Thanks to Seguchi-san for reading and being a general
general annoyance when I'm trying to write; Usagi-chan
for reading and demanding more. And to my Iruka, who
did what no one else could do without even trying.
The impact of the frayed bamboo canes left blushing streaks in its wake - incongruent lines which swelled and wept over the length of his back. Hemp ropes bound his arms behind him, circling his upper shoulders, looping several times around his neck. Coarse woven fibers scratched and bit as the ropes were pulled taut, eroding layers of skin.
They stood resolutely at his left and right, each with an end of the rope gripped tightly in their sweaty hands. Nameless faces with perpetual grins.
He could still feel the prick of the needle in his arm, a lingering sting which reinforced the precariousness of his predicament. The moment the plunger was forced down he had felt his chakra wane. Even now he held his upper torso unsteadily upright, his frame slanting forward as he knelt naked on the ground, bare legs pitted with dents where stones had nested. Turning his head, he caught a glimpse of the instrument held by a third person behind him, his body jerking forward as it collided with his back. Twin sticks of bamboo were joined together at the base, wrapped in leather. Tightly wound strips of cloth further reinforced the cohesion. The tips were splintered, blooming outward in thin wooden petals.
The shinobi shifted his weight as much as the restrictive pressure of the ropes would allow, agitated. It was the itch that got to him - the maddening twitch which arose at regular intervals wherever pearls of blood had crept downward and stagnated. Pain was a different matter. Pain was fluid and multi-dimensional; a teacher, a priest, and a poet. It discouraged physically detrimental acts by implementing practical restrictions and establishing boundaries. To broaden these boundaries was divine. The body as well as the mind was strengthened and reinforced with sturdier materials, resurrected anew on a steadier base. It sometimes left reminders, scars which told epic tales with a single streak, and turbulent dents found only beneath the surface.
To Hatake Kakashi it was merely there.
Handfuls of coarse sand were applied to the gashes, rubbed against each wound until the blood stopped flowing. He kept his sharingan eye closed, lacking the chakra required to use it. The ropes tightened around his neck and he was tugged forward roughly. For a moment the flow of oxygen to his lungs was cut. Kakashi balanced on the knobs of his knees, cautiously urging his weight back until the dubious nature of his stance was reversed. The ropes slackened and he inhaled deeply, directing an annoyed glance at the men.
A quietness pervaded. Kakashi shook a stone free from his knee and watched it skitter across the floor.
The bamboo canes rose and fell, flared bristles tearing at his back, violating new territory. They struck him at their leisure, switching off and taking turns, moving progressively downward, stopping old wounds to make room for the new. When they reached the base of his spine he heard footsteps. The scent of blood and sweat mingled with traces of perfume. Honey and lavender.
She approached him from the front, pitch-coloured hair drawn tightly into a bun, perched upon her head. Several tendrils of dark hair hung loosely, descending past her chin, framing her pale face. The corners of her mouth extended into a Cheshire grin. A dainty hand settled upon his chin.
"Tell me where he is, Kakashi-kun," she stated. Her voice was soft and gentle, like the touch of her fingers. "Your flagrant heroism is no longer necessary."
Ignoring her stare, the light-haired ninja remained silent. She did not look familiar to him and neither she nor the others wore distinguishing marks of any kind. Her accent was a blend of many.
Studying him intently, she brought her body closer, cupping the side of his face. "Kakashi-kun, you must forgive our methods. We desire only your co-operation. Your integrity is admirable, but it will not remain in-tact for long. Give us what we need and this ends now. You may be permitted to die with honour or live life anew."
She tilted her head to the side and followed Kakashi's gaze to the wall, breathing a soft snort, "You don't want to play this game with me, Kakashi. I will do everything it takes to find out what you know. Even a boulder can be ground into dust, given enough time and enough force. There are no exceptions."
Kakashi turned his head slowly. His focus shifted to the woman, regarding her with a bored stare. "Hmn? Did you say something?"
She smiled complacently, seething on the inside, fingers catching in the wayward strands of Kakashi's hair, curling tight against her palm, tugging his head back. He saw now that her skin was almost transparent, riddled with lines of blue wherever the veins stood stark; tiny rivers in a glass case.
"Well, now," the woman declared, relinquishing neither her grip nor her gaze from Kakashi. "I understand it's quite an honour to see the man behind the mask."
