Kanjii

[Jake]

Here ya go.

[Guest Kanjii]

"No…damn it…no!”

(not useless i am not useless not not not)

A hazy vision, and a limited one. One glittering gold eye, the other rotted away on the ground, plucked out so long ago. The dead eye's home was now hidden behind white bandages, blending in beautifully with the pale skin, but made noticeable because of the lone strip of cloth wrapped around the head, over the black, black hair.

(don't call me that dammit)

"You…damn…you deserved it! You did!”

Crying, for the first time in years. He hadn't cried when his grandfather had died, his beloved grandfather – yes! that grandfather, the very one who had plucked out his eye. It hadn't been his fault. He never blamed his grandfather for it. His grandfather had apologized from his heart, hadn't he? And that was enough.

Green, shimmering paint, streaking down cheeks, mingling with tears. A pause in the sobbing, because it'd been interrupted. Interrupted by that cough.

(i told you already didn't i?)

That damn cough! Been there for so long, since his birth. Impeding his progress; ruining his health, his body, his life. Disgusting others, with the revolting phlegm it brought with it. Preventing him from becoming strong, like those other shinobi, even the genins…! He would never be as strong as them, never never never. Because he was sick. Frail. Unhealthy.

Weak.

(this world must need me)

"Don't look at me like that!”

Screaming, now. Not his fault. Blood – everywhere, on his hands, on his shirt, his pants, the smell in his nose, the taste in his mouth, splattered over the floor and otherwise sparkling clean kitchen sink and the pure, white refrigerator, and most of all, covering the body of the dead man, the dead father. The father had always been dead, dead to him. Always drunk. Always shouting. Always scolding. Always blaming. Always accusing.

But his father, at least, had been useful to someone. Useful to his mother, dead giving birth to her son. Useful to his parents, because they'd loved him. Useful to the village, when he'd been a doctor.

(doesn't it?)

Those eyes! A burnt gold color, still bright and shining even in death, identical to his own. Useful, when they'd been alive! But now – yes – now they were useless! Now that dead father was a hypocrite. Who was he, now, to still accuse his son of being useless with his dead eyes when he himself was!

Why…why did they still stare so?

(it needs everyone else)

"I said don't! You…I told you…you deserved it! I'm not useless! Not! They need me, see?” A wild gesture at the imaginary crowds. "They do! Otherwise…otherwise…this demon…this damned demon wouldn't be in me! It must…it must be sealed inside me for something…they must want it for something…and because they do, they need me!”

(why not me?)

Collapsing. The murder weapon, the blood-covered, gold-streaked kunai slipping to the floor. Still beautiful, despite what it had done. Forever his, made by his grandfather. Love from the heart. The dead heart. But still a heart.

Stare! And there – look – do look! The ravaged heart of the dead father, revealed behind the shredded flesh. Wasn't that it?

Such an ugly thing.

----------------------------

Shiver, because it's cold now. Cry, because you're lonely now. Glare, because you're angry now. Fear, because you're scared now. Hate, because they all hate you now.

Murderer!

Killer!

Demon!

Fiend!

Never mind them; they're only words, child.

You said so yourself, no? He deserved it. Isn't everything so much better now, without him? You'll never hear him again. Who'll tell you that you're useless now?

You're not, child; you're not useless. That cough? It sets you apart from the others; they all recognize you! How? That cough, unique to you, for it is always present, always there. Disgust because of the phlegm? It is merely their opinion. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. They find blood disgusting, but – oh! it was beautiful, wasn't it? That rich, dark red; and that power! Did you not feel that power coursing through your veins? The adrenaline! You could have so much control, child! With power, they would respect you!

Why? Why, I thought you were only blind in one eye! The kages, look at them, do you not respect them? And why do you respect them? Because they are great people? Why are they great people? Because of their power! They are so strong, they can control countries! Why do the jounin teach the genins? Because the jounin are stronger! Why do small children listen to their parents? Because their parents have the power to punish them!

Yet; the people love their kages, and the genins grow attached to their teachers, and the children will always, always love their parents.

You could be loved, child.

Don't you want that? Your grandfather loved you; but he's gone now.

Don't you miss that feeling of being wanted, being loved...?

