Post by lostandtorn616 on May 11, 2007 20:28:37 GMT -5
--Shukaku’s Mental Communication with Gaara/Sharon--
--You’ve GOT to be joking! Do they honestly expect us to guard such a useless thing?!--
-...-
--Hey, are you listening to me, Gaara?--
-I told you to remain silent, Shukaku.-
--Oh fine, you idiot boy.--
A monotone beeping noise sounded endlessly in his mind as he stared blankly at the incubator; two rounded indentations were carved into the reflective glass where the medical staff could put their hands in to administer antibiotics, or if the parents wished to touch their child they could simply put their fingers inside – of course, it was required that they washed their hands first.
He blinked slowly – dark eyelids fastening shut over his pale green sights for a brief moment; then, slowly, he scanned the smaller-than-average infant lying seemingly motionless on top of white blankets, a few tubes connecting to her horrendously frail self; and, lastly, a strange contraption was fixated onto her throat, entwining thin layers of fair-hued skin together.
Florescent lights hummed melodiously above his head, the beams of yellow-white and sickly blue-and-white-tiled linoleum floor contrasted painfully against the pure sheen of white that overlay virtually the entire room, and the hospital itself; nurses scattered about, delivering newborns into the nursery room, walking aimlessly about in quick semi-circles trying to lull the wailing infants to sleep, and scrambling about, yelling orders.
Within the constrained darkness of his gourd, the sand had began to swirl maddeningly; Shukaku was growing agitated at the lack of bloodshed, but the vexatious bondings were still juxtaposing to his wrists and ankles, still affectively cutting off his chakra supply and Shukaku’s.
How they were able to do it he hadn’t the faintest inclination.
“Gaara, are you ready, buddy?”
“...”
Gaara side-glanced at Naruto, narrowing his eyes silently in a fury he had never known to possess; what he wouldn’t give to manipulate his sand, to have control over it once again, to watch as both Uzumaki’s and Kakashi’s blood flourish as gouts of crimson danced through the air, to bathe his sand in their lifeblood as it sprouted from their writhing carcasses with only their final, agonizing death cries as a sign of returning to the plane of existence he originated from.
He mentally smirked to himself as his thoughts grew more sanguinary.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Naruto chuckled nervously, bringing a hand behind his head and rubbing his neck.
“Alright Gaara, we’ll take off these restraints now, hm? But you have to solemnly swear that you won’t unleash your sand first, okay?” Kakashi stole a quick sideways glance at the fifth Kazekage’s face, searching for any trace of a hint as to his feelings regarding the matter; the Konohagakure Shinobi had no luck, however; the Sand Shinobi’s visage remained as fiercely impassive as it always did.
“... Yes...”
“Okay Naruto, do as I instructed you to; just place your hands either on the bindings interrelating his carpus’ or his ankles, and focus your chakra to relinquish them, but make sure to stray from using too much chakra, or asking the Nine-Tailed Fox for assistance; the outcome could be disastrous, knowing your knuckle-headed ways of doing things.”
Naruto silently fumed but did as Kakashi suggested, placing his hands – palms slammed face-down with the thumb, pointer and middle fingers sticking out – over Gaara’s wrists; soon, a brilliant shade of blue engulfed his body, azure flames licking the air as his face took on a look as if he were trying to remember something of grave importance.
Had the fifth Kazekage been more emotionally capable of doing so, he would’ve flinched once Kakashi’s digits had locked unto his ankles as his chakra flared around him as Naruto’s currently was, causing the black shackles to pierce through his clothing and reopen the red-blistered lacerations because his Shield of Sand was still currently inaccessible, but he had already developed an immunity to the pain and didn’t bat an eye.
A dark red hue splashed onto the hem of his pants and the black fishnet leggings, creating an unsavory, light-to-darkening shade of an earthen-sand-tone, the areas of pallor skin not protected by his clothing were left vulnerable as they became to suddenly being bathed in the warm, crimson layers and trickles of fresh blood oozing profusely from the abrasions; he discovered that even if he dared not to move the damned restrains would still create physical friction, grinding and scraping unmercifully away at the pale skin now turned red-raw, aching with a terrible and fervent fever.
Then, briefly, a sound echoed about the twenty-feet-by-twenty-feet room, sounding much like mundane glass having been taken into invisible hands and shattered once it struck solid ground. For a moment a loathsome, heavy silence hung in the air, and Gaara had to force back a sinister laugh once he looked down and saw, much to his short-lived alleviated state of mind, that what had made the noise was the restraints being segregated; the sand now swirled in a malevolent glee inside his gourd.
He took a split moment to take in his surroundings; the hospital staff were still bustling about, shouting, giving, and obeying orders from the higher-ups; nurses who cradled infants in their arms still feed them milk, walking aimlessly across from one end of the room to the other, or placing them – sleeping peacefully – into the beds marked with their names; doctors advanced from one bed to the next, clipboards held in their hands and pens scribbling away furiously as they made quick notes of the conditions of every newborn.
One stopped in front of the one to the left of Gaara – the incubator inhabited by his premature host. The doctor smiled faintly. “Lucky this little girl is; very fortunate.”
“Doctor?” he turned towards the voice; a dark-haired nurse with light brown eyes pointed towards the see-through glass pane where two children, a girl and a boy accompanied by an elderly man, looked in anxiously.