The Konoha ninja shrugged vacantly, followed by a glance at his bare legs, alternating his weight from one to the other. "I wouldn't let it go to your head. I thought clothing was optional."
"We do like to keep things informal," she replied, cheeks flushing warmly as she grinned fiercely. "Come on, I'll show you around." Stringing her thumbs through the loops on her pants, the woman exited the room through a stone arch-way. The sweet fragrance of her perfume lingered in her absence.
She had not volunteered her name and Kakashi possessed no intention of requesting it. He thought of her merely as Kijo - Demoness.
The men at his sides jerked him abruptly into an upright position. His feet had drifted off to sleep sometime after Kijo's arrival and now prickled painfully.
His escorts paused frequently, tugging violently in opposing directions, one man pulling Kakashi's arms back while the other two yanked his head forward, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. Both shoulders were wrenched from their sockets and Kakashi bowed his head low to the ground, focusing on the sound of running water.
They were at least a hundred feet underground and the air tasted stale. The only light came from tall vertical lamps positioned in the corners and along the walls. They were a generic type and could be found anywhere, fed by a power generator which hummed constantly in the distance.
When they reached their destination Kijo was standing there waiting, hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed in their direction, silently reprimanding the men for taking so long.
A stream erupted from a hole in the wall, behind it only blackness and endless murmurs. No more than a foot deep, the water snaked through the chamber, coiling around isolated pools and rock formations. Its bottom was resplendent with jagged crystals - amethyst and quartz.
Swirling mineral concoctions brewed in the pools close to the water's edge. An occasional bubble rose to the surface, spraying a milky green substance when it popped.
Kakashi was forced to a kneeling position in the midst of the stream. The warm water slithered past his bare frame, barely covering his knees. Sharp, concentrated prickles littered the lengths of his legs, invoked by the spiky rocks beneath. One of the men remained at his back while the larger of the other two stood in front.
The jounin listened to the babble of rushing water in the background; enigmatic banter conducted by countless hurried tongues. He eavesdropped while the man in front leapt forward, bare feet landing hard against Kakashi's thighs, chakra-bound. The sudden, violent increase in mass smashed the jounin's legs into the bed of crystal. Laughing, the man jumped from his perch, quickly returning with a large, flat rock in both arms, struggling with its weight. Depositing the heavy stone in Kakashi's lap, he then adroitly sprang upon its surface. He danced and bounced. Ribbons of blood unraveled down the length of the stream, fed by the puncture wounds. Kakashi sat quietly, bent forward, and listened. It seemed to him that water spoke more freely in the dark.
When they dragged Kakashi ashore Kijo checked to ensure he was still conscious. Shades of white peered through the embattled flesh, a wink of bone. Rivulets of blood escaped without restraint.
Kijo grasped Kakashi's chin, squeezing it tightly. The veins in her hands became more prominent. He opened an eye, stared, and said nothing. She loosened her grip, setting her free hand upon his shoulder, popping the joint back into place. "We're going to take very good care of you, Kakashi. You will not die trying to spare Konoha from the inevitable. When you tell us what you know, you will become strong again - healthy. You will lack nothing you possess today, and gain what is currently beyond your reach. To us you will be much more than a servant who kills for their pay, a whore for the feeble masses." He heard his other shoulder pop. She took a step back, clasping her hands together, regarding him reverently. "We would be most grateful to have you."
The light-haired ninja yawned and battled back a surge of dizziness, "Not interested."
"Not now you're not," Kijo replied, breaking into lilting laughter. "But you will be."
Signaling with a sweep of her arm, Kijo departed the way she'd come. Without granting Kakashi the opportunity to attempt walking, the men forced him to the frigid floor and dragged him to their next destination.
A wooden stove crackled in the corner of the room. Kakashi was left in the centre, sticky with blood. He struggled into an awkward seated position and watched.
Kijo approached with a heated kunai, its handle bound in bamboo to avoid scalding friendly fingers. The tip of the dark metal was aglow with orange. The man nearest to Kakashi seized the jounin's left leg, holding it out. Kijo bent forward, examining the damage. "How terrible," she scolded, talking aloud, her tongue clicking softly against the roof of her mouth. "We can't allow these wounds to fester. I meant it when I said we were going to take care of you."
Her smile was radiant.