[[814 words, divided by 20, equals 40.7, so approximately 40 lines. :3

…if you couldn't tell, green color = dragonfly. X__@;

Pft. On the demon; In western countries, the dragonfly pretty much is seen as evil, while in Japan they're revered and um…good. Since the Narutoverse is pretty much Japan-setting, I should probably be using the Japanese version of the dragonfly but from what I've written above, it doesn't seem like I am, right? Er. It'll be kindofsortof explained later. And there's a lot of other stuff to be explained right now. It'll all make sense in time. Trust me. e__e

I'll shut up now. -___-; ]]

Edited August 7, 2005 by Kanjii

[Guest Kanjii]

Look, and remember! The bench – this very same one – and this night – this very same night – seven years ago, seven long years ago. Here, he had seen his very own grandfather, dead. Four letters, four small letters, insignificant by themselves, but when put together, in this certain order – oh! they meant so much! Dead, never again to move, to laugh, to help, to comfort. Never again would he walk through the park and hear the friendly call of ‘Yamai!' and see the old man waving to him.

Never to laugh again. No more emotions would cross the face that once shone with so many expressions.

Take a step, one, two, three. Cough, and wait for the fit to subside. Then approach the bench, the now empty bench. Look again! There. A glance around, a quick glance that could reveal so much. The shadows and memories coming up once more. There, over his shoulder, his father had stood, shouting at him to come back – not to look – come back…

And there, on the other side of the park, the group of teenage ninja whom had been blankly at the bench. In their eyes – eyes brighter than the adults', but duller than the children' – there had only been mild curiosity. The body on the bench had just been moving a moment ago, brushing snow away and blowing on hands to warm them, and now it was a body. No more, no less. They did not care; they were shinobi, and had already seen their comrades die in front of them, in their arms.

And the bench he was now standing in front of…it had held so many memories for him, so many. Here was the first time he met his grandfather. He'd been denied entrance by the shopkeepers and was frightened to return home, for his father would see that he had not bought food and scream at him that he was useless, that they'd gone through so much trouble to bring him into the world and that in the end, it hadn't been worth it. And then the old man had come, and called him grandson and took him by the hand and led him to the shop.

Why won't you let my grandson in? Word for word, that had been his exact demand. The stern look on his face, the commanding tone.

All of which was met with a confused look from the shopkeeper, who had lowered his voice and muttered: You know why.

And it was in this way that, bit by bit, without actually saying in directly, the grandfather had shown the boy that yes! there was something being hidden from him. The answers to the demands his grandfather made showed that.

You know why.

Are you getting senile, don't you remember?

My other customers are more important; I'd rather have them in my store than him!

All these answers, different, yet still the same. They all pointed to the conclusion that the boy had made himself. I am apart from them. But why? What was so different about him? He was, as far as he could tell, just like everyone else. Perhaps he had unusual golden eyes, but in this twisted, warped fairy-tale world of shinobi and doujutsu, there still were others with even stranger eyes! In appearance, he was not strange.

His personality – was that it? He did not like talking, and nor did he like people, but that was because they hated him too. Surely they were happy that he avoided them, even if he did not know why they disliked him so! And he was a jealous child, coveting that strength that so many others had, but was denied to him. But he never made his jealousy known to others; so that could not be the reason.

And so he came to the conclusion that it was his cough, and his weakness. It had to be because he was so weak; the others must be like his father, seeing him as useless! A waste of space and oxygen. Being very much like the walking plague did not help him, he believed. Oftentimes, he would cough up phlegm, making others draw away in disgust. Yes, that had to be it, that was why they hated him. Because he was weak, and useless; because he was sick, and revolting.

But his grandfather had not cared about any of these things. He had been kind, and understanding, for he, too had been born sick! But unlike the boy, he had been mentally sick. Sometimes, he would lose all sense and start raging, screaming incoherently at the heavens, screaming of agony and pain and hate, attacking randomly. Never had he killed anyone during these states, but he had come awfully close so many times that the grandfather was seen as a hazard. Ninja would come running to drag him away, to lock him up until he regained his sanity. But never, never had the boy been afraid of his grandfather, not even when the man had plucked out his eye during one of his moments. There had been pain, oh yes! – great pain, but that was all in the past.