“They wish to see their little sister now.”
“Well, they will have to wait, I’m afraid. You know the rules, Amy; no visitors are permitted into this room and must wait until the head doctor gives them the okay, especially since the child’s only a day old. This applies to everyone; even family members.”
“Yes, I’ll tell them that.”
“Alright Gaara, time to commence with the ritual. Quickly now, before the effects of the genjutsu wears off.” Kakashi said, snapping him out of his daze. (1)
“...”
--Don’t chicken out now Gaara, m’boy; it’s now or never, right?--
-... Don’t call me that, Shukaku.-
--Why not? I find it to be a very endearing term.--
-... It makes you seem as if you’re my father which, on all accounts, you are far from being.-
--I’m the closest thing to a father you’ve ever known! But be sure to listen to the perverted Konohagakure Shinobi and get this over with quickly, preferably within this century; the sooner you do this, the better I’ll feel. Don’t let your almost-father down now.--
-...-
Seeing no alternative course of action, Gaara pressed his hands together and all the muscles in his body relaxed as he got into a stationary stance; in under a millisecond he made rapid movements with his hands, successfully conjuring one hand sign after another; a dark sand-colored light soon engulfed his digits, still making repetitive postures, and out the corner of his eye he saw Naruto look on in amazement; Kakashi had chosen to bury his nose into his pornographic novel again, not bothering to glance up.
Finally, with his pointer and middle fingers extended, Gaara positioned his hands so that he ended up having to slam both his palms down onto the infant’s tiny forehead and heart as gently as was possible for him; he felt winded, his mind swimming in a severe state of confusion, his body twitching in favor of an instinctive reaction as he sensed both his and Shukaku’s chakra pounding forcibly into the child’s body; wave after wave of chakra that under normal circumstances was meant solely for devastating his adversaries, was now supposed to guard the frail life of the infant, his mortal host.
He heard the child let out a soft gasp and her eyelids slowly pried open, tiny hands sticking up in the air as if she were trying to grab hold of something, someone, anything; despite that the sealing jutsu was supposed to inflict next-to-little suffering upon whomever it was intended for, it didn’t stop the puerile human from releasing a cry, mostly because she could feel the pin-pricks of pain.
“You’re almost there, Gaara!”
--Why don’t you tell him something he isn’t already aware of, you stupid Jinchūriki?-- (2)
With another passing interval in time, tanuki-like rings started to outline her eyes, darkening once fair-colored skin, but only lightly.
It wouldn’t be for another week or so that the tanuki circles would deepen into that all-too-recognizable, all-too-familiar facial characteristic; the abyss hue Gaara’s eyes bared as the one side-effect of being Shukaku’s fourth Jinchūriki, insomnia, would begin to take its devastating death-grip on her mind, on her emotions; the infant gave a final cry as the last remnants of Gaara’s and Shukaku’s chakra slithered their way into her body, merging them together. (3)
--Yes, the fifth Kazekage would know this better than anyone.--
-Being trapped in your own little blood-ridden universe must have afflicted your mental capacity, Shukaku.-
--As if you’re one to talk, you idiotic Sunagakure dictator; if you’re not thinking about killing someone with your infamous Sabaku Kyuu or finishing them off with Sabaku Sôsô, you’re thinking about a few of your previous victims. What makes you think you’re even capable of taking care of a child? You don’t know the first thing about kids.--
-Neither do you, Shukaku. However unfit I may be for the role of a guardian, at least I will fulfill the duty of one should the maternal body or paternal body prove to be unsuitable for it.-
--You know... I bet you ten newly additions to your collection of fair game that once she reaches puberty, she’ll be cute. What do you think?--
-I think you should give yourself a vast obligation by remaining silent.-
--Don’t be such a stick in the mud, oh almighty Kazekage. Live a little and kill more, that’s what I always say!--
-Irksome Tanuki.-
--Pathetic little Kazekage who has an elongated rod shoved up within the deepest crevices of his ass.--
“Alright, that should do it, Gaara.” stated Kakashi, finally glancing up from his Ichaicha Tendou booklet, a bored look crossing his masked features once again as he looked on, utterly disinterested, while the last sand-colored chakra flames licked the infant’s tiny being and then died out; satisfied, Gaara slowly removed his hands off the child’s skin, sensing his raw, potent chakra being absorbed and mingling with Shukaku’s and then lying dormant within, waiting to be subconsciously activated.
“Kakashi-sensai, how do you know it’s been a success? The ritual, I mean, what if-”
“Dimwitted as you ever were, Naruto. I suppose it’s to be expected.” Ignoring Naruto’s furious glare as he crossed his arms over his chest, Kakashi turned towards the infant, the florescent lighting fixtures danced virulently off of a shuriken he held in his free hand; the cold steel seemed to almost cackle in a lethal, contagious glee with its pointed tip indicated just inches from the infant’s forehead.
In the instant of a breath, the shuriken was flung at the baby; with a high-pitched cry from the puerile girl, a wall of sand dispersed through the air and the shuriken was embedded within it; grains and pint-sized beads of the remnants of sand that was flexing into claw like postures swirled menacingly around her, as though the sand was silently daring the unwanted intrusion to strike again.
The girl giggled happily as she clenched and unclenched her tiny fists, unaware that had she been a normal child she would’ve faced a doubtless peril; Kakashi’s uncovered eye curved a bit as the shuriken clattered to the floor.