Kijo's aim was deliberately crude as she cauterized the wounds on Kakashi's legs, utilising the flat contours of the weapon, sealing each gash independently. She delighted in each stroke, watching the flesh darken beneath it, the blade shifting its focus to another spot before it burned too deeply.
Kakashi fought constantly to mask any indication of displeasure, finding it harder to lose himself amongst distraction. Even when the scorching metal was removed from the surface of his skin the burning remained, an immobile seed planted deep within.
Every time he jerked back too far or made any sound indicative of pain the woman would twirl the kunai, sending it plunging downward, striking the flesh between his toes. The blade was then guided backward, splitting the skin further, until it slid free from its target.
She always voiced the same warning, "Stay still."
Pain. Nausea. Grilled flesh. An atypical day at the office.
They couldn't kill him. The dead tended to be less helpful when it came to gathering useful information. More importantly, and most confusingly, he had no idea what they wanted. He also knew they would never believe the truth.
Where is he? Where is who? Not a clue in hell. Is this how escaped mental patients are occupying themselves these days? What happened to rambling soliloquies on street corners? There's nothing that …
Thinking back, Kakashi mentally re-traced the day's events. He had left Konoha with several others in the early morning. The assigned mission was to free a crew of miners who were trapped in the midst of their labours when the mineshaft tumbled down, sealing them in.
Ninja bearing no identifying marks ambushed them little more than half-way to their target. The attack was sudden and without precedence. They were out-numbered and the enemy worked swiftly and meticulously to cripple their retreat. When Kakashi suggested that he remain and cover the others' escape, the protests were wild and furious. In the end, he gave them no choice.
To the enemy the break seemed volatile and unplanned - a simple case of ninja fleeing in a final attempt at preserving their lives. Having abandoned the side of their stronger comrade, they were cut down easily. Kakashi took off and the enemy followed him deeper into the woods.
An hour later the Konoha ninja awoke, alive and alone amid a scattering of bodies and weaponry. Blood had congealed on the grass. The last thing they could recall was Kakashi and the hypnotic swirling tomoe of the sharingan. Their bodies were made to look like that of the enemy, several of the many they'd managed to kill. The enemy had slaughtered their own comrades, believing them to be their target. The clever use of genjutsu was never suspected.
Kijo finally returned to the stove, extinguishing the flame. Kakashi placed his feet flat on the floor, legs bent in front of him.
Crazy bitch.
"It has occurred to me, as I'm sure it has occurred to you," the woman began, drawing the jounin's gaze, "that a viable remedy to these unfortunate circumstances would entail you ending your life. That would make for a disappointing conclusion, don't you think?"
She sat at his side, mimicking his posture, linking her arms around her knees. Smiling warmly, Kijo continued.
"You see, losing you would result in a catastrophic failure on our part. Our orders are absolute. You go nowhere until this matter is resolved, dead or alive. As such, we have afforded ourselves a little job security."
It was then that Kakashi noticed one of the men had left the room. When he returned the jounin felt the first pang of genuine panic.
Dark, disheveled hair covered much of the young girl's face, a curtain of tangles. She wore a tattered beige-coloured dress and gripped a stuffed brown rabbit by the ears. Matted fur overlapped the ridges of the animal's brown eyes, granting it a pained stare of morose sensitivity. The ears were as long as the rest of the body, hands and feet shrunk to a diminutive state, the torso round and well-fed - as wide as it was tall. When the girl looked up her black eyes were visible through her unruly hair, large and depthless.
Kijo reached for the little girl and patted her on the head, ignoring the child's vehement protests - a flurry of whirling arms and kicking feet, "Precious, isn't she?"
Kakashi stared in strangled silence.
"If you die, Kakashi - she dies."
The silence was countered only by the sound of Kakashi's breathing and the rhythmic drumming of his heart. The stone walls offered no indication of what dwelt beyond their borders, acting only as a container, coddling the dark. The blackness was an immaculate construction. There was no adjusting to its density - no brightening of his surroundings. It remained as it was.
An initial survey, painfully conducted by sitting on the frigid floor and pushing his weight around with his heels, revealed the room to be no more than twenty meters long and twenty meters wide. Kakashi could not detect the presence of a door. The walls were cool against his fingertips and varied in texture. Some areas were rocky and mountainous while others leveled into a smooth glass plane.