As was the death of his grandfather. Yet, that was something he could not let go of so easily. He missed the man so! Now there were no friends, no one to confide in, and no one to even talk with. They said that he'd died of old age…but it was a lie, as were so many other things.

His grandfather had been killed, murdered... By one of the vigilantes of the village, whom had been watching them and realizing that the grandfather had been coming closer and closer to revealing what those markings on the boy's stomach really were, and the thing that was inside of him – the three-tails, the demon, Tombo – the dragonfly. Lurking within him, his mind and body, waiting and waiting for the time when hopefully, its presence would be known to the boy.

Such a thing was not to be told to the boy, yet the grandfather was coming so close to telling the child, for the grandfather believed that the boy should at least know why he was so hated, rejected, and ignored. And the vigilante had killed him, cleanly, with poison, so not to leave a mess. The ninja whom arrived on the scene could immediately tell that the old man had not died of old age, but to tell the already suspicious boy that his grandfather was murdered would only make him more suspicious, and so they told him that the man had died of old age.

But wait! That is only the second layer; there is still one more! The grandfather was suspecting that he was being targeted, and so, he left the box…

The small, pale green box that beckoned with the secrets that had the potential to be stored within it, calling out for someone to open it. But that someone had to be a very certain someone, for one only had to glance at it to see the clear, printed letters: For Aoki Yamaidare, and for him only.

It was the only time his grandfather had ever referred to him by his full name. Yamaidare, sickness. A name given to him by his father, dead father. He hated the name, hated it, and his grandfather knew that and had always called him Yamai. It was not the best name in the world, but it was so much better than Yamaidare.

The adults had wanted to take the box away and inspect it first before giving it to the boy, but the Kyoukage herself had opposed this; The dead's wishes must be respected. And so the box had been immediately handed over to the boy.

This box…such a small thing. But its contents would spill so much…

[[ 1310 words, approximately 65 lines. As you might've guessed, I'm not done yet.]]

Edited August 7, 2005 by Kanjii

[Guest Kanjii]

Dragonfly; three tails; demon

Often seen as a cousin to the snake, or hydra. Exceptionally aerobatic with sharp vision. Strong flier; one of the hardest demons to catch.

Shares a love of blood with other demons, but is not obsessed with it and does not need to see and feel blood in order to be happy.

Prefers to be small.

Also called ‘Tombo'.

Unlike some of the other demons, does not truly take sides with the ‘good' forces or the ‘evil' forces. What it does is try to help the most unfortunate; when free, that is what it does. When sealed within a child, it can see from the child's eyes the world around him and oftentimes that world is not a good one. Sealed, and only seeing the world from a narrow view, it is oftentimes its host that appears to be the most unfortunate to the dragonfly. It tries to make the world ‘better' for the child by giving him what they want most, and if the dragonfly cannot give it, it does its best anyway. Unfortunately for those around the child, the three-tails' way of helping is often violent, because at heart it is a demon.

The three-tails is vain, and does not take insults easily. Also it is best not to reject its help, because it takes rejection as offensive.

And all over the various papers in the box were notes like that; all centering on this ‘three-tails', this ‘dragonfly'. They were unorganized, but the words were written in the clear printing of his grandfather, and so at least they were easy to read. But the more he read, the more confused he became; Why give him all this information? What was this ‘three-tails'? This ‘dragonfly'? Sealing? The tailed demons? He had never heard of such things!

For the village had kept it all secret from him. They had not even let him know that demons existed, let alone know of the very three-tailed dragonfly sealed inside of him! The markings, swirls, dots, and intricate symbols surrounding his navel were merely markings that showed he was of the Aoki family. They had even tattooed the design onto his father to keep up the lie.

There had been a kunai, too; streaked with bits of gold. Whether it was just paint, or the actual metal, he could not tell. He did not care much, either. His grandfather had not been a doctor, like his father, and nor had he been a shinobi, but he had been a blacksmith. The kunai was beautifully made, and the moment he had received it, he knew he would never use it. Or so he thought.

Tombo is known best for its speed; while perhaps it is not as fast as Kyuubi it is certainly one of the quickest. Oftentimes it uses its chakra to speed itself up, so the Tombo does not quite rely on physical strength for its speed, but its chakra.

Only takes caution when fighting those stronger than it; will be less careful fighting things weaker than or just as strong as it. A bit flashy.