“There, Naruto. Undeniable proof that the binding ritual has been a successful transaction.”
“Hn.” They both looked sideways; Gaara stared down at the infant, his and Shukaku’s now newfound host, his fingers clasped with a bruising force unto his forearms, baring all his teeth as a faint grin etched into his visage, a demonic gleam of blood lust rippled through his insane glower.
“If anyone threatens her existence... I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”
“Why do you always carry that huge bottle around?”
“...”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
“...”
“Why do you guys even bother talking to her? She’s a freak; the biggest and ugliest one I’ve ever seen. She won’t talk to anybody.”
“...”
“Aw, look at that, fellas! The witch is crying! Boo hoo!”
“...”
“I bet if anyone heard her speak, they’d tell her what an annoying voice she has. Isn’t that right, you little witch?”
“Hey, I bet she got her weirdness from her mother! You know what that means, witch?”
“...”
“It means that your mother’s a witch too. Why else would you carry that useless thing around all the time?”
“Hey, witch, we never caught your name. Or are you a retard who can only stand there and cry?”
“I bet it’s something that suits her.”
“Witch.”
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
“Whore.”
“Dyke.”
“Oh, wait a minute, I’m pretty sure I heard her sister call her-”
Someone is calling to me. Again. I sighed dismally to myself, watching as the pad of my index finger pressed down on one of the piano keys, a light ping resonated dully in my ears, filling my blank mind with a melancholic tune; my chin rested serenely in my free hand, knees drawn up to my chest and hugging my breasts.
Rain splattered the window’s glass panes hard, and thunder boomed and crashed in the distance with lightning illuminating the room every so often, the sky decorated with glommy gray clouds; elongated shadows stretched eerily from the grand mahogany piano I was seated in, blackened, charred shadows coloring the sickly white linoleum floor and murky, person-shaped similitudes with three-foot tongues licked the horridly polished surface.
Another ping echoed blankly throughout the room; my hand, fingers and all, hadn’t been the one to touch any of the piano keys, as it was dangling purposelessly next to the decently polished wooden bench, swaying in an invisible breeze.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Have a good first day at school, honey.”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Mommy, I don’t want to go to school. I don’t want to go to Kindergarten.”
“Why not, sweetheart? You’ll have fun there; much more than when you’re home. There’ll be other children there your age and the teacher is a very nice lady; if you have any trouble, any at all, you tell her and she’ll inform me. Okay?”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Promise, Mommy?”
“Of course I do, sweetie.”
“But... everyone will make fun of me...”
Something... something’s hissing?
That’s when the hushed whispering fluttered about the almost-soul-deprived-room began; a few heads lifted up from their tasteless, blandly-colored foodstuffs and Styrofoam cup littered plastic trays, unfaltering – yet surprisingly vacant – questioning stares were tossed so casually over yonder my way, I silently wished there was a bathroom utensil – a toilet, a urine tray, anything – that wouldn’t make me think twice before discharging vomit into the first thing (or onto the first person) within a three foot radius of my current position.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Get away from us, monster!”
“She’s a weirdo; don’t even look at her!”
“Freak! Freak!”
“Why don’t you just go away, witch?”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Burn her at the stake!”
“Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
“You should do us all a favor: just die. Just die already! Witch!”
“... You all lied to her.”
“All of you.”
“Lies.”
“Liars will perish in the eternal flames of the Otherworld.”
“You humans call it ‘Hell’. Allow me to have the pleasure of sending every last one of you there. Screaming. Bones breaking. Skin tearing. Eyes popping. Blood gushing. I crave it; I crave it all. Let me feel it!”
The faculty staff, however, were less discerning in the attempt of keeping their hushed whispering and low-toned conversing to ear-straining undertones.
“... see her? Doesn’t talk to anybody. She doesn’t even look at anyone. She’s always sitting by her lonesome somewheres. No two places are the same for her; there’s no discreet pattern in her ‘round the clock surveillance to leave anyone able to predict where she’ll be next.”
“... isn’t that a bit... well, dissociative? I mean, if she doesn’t interact with anyone here...”
“Call it whatever you want, Genkins.”
“... believe psychiatrists would define that as bipolar disorder, or manic-depression.”
“... why she got transferred here in the first place?”
“Not a clue; the higher-ups say her files are strictly confidential.”
“... they say she has the unnatural ability to control sand.”
“... might strangle us to death.”
“... could be plotting everyone’s deaths as we speak.”
Someone’s near me; watching me. It’s always been like this for as long as I can remember; I must be the obsession of some demented stalker or something. Freaks.
