.
...Kunoichi?
Will of Fire?
And then, suddenly, it all made sense to her.
Well, maybe not complete sense, but now she knew where she was.
This wasn't Hell. Or Purgatory. Or any sort of afterlife.
She was in a hospital.
In Konohagakure, the Village Hidden in the Leaves, located in the Land of Fire.
She was in the world created by Masashi Kishimoto— A rather mediocre mangaka, who seemed to have given any woman more than a passing thought once in his life.
She was in the world of Naruto.