Loves freshwater and tries to stay near a freshwater source.

Has weak legs.

Hard to catch. Not often is it sealed, because of its speed and also because many people would rather spend time catching a ‘stronger' demon than the three-tails.

This…was this…? Obviously this had something to do with him…

Last time it was sealed away was two decades ago; sealed away into the child Yamika Emi. Emi never found out about the demon sealed within her. Committed suicide at the age of thirteen, releasing Tombo.

An older piece of paper lay on his bed. It had been the first sheet of paper in the box, but the boy had tipped out the contents onto his bed and so it had been moved to the bottom of the pile, and the boy took it in his hands, staring at it. It was a letter, addressed to him. Obviously, he was supposed to have read this first.

To Yamai;

Yeah, I didn't really want to use your full name on the box but otherwise the others would've said there's no one called Yamai and would've taken it away. Because technically, you're not supposed to know any of the stuff in this box, but you deserve to be know why you're hated.

Six years ago, a man of this village spurned the three-tailed demon's help – the dragonfly, Tombo. Tombo did not take to this kindly, and took its rage out on the village. We were a weak village at that point, and could not repel it, and so they called on the greatest shinobi in our village to seal it away – your mother, whom had learned the sealing jutsus from your grandmother.

She was pregnant at the time, with you in her stomach; you were supposed to be born a month later. But Tombo was close to completely obliterating our village, and so she sacrificed herself; sealing the demon within you and dying. You were cut out from her insides and everyone in the village worked so hard to keep you alive, and live you did – but you would always be physically weak and prone to sickness.

I suppose that may be one reason they don't like you, but the demon-possessed are rarely ever loved, simply because there is a demon inside of them.

There are a lot of lies in Otogakure. The patterns on your stomach aren't some family thing; they're the seals that keep Tombo within you. The ones on your father were painted on to support that lie.

If you're reading this, then you either didn't listen to my wishes of ‘Don't open this until I've passed away' or I am already dead.

You'll do fine on your own, Yamai. I'm sure you will.

Love you always.

[[ 901 words, approx. 45 lines.

EDIT: Psh, I'm such an idiot. <insert kunai> ]]

Edited August 7, 2005 by Kanjii

[Rei]

Just letting you know that you have more then 100 lines you can stop at anytime.))

[Guest Kanjii]

[[ EDIT @Rei: xD Yeah, I realized, thanks, but I still feel that I have a little more to explain [pick up where I left off at this post, and still have to explain how he trains.] And then I'll be done.

...I'm sorry to the person who has to read all of this -__-;; ]]

Three-tails! That thing was the cause of all his pain, all his anguish. He flung himself into his house, the silent house as his father was still sleeping, the one that looked no different from seven years ago when his grandfather died. The same! Everything was still the same! The people still hated him, still rejected him, he was still weak, still sick, and he was still alone, but now he was more alone than ever because his grandfather was dead.

Why…why couldn't he be strong and healthy like all the other damned kids? Every day, he had to endure watching them run for so long so easily, without effort, watch them chase each other and laugh, while he had to stay behind, health deteriorating, cough worsening, becoming weaker and weaker. He could barely walk the length of his room without stopping to rest.

Why couldn't the Tombo be useful? What did it do? Why, nothing! It didn't help him! It just lay in his body, rotting, and making everyone hate him more and more! Without the stupid thing, he could've been born when he was supposed to have been born, and been raised by two happy parents, and he could've been healthy and strong! All these things could've happened, had the three-tails not come…

So useless, so useless. It was only the lowly three-tails, only better than two and worse than the other six. One of the weakest demons. Why couldn't one of the great demons been sealed into him? At least they would be useful! The Kyuubi, the Hydra. They were so powerful. And here he was, stuck with the useless, useless Tombo.

What could the stupid dragonfly do? Fly fast? Oh, yeah, that would help! The only way it would help was if he became a missing-nin and was constantly on the run from hunter-nins, and there was no way in hell he'd become a missing-nin. He could barely survive in his own village, let alone in the wild, by himself.

"Get out of me!” A scream, an angry one.

(Angry?)

Ignore it, ignore the voices. Ignore it all. Maybe that would help. It certainly seemed to work for the villagers. They ignored him! And they were happy!