--Well now, stalker wouldn’t be the nicest way you could’ve put it, puriti koishii.-- (4)
(--Back again I see.--)
--You know I’ve never left you alone for a moment; you have never known a peaceful second with me around.--
(--Unfortunate as that may be.--)
--Feh. I swear modern-day women aren’t as I remembered them. You know, back when I was living, women were less open-minded and more submissive; they knew when to keep their mouths shut.--
(--You’re pestering me again, Shukaku. Go away.--)
--What’s the matter, sweetheart? Not happy to hear from me?--
(--No.--)
--Well then, it’s too bad your feelings haven’t been developed to a mutual agreement with mine yet. Heh.--
(--What feelings could a perverse Tanuki like you possibly possess? The only feelings you experience from time to time is murderous intentions, sanguinary lust and, of course, let’s not forget your testy testicles that haven’t penetrated anything for, what, at least five hundred years?--)
--Why you little...--
(--Heh. That shut you up, didn’t it?--)
--No, I just couldn’t respond properly.--
(--Of course you didn’t.--)
--Yes, yes, you antisocial Jinchūriki. Now can you stop being a bad girl to your ever-faithful Sand Demon and turn around, and see what that nurse with the big breasts wants, or can your half-mad mind not process such a simple task?--
(--... What?--)
--Don’t say anything more and just turn around, you idiotic dolt.--
“Lunchtime is over, honey.” the nurse chirped in a sugary-sweet, cavity-inflicting tone as she grinned from ear to ear, the smile faltering a tad seeing I was staring impassively at her tiny feet sheathed comfortably in some kind of hand-made slipper shoes; they were fashioned of a dark velvet-to-satin material, the heels and tips of the footwear elaborately decorated with blood-red roses, the only color besides her mane of angelic honey hair and wide chocolate brown pupils her lithe body sported.
All she needed was a pair of white shimmering wings and her lady bountiful sight would be complete.
She gave a soft ‘hem, hem’ as she cleared her throat, manicured nails fidgeting nervously with the breast-length, V-shaped neckline of her stark-white uniform. I mentally sighed as I compared the obvious physical differences we shared. I supposed I looked to be in the perfected, refined state of indifference and apathetic madness that benefited many of the insane asylum patients; my dark brown-to-black-hair draped lifelessly over my shoulders and hung lankly over my eyes, the sleeves of the dull blue robe covering the commonplace green nightgown and slippers dangled inanimately over my wrists.
Again, I sighed, musing over when I had first arrived here; I felt a smirk tugging harshly at the corner of my lips for a moment, then my face subconsciously reverted to the blank mask I had had on for virtually my whole life.
“My eyes, my EYES! My... my arms, too! They’re...”
I slowly got to my feet, dutifully following the too-peppy-to-be-normal nurse, hearing her padded slipper like shoes scuffling over the tiled floor as was my own feet, head lolling and eyes fixated so horridly, focused, on the nauseating red-and-blue squares I mildly wondered if my head would snap in two and then roll down the hall.
Finally we stopped in front of my padded cell: Room 616. Satan’s number; how ironic.
“Remember sweetie, your medicine time is in three hours, so don’t be late!” she exclaimed none too softly before turning on her heels and sashaying down the opposite corridor.
I opened the door and stepped inside, pausing before shutting the door and bolting it shut; white surrounded me on all fours, even the ten-inch-by-eight-inch mirror hanging above the porcelain sink was shielded by the bleach-white cushioning. I mentally sighed, then absentmindedly ran my tongue over my teeth; I should’ve brushed them at breakfast.
Stalking over to the mirror, I snatched the tube of toothpaste and toothbrush out of the cup with the multi-colored aquamarine creatures slap-sticked on with the creativity of a four year-old, watching the light green paste flow over the white bristles.
Three minutes and sixteen intervals of spitting saliva-coated toothpaste into the glistening white sink later, I threw my head back and swished the ice-cold lungful of water in my mouth, my face scrunching up in sheer confusion before spitting the water-toothpaste concoction out into the sink, eyes never leaving the ethical, polished surface of the reflective mirror; then, slowly, my pupils grew dilative as my irises shrank, something they had never done before; lips parting slightly as a light of newfound curiosity with a tinge of fearful awe glimmered faintly in my eyes.
A pair of jade green eyes stared coldly back at me.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
Oh no... the sand wants to get out again... It wants blood... wants to kill...
(1) For those of you who don’t know, genjutsu are simply illusionary techniques that use the chakra in the victim’s nervous system to create illusions; basically, they are advanced intellectual ninjustu. Those with special abilities like the Uchiha clan’s Sharingan or those with high intelligence have an easier time executing and countering against genjutsu, since attention is key. The most common genjutsu is phantasms – rendering the targeted person(s) five senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell and/or feel) to go haywire, making them feel sensations that aren’t really there in order to manipulate them.
In this case genjutsu is used to make people who are insignificant to the necessities of the task at hand (such as the sealing jutsu ceremony) end up having their senses react to the genjutsu at a more powerful level, as they are affected more so than usual; simply put, they cannot see the incorporeal beings unless the person who cast the genjutsu lets their guard down, or their chakra levels dwindle too quickly. I hope that clarified a few things.
(2) Jinchūriki – Those within whom have a tailed beast sealed inside them are referred to as Jinchūriki (literally Power of Sacrifice) or simply hosts, and grow up exhibiting extraordinary powers. In some cases, they are stronger than the tailed beast they possess; this is because they have the knowledge necessary to control the tailed beast’s strength, whereas an non-sealed beast will more than likely lack the intelligence required to do so.
(3) Shukaku’s and Gaara’s chakra melding together may show to be faulty, unnecessary at best; this is because during nights in which the full moon has risen, Shukaku seems to exhibit more of a profound blood lust than usual and is able to nearly possess Gaara, or at least drive him to commit murder willingly or otherwise, leaving Gaara to see the moon as violence-inducing rather than serene or relaxing (this is based solely on my own opinion, so you may ignore that if you’d like).
(4) Puriti Koishii – Pretty Darling. Ain’t gonna get much simpler than that.