His chakra had not yet rekindled. All wounds were sealed shut.
To say the situation was bad would be an act of optimism.
Knowing nothing of when his captors intended to return, Kakashi occupied himself as productively as possible. The jounin rested, busying his mind with recalling each of the Ichaicha books by chapter and, later on, volume. Whole sentences entrenched in his memory were drawn out, laid bare for inspection. The familiar text re-emerged as an ideal form of distraction.
Kakashi paused between Ichaicha Paradise and Ichaicha Tactics, struck by the sudden realisation that yet another copy of the infamous material had been sacrificed in the line-of-duty. The number of books lost to this bitter fate on an annual basis would surprise many. Once confined to field-work, it was only a matter of time. Over the last decade Kakashi's books had been impaled, pounded, squished, mutilated, set alight, drowned, dissected, exploded, buried, lost, and in one rather unfortunate occasion, digested. He classified his recent loss as a hostage crisis.
I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Just give my fucking book back.
The thought amused him for a while.
He was stretched out on the floor when he first smelled the food. The scent assaulted his senses unexpectedly, having not seen or heard anything previously to indicate its presence. Crawling to the other end of the room, he brushed his hands across the floor, locating its source.
Kakashi could not tell exactly what he was eating. The taste was unique and unsatisfying, as if the flavour had been deliberately discarded. This was not cause for complaint, given the circumstances, and he ate with as much gratitude as he could manifest. The miniscule amount of chakra which had accumulated in his body evaporated almost immediately, leaving him with only enough to perform the most basic of functions. It was not unexpected, but disheartening nonetheless. Aside from that he felt quite full and his stomach fell into a state of quiet contentment.
Possessing only a dim awareness of time under the best of circumstances, Kakashi was easily lost. There was no pattern to the feedings. Sometimes there was food and sometimes there was not. Only a dip of water (placed near the hole which served as the bathroom) was constantly kept full. He could sleep five times and find no food, or sleep once and locate several helpings.
When he slept there was no way of gauging whether the period of slumber had lasted for five hours or fifteen. Days ceased to hold their significance and the food began to seem exceptionally long in coming. It was after one such meal that the act of sleeping took on elusive properties. He barely had the strength to hold his pale body in a seated position and still the condition persisted. The number of times he re-traced the antics of Ichaicha's protagonists became obscene and his sleep-starved mind was easily confused. Too many things were forgotten. Names and events were shifted around and forced into new locations. Quotes were placed out-of-context. People changed partners mid-orgasm. Certain events began to register with unfamiliarity, causing him to question whether or not they had happened at all.
Kakashi took to ticking off the seconds, stalking the passage of time with predatory precision. He rattled off numbers even when they no longer held any significance.
13, 24, 12, 11, 72.
It was something to do.
His wounds healed, burdening him with the insatiable itch of mending flesh, eventually leaving only written documentation of their birth; stark lines and hasty strokes
The stars were not peaceful; their light was not manufactured by glittering crystal wands waved over platters of sugar cubes and tulips or majestic unicorn horns. There was no magical generator gracing a flawless visage, no fairy dust or divine alchemy. Instead the astral bodies were sweltering infernos marred by blisters erupting in flame, burning brightly enough to reach distant eyes. It was a life of discord and tedium.
Kakashi searched the sky, scanning its speckled quadrants, eventually setting an eye on one star in particular, an orange flicker in the dark. It vanished unexpectedly, swallowed by the pitch. Light long-since extinguished , only now had the message translated through the vast expanse of space - a delayed telegraph.
It reminded him of something.
Burning embers caught the breeze and skirted the dry grass, setting the stalks aflame. Summer seeds crackled and ruptured. A spark grazed the contour of Kakashi's masked cheek, marking the fabric with a blackened dot.
Misshapen figured huddled together in balls of incandescent light; protests personified in flame.
Leaning forward, he settled his weight against the fence, enfolding his arms across the top. How different things would be if his allegiance was owed not to the tyrannical diamyo but the peasants smouldering in the field. The former possessed the resources to acquire his assistance. The latter did not.
The deceptively serene glow disappeared, all traces lost to the dark.
In the morning the bodies would be mixed in with the soil.
The stars looked different to him after that.
Self-immolation.
Mass suicide.
A protest for each star; a sky entrenched in injustice.
For what reason do you burn?