"Why can't you be useful? Why can't you help? Maybe if I helped the damn village people would like me!”

(Child, maybe if you calmed down a bit I would like you.)

Open mouth, and try to talk – but here came a familiar itch in the throat. First the forced cough to induce the real one, and then the itch was gone, but the coughs didn't stop.

But there it was; that strange feeling! Stare with wide eyes, but there's nothing to look at. It's all on the inside. The prison near the heart is where the demon dwells. Sink deeper into the mind, and it's possible to find it. But converse? Perhaps, perhaps, depending on what type of demon rests inside that cage.

A kind voice. A low one, an ethereal one, but does it truly belong to a demon? Does it?

(That's better, so much better…now, normally I would introduce myself, but if you are as bright as I have observed, you know who I am, no…? Hello, hello. You've know that I've been here for a long time, haven't you? Seven years, thanks to your grandfather. No, it's not a bad thing, not at all child! Everyone should get to know the demons inside of them…or demon, in this case, I believe the other ones have all left.

Ah…your anger brought you closer to me. It's nice to talk with someone once in a while, you know? Thirteen long years, child, I've been waiting here in the silence.

So, dear child…how are you…?)

--------

And so, several months later, the house was so much quieter and his father's blood was still clinging to his hands. And he knew that there were ninja following him. It would not be logical to leave a child – especially a demon-possessed one – to his own devices after he felt what it was like to kill a man!

The shinobi were walking by the street. Who knew what they were doing, those jounins, always so secretive? But just glance at them! – does one not automatically respect them? One green vest, one hitai-ate, and they got all the respect they wanted. Watch the boy walk to the window to look at them go by. Feel his jealousy, wanting their power.

(You want to be like them?)

Yes.

That was the obvious answer. Who wouldn't want to be like them? Tombo was right; power brought respect, didn't it? Humans instinctively craved what they didn't have. Disrespected and hated all his life – now there was nothing more the boy wanted than for people to recognize him as someone great, not as a demon or murderer.

He was a bit old to join the Academy – most children joined when they were five! But he had the advantage; he had help. Tombo knew so much! A storehouse of information, which was to be expected, as the demon had been living for who knew how long? Countless millennia, perhaps…

Chakra control! It was the three-tails who had encouraged him to start training in the shinobi arts. He would, perhaps, never be as physically strong as everyone else, but he could warp and twist his chakra to do almost whatever he wanted it to do. Yet; he was not even a gennin, and he was sure that many others could do what he could, and even more who could do it much, much better.

Which was why he had to become a shinobi. He couldn't do all this on his own, and not being able to physically manifest itself even Tombo's help had its limits. Many limits, in fact, for the demon could not show him how to do something, it could only tell him, and many times the boy would get confused, or flustered as he had been told that even with a slightly less firm grip on his chakra, it could go haywire and, at the least waste his chakra – and at the most, cause much damage.

He had to be strong. He was weak now, still so weak. Even more than respect now, the boy craved power. With strength, he could do so much and get more than just admiration.

And the ghosts; he could be rid of his ghosts…

[[ 1,075 words, approx. 53 lines. Not done. ]]

Edited August 7, 2005 by Kanjii

[Guest Kanjii]

After the death of his father, there were two now.

Two ghosts.

Most of the time, they slept, unlike Tombo, but when they were awake they seemed to drown everything out, even the three-tails, which, being a tailed demon, was supposed to be stronger than them. They were only ghosts of mortal humans, after all, weren't they? The people he'd failed, they always came back to haunt him…

His father; still covered in blood, the slashes still in his body from the kunai he'd received from his grandfather. The sake was still in his hands, too, and he still had the unfocused, drunken look in his eyes from before. Still screamed, still shouted, always yelling at him that he was useless. Telling him to do better.

The boy collapsed, panting, the chakra he had been working so hard to control and coming so close to controlling ebbing away.

"No…dammit, no, come back!” he hissed, through ragged breaths, narrowing his eye, the one, glittering golden eye. His father had used to call him a demon, and whether that had anything to do with Tombo he never knew, but most likely it was because of the way his eyes glittered. Perhaps their eyes had been the same color, but his father's eyes had been much duller.