~~Intensive Care Unit~~
--You’ve GOT to be joking! Do they honestly expect us to guard such a useless thing?!--
-...-
--Hey, are you listening to me, Gaara?--
-I told you to remain silent, Shukaku.-
--Oh fine, you idiot boy.--
A monotone beeping noise sounded endlessly in his mind as he stared blankly at the incubator; two rounded indentations were carved into the reflective glass where the medical staff could put their hands in to administer antibiotics, or if the parents wished to touch their child they could simply put their fingers inside – of course, it was required that they washed their hands first.
He blinked slowly – dark eyelids fastening shut over his pale green sights for a brief moment; then, slowly, he scanned the smaller-than-average infant lying seemingly motionless on top of white blankets, a few tubes connecting to her horrendously frail self; and, lastly, a strange contraption was fixated onto her throat, entwining thin layers of fair-hued skin together.
Florescent lights hummed melodiously above his head, the beams of yellow-white and sickly blue-and-white-tiled linoleum floor contrasted painfully against the pure sheen of white that overlay virtually the entire room, and the hospital itself; nurses scattered about, delivering newborns into the nursery room, walking aimlessly about in quick semi-circles trying to lull the wailing infants to sleep, and scrambling about, yelling orders.
Within the constrained darkness of his gourd, the sand had began to swirl maddeningly; Shukaku was growing agitated at the lack of bloodshed, but the vexatious bondings were still juxtaposing to his wrists and ankles, still affectively cutting off his chakra supply and Shukaku’s.
How they were able to do it he hadn’t the faintest inclination.
“Gaara, are you ready, buddy?”
“...”
Gaara side-glanced at Naruto, narrowing his eyes silently in a fury he had never known to possess; what he wouldn’t give to manipulate his sand, to have control over it once again, to watch as both Uzumaki’s and Kakashi’s blood flourish as gouts of crimson danced through the air, to bathe his sand in their lifeblood as it sprouted from their writhing carcasses with only their final, agonizing death cries as a sign of returning to the plane of existence he originated from.
He mentally smirked to himself as his thoughts grew more sanguinary.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Naruto chuckled nervously, bringing a hand behind his head and rubbing his neck.
“Alright Gaara, we’ll take off these restraints now, hm? But you have to solemnly swear that you won’t unleash your sand first, okay?” Kakashi stole a quick sideways glance at the fifth Kazekage’s face, searching for any trace of a hint as to his feelings regarding the matter; the Konohagakure Shinobi had no luck, however; the Sand Shinobi’s visage remained as fiercely impassive as it always did.
“... Yes...”
“Okay Naruto, do as I instructed you to; just place your hands either on the bindings interrelating his carpus’ or his ankles, and focus your chakra to relinquish them, but make sure to stray from using too much chakra, or asking the Nine-Tailed Fox for assistance; the outcome could be disastrous, knowing your knuckle-headed ways of doing things.”
Naruto silently fumed but did as Kakashi suggested, placing his hands – palms slammed face-down with the thumb, pointer and middle fingers sticking out – over Gaara’s wrists; soon, a brilliant shade of blue engulfed his body, azure flames licking the air as his face took on a look as if he were trying to remember something of grave importance.
Had the fifth Kazekage been more emotionally capable of doing so, he would’ve flinched once Kakashi’s digits had locked unto his ankles as his chakra flared around him as Naruto’s currently was, causing the black shackles to pierce through his clothing and reopen the red-blistered lacerations because his Shield of Sand was still currently inaccessible, but he had already developed an immunity to the pain and didn’t bat an eye.
A dark red hue splashed onto the hem of his pants and the black fishnet leggings, creating an unsavory, light-to-darkening shade of an earthen-sand-tone, the areas of pallor skin not protected by his clothing were left vulnerable as they became to suddenly being bathed in the warm, crimson layers and trickles of fresh blood oozing profusely from the abrasions; he discovered that even if he dared not to move the damned restrains would still create physical friction, grinding and scraping unmercifully away at the pale skin now turned red-raw, aching with a terrible and fervent fever.
Then, briefly, a sound echoed about the twenty-feet-by-twenty-feet room, sounding much like mundane glass having been taken into invisible hands and shattered once it struck solid ground. For a moment a loathsome, heavy silence hung in the air, and Gaara had to force back a sinister laugh once he looked down and saw, much to his short-lived alleviated state of mind, that what had made the noise was the restraints being segregated; the sand now swirled in a malevolent glee inside his gourd.
He took a split moment to take in his surroundings; the hospital staff were still bustling about, shouting, giving, and obeying orders from the higher-ups; nurses who cradled infants in their arms still feed them milk, walking aimlessly across from one end of the room to the other, or placing them – sleeping peacefully – into the beds marked with their names; doctors advanced from one bed to the next, clipboards held in their hands and pens scribbling away furiously as they made quick notes of the conditions of every newborn.
One stopped in front of the one to the left of Gaara – the incubator inhabited by his premature host. The doctor smiled faintly. “Lucky this little girl is; very fortunate.”
“Doctor?” he turned towards the voice; a dark-haired nurse with light brown eyes pointed towards the see-through glass pane where two children, a girl and a boy accompanied by an elderly man, looked in anxiously.
“They wish to see their little sister now.”