As if immersed in the depths of space, Kakashi's lungs began thrashing wildly for oxygen, straining hard against his chest. It did no good to remind himself that it was only a dream. His body thought differently. All the stars went out at once.
Kakashi awoke sputtering and coughing harshly, ejecting a fountain of water from between his parted lips, dizzy and half-blind. It took a long time for his eyes to adjust to the lights, as dim as they were, and he laid dripping on the cave floor.
It hurt to breathe. He could hear laughter in the background.
"Did you enjoy that?" a female voice inquired.
Clearing his throat roughly, the jounin sat-up, rubbing the back of his neck, "That question would be more appropriate in bed." His light hair adhered to his pale skin in damp tendrils.
Kijo scoffed and twirled a hand dismissively. "I've heard drowning described as the best way to die. I figured you could give us your thoughts on the matter."
"Beats your company by a nudge."
"I'm so glad." Smiling widely, she strolled across the cavern. The three men loomed behind him, one of which stepped forward to bind the Konoha ninja's arms and legs with a coil of bloodied rope.
The jounin sighed, resting his chin against the ridge of his collarbone. "If your goal is to drive me mad with boredom you're doing a good job of it."
"Oh, we don't want you mad, Kakashi-kun. We need you sane," replied the woman, drawing nearer again. "Partially, at least."
Kakashi stared her down, driving the weariness from his gaze.
She laughed girlishly, twisting a wooden pole into a second component - a strange-looking sphere. The ball itself appeared to be composed of damp moss, with occasional rough patches. From each of these patches arose a spiny bone-like tube, hollow in the middle. It smelled strong and acrid.
"Since you're so desperate for entertainment, this should keep you busy for a while. Besides, we do have an objective to meet." Kijo grabbed hold of the jounin's face, nails driving into his cheeks. "When you've had enough, that's all you have to say. 'Enough'. One word. Shouldn't be too difficult to manage, depending on how well you cope. I look forward to hearing from you." She smiled again and sauntered behind him.
Once again Kakashi directed his attention at the water pouring into the room. He wondered where it came from and where it led. When the blow came he winced and gritted his teeth hard.
The instrument had been smashed into his back and the tubes on that side of the sphere dug deep into the skin. Kijo held it in position as if she was waiting for something. After tearing out the spikes she repeating the process numerous times. When she was finished Kijo handed the instrument to one of the men. He grasped it reverently and escorted it from the room. The blood drizzling down his back made Kakashi itch. This was still the part that annoyed him the most.
"Do you know what that was?" Kijo asked. The haughty tone in her voice revealed she knew he had no clue.
"No, but from the look of it you should clean out your fridge more often."
Bending down, she whispered in his ear. "Remember. 'Enough.'" She departed swaying her hips.
Kakashi barely felt the blunt object making contact with his temple.
He awoke in his room again, unbound in the cold and the dark, harbouring a monstrous headache.
Refusing to consign his muscles to a state of atrophy, he forced his limbs into a state of mobility despite their immediate protests. He stretched and balanced, using the walls as support when the need arose. It was mindless and it kept him occupied.
Kakashi ate and slept, lying on his stomach upon awakening. It felt as if he'd been pinned to the ground but a sweep of his hand revealed there was nothing there. The crushing boulder was a phantom, but the force and pressure were real.
His movement was awkward and stiff and he tired faster than usual, prompting the light-haired man to lie down again. Whether he sat or stood the feeling was the same. Shrill muscle spasms struck, dull at first, but increasing in fervour. An excruciating ache which spanned the entirety of his frame soon complimented the tremors. Each agonizing jolt accompanied a sharp metallic twinge, cold at one moment and burning the next.
With the pain came the growth of calcium spires, rigid and immobile, creeping forth from the holes gouged in his flesh. At the bottom of each hole dwelt a white furry mass akin to a small piece of cotton. Tiny hair-like projections stemmed from the wispy bulk, spreading throughout Kakashi's nervous system, bathing nerve endings in silvery secretions. Damaged axons and the burn-out of inhibitory neurons increased the intensity of the crippling affliction.
Whenever Kakashi began to tell himself that it couldn't get any worse, it did. There was no saturation point or development of tolerance. The agony was unrelenting.
Often he huddled in the corner, shaking violently, each excruciating sting tearing a cry from the depths of his throat.