And there was his father's ghost, or his voice, at least. He could even smell the alcohol in the air; Useless, boy, why are you so weak? It's not hard. Tired? Tired is staying up all f*cking night with your mother while she screamed with pain, because of you. And you're complaining? You've barely done anything!

He'd failed his father. How? How the hell did he know? But obviously he'd failed the dead father somehow, some way, because he'd failed his mother by being so much trouble for her, and in the end turning out so weak, and his mother's ghost was there too, alongside his father's.

Keep it, Yamaidare, keep it under control! You have to keep going, keep going until you manage to do exactly that! Your personal best isn't good enough anymore, because your personal best won't be enough to keep you alive when you're away from the village, on your own, trying to fulfill your mission! Especially with your health, Yamai, you must train more than anyone else, so much more! His mother, her voice – it was harsh, but strong, but he didn't know whether it truly sounded like that. He had never heard his mother's voice. He'd heard it from the villagers – she'd still been alive while they'd been cutting him out of her womb, in great pain, but never uttering a word. She didn't even scream. And as soon as they had tore him out of her, she had died.

"Stop…stop talking at me…I can't concentrate…” Wipe the dirt out of the glittering eye. How long had the speck of dust been there? He never noticed anything, anything, because the ghosts drowned everything out. They always did, blocking off all his senses so that he had to listen to them, absolutely had to!

Blame me, will you, boy? Ha! Go ahead, blame everything on me! Obviously it will make you stronger! The biting sarcasm was so evident, even in the drunken, roaring laughter.

Can't concentrate because of me? I'm trying to help you, Yamaidare! Shouldn't you be listening to me? My power was great enough that I could even seal demons away!

Arrogant, too – that was what he thought she was like. He had never known her, but his father had so much of a negative influence on him that now he even thought his mother was just as terrible. Surely she would be, if she married a man like that?

Standing up again, just like so many times before, but of what use was it? He'd gotten up from the ground so many times, just like the heroes did, but it didn't seem to be helping him. One time he used jutsu over and over again, attempting to use less and less chakra, but failed oh so miserably. He had wanted to get a jounin to help him, but the ghosts…

Help? You don't need help to train!

It's not hard, Yamaidare – can't you just learn by yourself? I did! The only thing I never needed help for was for sealing jutsu!

Summon the chakra into the hand again – attempt to use it to blow a hole small enough into the trunk of the tree, large enough to be noticeable, but small enough to let the tree keep standing. He couldn't compress chakra into such a small beam…All around him was the wreckage of his training – branches littering the ground, trunks smashed into pieces. His hand was shaking, now, and he could barely stand.

Tired, ha!

You can't give up now! So, you've been training for a while, but have you succeeded? No!

One of the branches as it had been falling had grazed his shoulder, and now there was a sluggishly bleeding wound, staining his blue shirt. Vaguely, he realized what a pain it would be to clean up. It was his favorite shirt – one sleeve abnormally long, falling past his fingertips, the other torn off at the shoulder. The bandages around his missing eye were falling loose, and anyone looking at him would've drawn away from the strange, empty, hollow feeling that was radiating from behind the shut eyelid.

He almost had no chakra left, and it was so hard to call up the last bit, but it was coming, in a soft, blue glow. A weak one, but it was still there…

And then he coughed, and his concentration was ruptured, and the chakra flew away from his body.

"D…damn…”

And then he sunk to the ground again, with the voices of his mother and father – his ghosts – ringing in his ears.

There was so much to learn, and so little time. His health was failing…surely he didn't have that much time left.

He had to get up again, try again…couldn't go yet…

(Finally…you have the strangest habit of blocking me out sometimes.)

Wasn't…wasn't trying to block Tombo out…

(Using up all your chakra isn't making you stronger…you should stop, now.)

Was that Tombo's influence? Because his entire mind was screaming to get up. How could he stop now? But his body was succumbing to sleep.

Feh…sleep…sleep was for the weak…

(i'm not weak)

[[ Finally…I'm done. You can all rejoice and rest your eyes now.

1068 words, approx. 53 lines.

...gah, I already know that longer doesn't necessarily mean better, but I can't help it. D:

Now I'm going to go off to die and hope. And suddenly remember a bunch of little mistakes I've made...all probably while I'm away from the computer and internet. xD ]]

Edited August 7, 2005 by Kanjii