“Well, they will have to wait, I’m afraid. You know the rules, Amy; no visitors are permitted into this room and must wait until the head doctor gives them the okay, especially since the child’s only a day old. This applies to everyone; even family members.”
“Yes, I’ll tell them that.”
“Alright Gaara, time to commence with the ritual. Quickly now, before the effects of the genjutsu wears off.” Kakashi said, snapping him out of his daze. (1)
“...”
--Don’t chicken out now Gaara, m’boy; it’s now or never, right?--
-... Don’t call me that, Shukaku.-
--Why not? I find it to be a very endearing term.--
-... It makes you seem as if you’re my father which, on all accounts, you are far from being.-
--I’m the closest thing to a father you’ve ever known! But be sure to listen to the perverted Konohagakure Shinobi and get this over with quickly, preferably within this century; the sooner you do this, the better I’ll feel. Don’t let your almost-father down now.--
-...-
Seeing no alternative course of action, Gaara pressed his hands together and all the muscles in his body relaxed as he got into a stationary stance; in under a millisecond he made rapid movements with his hands, successfully conjuring one hand sign after another; a dark sand-colored light soon engulfed his digits, still making repetitive postures, and out the corner of his eye he saw Naruto look on in amazement; Kakashi had chosen to bury his nose into his pornographic novel again, not bothering to glance up.
Finally, with his pointer and middle fingers extended, Gaara positioned his hands so that he ended up having to slam both his palms down onto the infant’s tiny forehead and heart as gently as was possible for him; he felt winded, his mind swimming in a severe state of confusion, his body twitching in favor of an instinctive reaction as he sensed both his and Shukaku’s chakra pounding forcibly into the child’s body; wave after wave of chakra that under normal circumstances was meant solely for devastating his adversaries, was now supposed to guard the frail life of the infant, his mortal host.
He heard the child let out a soft gasp and her eyelids slowly pried open, tiny hands sticking up in the air as if she were trying to grab hold of something, someone, anything; despite that the sealing jutsu was supposed to inflict next-to-little suffering upon whomever it was intended for, it didn’t stop the puerile human from releasing a cry, mostly because she could feel the pin-pricks of pain.
“You’re almost there, Gaara!”
--Why don’t you tell him something he isn’t already aware of, you stupid Jinchūriki?-- (2)
With another passing interval in time, tanuki-like rings started to outline her eyes, darkening once fair-colored skin, but only lightly.
It wouldn’t be for another week or so that the tanuki circles would deepen into that all-too-recognizable, all-too-familiar facial characteristic; the abyss hue Gaara’s eyes bared as the one side-effect of being Shukaku’s fourth Jinchūriki, insomnia, would begin to take its devastating death-grip on her mind, on her emotions; the infant gave a final cry as the last remnants of Gaara’s and Shukaku’s chakra slithered their way into her body, merging them together. (3)
--Yes, the fifth Kazekage would know this better than anyone.--
-Being trapped in your own little blood-ridden universe must have afflicted your mental capacity, Shukaku.-
--As if you’re one to talk, you idiotic Sunagakure dictator; if you’re not thinking about killing someone with your infamous Sabaku Kyuu or finishing them off with Sabaku Sôsô, you’re thinking about a few of your previous victims. What makes you think you’re even capable of taking care of a child? You don’t know the first thing about kids.--
-Neither do you, Shukaku. However unfit I may be for the role of a guardian, at least I will fulfill the duty of one should the maternal body or paternal body prove to be unsuitable for it.-
--You know... I bet you ten newly additions to your collection of fair game that once she reaches puberty, she’ll be cute. What do you think?--
-I think you should give yourself a vast obligation by remaining silent.-
--Don’t be such a stick in the mud, oh almighty Kazekage. Live a little and kill more, that’s what I always say!--
-Irksome Tanuki.-
--Pathetic little Kazekage who has an elongated rod shoved up within the deepest crevices of his ass.--
“Alright, that should do it, Gaara.” stated Kakashi, finally glancing up from his Ichaicha Tendou booklet, a bored look crossing his masked features once again as he looked on, utterly disinterested, while the last sand-colored chakra flames licked the infant’s tiny being and then died out; satisfied, Gaara slowly removed his hands off the child’s skin, sensing his raw, potent chakra being absorbed and mingling with Shukaku’s and then lying dormant within, waiting to be subconsciously activated.
“Kakashi-sensai, how do you know it’s been a success? The ritual, I mean, what if-”
“Dimwitted as you ever were, Naruto. I suppose it’s to be expected.” Ignoring Naruto’s furious glare as he crossed his arms over his chest, Kakashi turned towards the infant, the florescent lighting fixtures danced virulently off of a shuriken he held in his free hand; the cold steel seemed to almost cackle in a lethal, contagious glee with its pointed tip indicated just inches from the infant’s forehead.
In the instant of a breath, the shuriken was flung at the baby; with a high-pitched cry from the puerile girl, a wall of sand dispersed through the air and the shuriken was embedded within it; grains and pint-sized beads of the remnants of sand that was flexing into claw like postures swirled menacingly around her, as though the sand was silently daring the unwanted intrusion to strike again.
The girl giggled happily as she clenched and unclenched her tiny fists, unaware that had she been a normal child she would’ve faced a doubtless peril; Kakashi’s uncovered eye curved a bit as the shuriken clattered to the floor.