As his condition worsened, the hardened spires rising from his back became too long to allow Kakashi to comfortably position himself against the wall. He knelt instead, adapting a continual rocking motion, contemplating what it meant to tolerate the intolerable. There was a point at which physical strength became less significant than the condition of one's psychological state. It was not muscle which would carry him through. It didn't matter how fast he was or how many techniques he knew. His mental focus was to be the determining factor, and it was his inherently stubborn streak which enabled him not to tolerate, but to endure. Rebel. Refuse. Resist.
By the time the grievous growths reached their full height the ninja had attained a state of delirium.
His thoughts were tangled and frequently truncated. An overwhelming feeling of despair over-ruled any sense of optimism, generating a violent compulsion toward concession, yet he continued to fight.
How do you know when you've gone crazy? Does having the ability to ask that question make you sane, or does asking such a thing in the first place indicate that you're clearly crazy? What is crazy? I read somewhere that it's officially a state-of-mind whereby the patient operates without any knowledge of the passing of time. If that's the case, I was born crazy.
The tips of his fingers found the wall, and as they played upon its contours a mental projector began to display the topography. It was clearly visible and its features were exaggerated, making them appear three-dimensional.
A rock inclined in a steady slope before tapering off, preceding a sudden drop. Ripples dwelt beneath it, fanning outward in waves. The surface was a distorted mirror, catching flashes of light and colour. An ocean of mangled reflections. Salt in the air. Kakashi traced the rocky plain leading back to the cliff and along the track which lead to the escarpment.
What else?
Several trails diverged from the pebbled path. The first advanced in a series of knotted twists, ending at a hollowed contour in the wall. It was a part of the surrounding landscape yet distinct, elevated above ground, curving smoothly inward. A place of worship and confusion. A temple carved in stone.
From the original path a small village arose. Each building was placed in accordance with the layout of the wall. Lumps of granite translated into houses, a school, and a few stores.
There was one area he could make no particular use of - a large empty space surrounded by hills, flat and smooth, devoid of topical imperfections, resided not far from the village. Of all the trails, there was only one which ended here; a craggy canyon conveyed by a slanting crack. For now he left it as an open space, acres of meadow and sunshine.
He turned his attention to the absent population. Having long-since reached the point of disarray, the jounin's languishing mental health acquired a position of helpful navigator. Each character arose functional and fully-formed, and as Kakashi visualised the scene they acted without his consent, setting about their daily routines while he watched unaware of what might happen next.
It was raining now and the children at the playground dug trenches with their rubber boots - muddy canals which channeled the water away from the puddles and into intricate patterns. Several stood in-line, hoods tugged over their faces, paying the admission fee of one yellow flower to a classmate who then permitted them to zoom down the slippery slide. One girl in a pink raincoat rested her stomach upon the band of a swing, fingers gliding through the water as she pushed back and forth with her feet.
Up the road from the school was a blue house. The grass was freshly cut and the hedges neatly trimmed. A row of peonies lined the walk-way. A stick-like man with dark hair bent over the flowers, watering them with care as the rain dampened his clothing.
Inside, his wife shuffled through the pages of the newspaper, a cup of jasmine tea in one hand. She came to an article on unemployment overseas, discussing the effect it had on a surging homeless population. A hand slid between her legs. For as long as she could remember, she'd had a fetish for homeless people.
Kakashi laughed lightly. The action felt foreign and left a queasy feeling in his stomach.
Down the block lived a young girl who wore her brown hair down to her waist. The empty notepad in front of her was neglected. Instead her focus was on the window, watching the droplets slide down the pane. Each time they started as one, accumulating mass as it strolled along the glass, becoming a combination of many, losing itself among the others.
On the other side of town, an un-shaven man rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 10: 30 in the afternoon. Today he was a hygienist proudly sporting a growth of whiskers and new tie. Every night at 11:11 PM he became someone new.
The jounin's hand shifted outward, falling upon the fields on the outskirts of town. The soaking hills gave way to a nest of mangled trees, their branches bearing the first indication of spring. Countless pupas hung suspended from the trees, presided over carefully by a nearby figure. Kakashi wasn't sure what it was, or was supposed to be, only that it resembled a conglomeration of mechanical parts strewn together in vague resemblance of a man. It held a sign reading, "I am not for sale".
This was better than television.