“There, Naruto. Undeniable proof that the binding ritual has been a successful transaction.”
“Hn.” They both looked sideways; Gaara stared down at the infant, his and Shukaku’s now newfound host, his fingers clasped with a bruising force unto his forearms, baring all his teeth as a faint grin etched into his visage, a demonic gleam of blood lust rippled through his insane glower.
“If anyone threatens her existence... I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”
~~Twenty Years Later~~
“Why do you always carry that huge bottle around?”
“...”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
“...”
“Why do you guys even bother talking to her? She’s a freak; the biggest and ugliest one I’ve ever seen. She won’t talk to anybody.”
“...”
“Aw, look at that, fellas! The witch is crying! Boo hoo!”
“...”
“I bet if anyone heard her speak, they’d tell her what an annoying voice she has. Isn’t that right, you little witch?”
“Hey, I bet she got her weirdness from her mother! You know what that means, witch?”
“...”
“It means that your mother’s a witch too. Why else would you carry that useless thing around all the time?”
“Hey, witch, we never caught your name. Or are you a retard who can only stand there and cry?”
“I bet it’s something that suits her.”
“Witch.”
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
“Whore.”
“Dyke.”
“Oh, wait a minute, I’m pretty sure I heard her sister call her-”
Someone is calling to me. Again. I sighed dismally to myself, watching as the pad of my index finger pressed down on one of the piano keys, a light ping resonated dully in my ears, filling my blank mind with a melancholic tune; my chin rested serenely in my free hand, knees drawn up to my chest and hugging my breasts.
Rain splattered the window’s glass panes hard, and thunder boomed and crashed in the distance with lightning illuminating the room every so often, the sky decorated with glommy gray clouds; elongated shadows stretched eerily from the grand mahogany piano I was seated in, blackened, charred shadows coloring the sickly white linoleum floor and murky, person-shaped similitudes with three-foot tongues licked the horridly polished surface.
Another ping echoed blankly throughout the room; my hand, fingers and all, hadn’t been the one to touch any of the piano keys, as it was dangling purposelessly next to the decently polished wooden bench, swaying in an invisible breeze.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Have a good first day at school, honey.”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Mommy, I don’t want to go to school. I don’t want to go to Kindergarten.”
“Why not, sweetheart? You’ll have fun there; much more than when you’re home. There’ll be other children there your age and the teacher is a very nice lady; if you have any trouble, any at all, you tell her and she’ll inform me. Okay?”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Promise, Mommy?”
“Of course I do, sweetie.”
“But... everyone will make fun of me...”
Something... something’s hissing?
That’s when the hushed whispering fluttered about the almost-soul-deprived-room began; a few heads lifted up from their tasteless, blandly-colored foodstuffs and Styrofoam cup littered plastic trays, unfaltering – yet surprisingly vacant – questioning stares were tossed so casually over yonder my way, I silently wished there was a bathroom utensil – a toilet, a urine tray, anything – that wouldn’t make me think twice before discharging vomit into the first thing (or onto the first person) within a three foot radius of my current position.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Get away from us, monster!”
“She’s a weirdo; don’t even look at her!”
“Freak! Freak!”
“Why don’t you just go away, witch?”
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
“Burn her at the stake!”
“Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
“You should do us all a favor: just die. Just die already! Witch!”
“... You all lied to her.”
“All of you.”
“Lies.”
“Liars will perish in the eternal flames of the Otherworld.”
“You humans call it ‘Hell’. Allow me to have the pleasure of sending every last one of you there. Screaming. Bones breaking. Skin tearing. Eyes popping. Blood gushing. I crave it; I crave it all. Let me feel it!”
The faculty staff, however, were less discerning in the attempt of keeping their hushed whispering and low-toned conversing to ear-straining undertones.
“... see her? Doesn’t talk to anybody. She doesn’t even look at anyone. She’s always sitting by her lonesome somewheres. No two places are the same for her; there’s no discreet pattern in her ‘round the clock surveillance to leave anyone able to predict where she’ll be next.”
“... isn’t that a bit... well, dissociative? I mean, if she doesn’t interact with anyone here...”
“Call it whatever you want, Genkins.”
“... believe psychiatrists would define that as bipolar disorder, or manic-depression.”
“... why she got transferred here in the first place?”
“Not a clue; the higher-ups say her files are strictly confidential.”
“... they say she has the unnatural ability to control sand.”
“... might strangle us to death.”
“... could be plotting everyone’s deaths as we speak.”
Someone’s near me; watching me. It’s always been like this for as long as I can remember; I must be the obsession of some demented stalker or something. Freaks.
--Well now, stalker wouldn’t be the nicest way you could’ve put it, puriti koishii.-- (4)
(--Back again I see.--)
--You know I’ve never left you alone for a moment; you have never known a peaceful second with me around.--
(--Unfortunate as that may be.--)
--Feh. I swear modern-day women aren’t as I remembered them. You know, back when I was living, women were less open-minded and more submissive; they knew when to keep their mouths shut.--
(--You’re pestering me again, Shukaku. Go away.--)
--What’s the matter, sweetheart? Not happy to hear from me?--
(--No.--)
--Well then, it’s too bad your feelings haven’t been developed to a mutual agreement with mine yet. Heh.--
(--What feelings could a perverse Tanuki like you possibly possess? The only feelings you experience from time to time is murderous intentions, sanguinary lust and, of course, let’s not forget your testy testicles that haven’t penetrated anything for, what, at least five hundred years?--)
--Why you little...--
(--Heh. That shut you up, didn’t it?--)
--No, I just couldn’t respond properly.--
(--Of course you didn’t.--)
--Yes, yes, you antisocial Jinchūriki. Now can you stop being a bad girl to your ever-faithful Sand Demon and turn around, and see what that nurse with the big breasts wants, or can your half-mad mind not process such a simple task?--
(--... What?--)
--Don’t say anything more and just turn around, you idiotic dolt.--
“Lunchtime is over, honey.” the nurse chirped in a sugary-sweet, cavity-inflicting tone as she grinned from ear to ear, the smile faltering a tad seeing I was staring impassively at her tiny feet sheathed comfortably in some kind of hand-made slipper shoes; they were fashioned of a dark velvet-to-satin material, the heels and tips of the footwear elaborately decorated with blood-red roses, the only color besides her mane of angelic honey hair and wide chocolate brown pupils her lithe body sported.
All she needed was a pair of white shimmering wings and her lady bountiful sight would be complete.
She gave a soft ‘hem, hem’ as she cleared her throat, manicured nails fidgeting nervously with the breast-length, V-shaped neckline of her stark-white uniform. I mentally sighed as I compared the obvious physical differences we shared. I supposed I looked to be in the perfected, refined state of indifference and apathetic madness that benefited many of the insane asylum patients; my dark brown-to-black-hair draped lifelessly over my shoulders and hung lankly over my eyes, the sleeves of the dull blue robe covering the commonplace green nightgown and slippers dangled inanimately over my wrists.
Again, I sighed, musing over when I had first arrived here; I felt a smirk tugging harshly at the corner of my lips for a moment, then my face subconsciously reverted to the blank mask I had had on for virtually my whole life.
“My eyes, my EYES! My... my arms, too! They’re...”
I slowly got to my feet, dutifully following the too-peppy-to-be-normal nurse, hearing her padded slipper like shoes scuffling over the tiled floor as was my own feet, head lolling and eyes fixated so horridly, focused, on the nauseating red-and-blue squares I mildly wondered if my head would snap in two and then roll down the hall.
Finally we stopped in front of my padded cell: Room 616. Satan’s number; how ironic.
“Remember sweetie, your medicine time is in three hours, so don’t be late!” she exclaimed none too softly before turning on her heels and sashaying down the opposite corridor.
I opened the door and stepped inside, pausing before shutting the door and bolting it shut; white surrounded me on all fours, even the ten-inch-by-eight-inch mirror hanging above the porcelain sink was shielded by the bleach-white cushioning. I mentally sighed, then absentmindedly ran my tongue over my teeth; I should’ve brushed them at breakfast.
Stalking over to the mirror, I snatched the tube of toothpaste and toothbrush out of the cup with the multi-colored aquamarine creatures slap-sticked on with the creativity of a four year-old, watching the light green paste flow over the white bristles.
Three minutes and sixteen intervals of spitting saliva-coated toothpaste into the glistening white sink later, I threw my head back and swished the ice-cold lungful of water in my mouth, my face scrunching up in sheer confusion before spitting the water-toothpaste concoction out into the sink, eyes never leaving the ethical, polished surface of the reflective mirror; then, slowly, my pupils grew dilative as my irises shrank, something they had never done before; lips parting slightly as a light of newfound curiosity with a tinge of fearful awe glimmered faintly in my eyes.
A pair of jade green eyes stared coldly back at me.
Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss
Oh no... the sand wants to get out again... It wants blood... wants to kill...
(1) For those of you who don’t know, genjutsu are simply illusionary techniques that use the chakra in the victim’s nervous system to create illusions; basically, they are advanced intellectual ninjustu. Those with special abilities like the Uchiha clan’s Sharingan or those with high intelligence have an easier time executing and countering against genjutsu, since attention is key. The most common genjutsu is phantasms – rendering the targeted person(s) five senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell and/or feel) to go haywire, making them feel sensations that aren’t really there in order to manipulate them.
In this case genjutsu is used to make people who are insignificant to the necessities of the task at hand (such as the sealing jutsu ceremony) end up having their senses react to the genjutsu at a more powerful level, as they are affected more so than usual; simply put, they cannot see the incorporeal beings unless the person who cast the genjutsu lets their guard down, or their chakra levels dwindle too quickly. I hope that clarified a few things.
(2) Jinchūriki – Those within whom have a tailed beast sealed inside them are referred to as Jinchūriki (literally Power of Sacrifice) or simply hosts, and grow up exhibiting extraordinary powers. In some cases, they are stronger than the tailed beast they possess; this is because they have the knowledge necessary to control the tailed beast’s strength, whereas an non-sealed beast will more than likely lack the intelligence required to do so.
(3) Shukaku’s and Gaara’s chakra melding together may show to be faulty, unnecessary at best; this is because during nights in which the full moon has risen, Shukaku seems to exhibit more of a profound blood lust than usual and is able to nearly possess Gaara, or at least drive him to commit murder willingly or otherwise, leaving Gaara to see the moon as violence-inducing rather than serene or relaxing (this is based solely on my own opinion, so you may ignore that if you’d like).
(4) Puriti Koishii – Pretty Darling. Ain’t gonna get much simpler than that.