A lone worshipper occupied the temple shrine, a gray-haired woman in a reverent bow, palms pressed together in prayer. She did not move.
There was one last addition to the notable figures of the nameless village and it took Kakashi by surprise.
Even from a distance he could tell who it was; the dark hair, unfortunate penchant for orange, and goggles gave it away. The Uchiha boy appeared mindless of the rain, skipping about with his hands in his pockets. His expression was that of smug contentment.
Kakashi's fingertip followed the other's footsteps toward the school. Once he got there the dark-haired boy propped himself against the fence, grinning. A small mud-encrusted student ran to greet him, staring upward, curiosity readily apparent, "Didya get the job, Obito? Didya?"
"Yup," the boy replied, expression unchanging, fingertips dusting the back of his neck as he stretched his arms behind his back. "It's not a title they give to just anyone, you know. It commands respect. Everywhere I go people will say, "There goes Obito. He's the one who feeds the butterflies."
The jounin slumped to the side, felled by a fit of convulsions and loss of consciousness. His hand remained against the wall.
Kakashi parted the dense brush and beheld the source of disturbance. A pair of elephants stood in a clearing. The larger of the two reared, trumpeting viciously, striking the smaller animal with its trunk. Dust stirred as the infant tumbled to the ground, legs splayed defenselessly. Meek protests arose in response to the continued beating. It was said that a bully would tire of a victim who showed no response, bored by the lack of resistance. Kakashi knew otherwise. Now the elephant knew it, too. There were those who favoured the weak for this very reason.
His palms were slick inside his leather gloves, sweating from the jungle heat. The small elephant flopped on its side, tail flicking idly at the dirt, its chest swelling in sporadic bursts. There was blood in its eyes, in its mouth, drying on its leathery flesh, attracting flies.
There was a final thump before the younger twisted its bulk into a standing position, knees wavering with uncertainty. It sounded off, brassy and shrill, smacking the underside of the other's jaw with its trunk, ears fanning. Though it had finally summoned the courage to fight the animal was not about to await repercussion and took off running, paving a path through the forest, branches snapping and falling broken in its wake.
Furious, its tormentor gave chase. Kakashi followed. He reached the bank of a river where the footsteps disappeared. The water was the colour of wilted lilacs, brushing lazily past his sandaled feet. Tiny pebbles caught in-between his toes.
A series of splashes revealed that he was no longer alone. The larger elephant, much grander up-close than from a distance, stared at him intently. The pink flesh at the tip of its trunk, speckled with dark spots, hovered near his nose. He stood still, unable to do otherwise. When the elephant struck he was thrown backward into the current, carried a short distance by the waves. Drawn beneath the surface, he could see the thin layers of ice forming atop the water, fragmented segments welding together in a single sheet. The larger elephant plodded by overhead, blurred, shape and form distorted by the ice, its colours less real. He was merely an observer. Nothing more.
He awoke surrounded by petals.
The inelastic, bone-like protrusions stemmed from Kakashi's back like over-sized porcupine quills, extending several feet into the air. Small blue flowers had sprouted from their ivory-coloured tips in the midst of his slumber. The petals had a waxy, papery texture, thin and fragile in appearance, yet deceptively tough. Even folding them was fruitless; they always reverted back to their original shape.
Having reached its pinnacle, the pain was feral and animalistic in its attempts to instill further misery, blinding and incapacitating. It fought with a passion only the dying could muster. Kakashi listened to the manic beating of his heart. He wondered how long the organ could continue to beat as fast as it was before it burst.
He drew his knees against his chest, rocking manically, speaking aloud to himself.
Pain is the great sculptor; that which makes us who we are. It moulds and shapes a shell around our backs, enabling us to cope when the perfect is suddenly found to be imperfect; when the truths we've been lead to believe are stripped away, revealing the foundation of lies that dwells beneath them. All it asks in return is the pleasure of physical control, dictating when we sit, when we stand, how often we fall, how fiercely we bleed, how loudly we scream.
We've sold our souls for the privilege of knowing the world we live in is a barbaric wasteland that cuts through dreams like stalks of wheat.
A tirade of soliloquies.
The flowers withered and died. The spires took on a feeble, sickly tilt. Kakashi grabbed each of the protrusions from the base and up-rooted it, tearing the stalks from his back.
Unable to stop the bleeding, it wasn't long before he collapsed.
"Get off," Kakashi grumbled, imparting the message in a scarcely half-awake tone. In his sleep-addled mind he was back in Konoha, occupying his own bed and the shifting, warmth beside him could mean only one thing. He turned over, fluffing the pillow beneath him with one hand, shoving the affectionate mass with the other. "Damn dog."
The animal obstinately wriggled back to his side.
Kakashi slid a foot down the length of the bed. The sheets were soft and pleasantly cool against his heel.
A soft panting hovered near to his ear and the jounin splaying his fingers, palm pressing against the canine's face, pushing it away. Sharp teeth clamped around his hand in response, gnawing playfully. Kakashi opened an eye in annoyance.
Dark eyes stared at him, glinting in accordance with the grin which dwelt further down the length of the young girl's pale face. He tugged his hand back hurriedly, sitting up partially, bumping into the wall beside him - white with a smooth, rubbery texture. He stared at the girl, fingertips dusting the back of his neck. "I hope you've had your shots."
Giggling melodiously, she head-butted his chest, clinging tightly to his forearms. She too was held against her will; he recognised her from Kijo's threat that the child's life was contingent upon his own.
Disoriented, Kakashi looked around. The size of the room was familiar. The colour and snowy fluorescent glow of the tiny lights overhead was not.
A thick mattress resided beneath him, covered with flimsy cotton sheets. The surrounding temperature was neutral, neither too hot nor too cold.
Grey sweatpants clung to his thin hips. Thick layers of bandage wrapped around his bare chest.
"I want a biiiig dog, who drools lots," his companion exclaimed suddenly, bouncing on her knees, holding her arms apart to demonstrate the enormity of space. It didn't take long for her to latch back on to his arms. "He can stay in my room and scare the bad people away. I don't care if he sleeps on my bed."
"And if he snores and takes up the bed, what then?" Kakashi asked, studying the girl curiously.
She smiled at him as if they'd been friends for years. "I'll snore louder!"
"Slobbers on your pillow?"
"Slobber right back! Make it gooey and gross! I'll show him who's boss!"
"Eats your slippers?"
She uttered a strangled gasp of revulsion, looking quite horrified, "Give him a silly fur-cut! But then I'd rub his tummy until he felt better. Slippers are yucky and taste like feet." Tilting her head to the side, she hugged the stuffed brown rabbit, snuggling it between her cheek and shoulder. "My daddy said Kassou-kun has treats in his tummy." Her face scrunched into youthful folds, grinning in amusement. "And if I have him close he'll keep me safe."
The small child tugged incessantly on Kakashi's wrist. "I'm Mae, that's me! My daddy grows piggies. The baby ones are the cutest." Pressing her nose flat against her face, she made a series of sound effects which could be mistaken for either a chorus of pigs or a tiger with a sinus infection. "Sometimes he lets me ride them." Her lips came together lightly and her focus fell to the surface of the bed, head drooping. "They're noisy …"
"Do you know the best way to trap a pig?"
Mae shook her head in silence, elevating her gaze.
"Put it in a blanket." Kakashi tossed a sheet over her head, tugging one end underneath her frame, forming a neat package and lifting it from the bed, contents held tight. The trapped animal squealed and kicked, laughing loudly as it was swung about. Eventually, the blanket was placed gently back upon the bed and unraveled.
Mae laid flat with her tongue protruding from the side of her mouth. "Uwah. Fun for the piggy." Getting up, she crawled to wear Kakashi sat, gripping his hand. "If a piggy can get free, can we get free, too?"
"We'll work together."
Her head came to rest against his shoulder and she smiled.
It was only with the inclusion of a nearly permanent companion that Kakashi grew weary of being alone. The agitation and frustration which arose with knowing something was missing was new pain congealed in an old wound; familiar, yet mutated beyond its original construction. Kakashi's secondary career was that of being alone - a bi-product of his primary function as a shinobi. This lifestyle had long-since been accepted as-is, without thought or complain. It was because of this that the craving for human companionship struck him with confusion and discontent.
Occasionally, the jounin would awaken to find Mae gone; being robbed of her laughter and constant chatter left him reluctantly anticipating her return. This resulted in a cycle of disappointment and elation. When she re-appeared it was always while he was sleeping.
Mae revealed that during these periods of absence she was held for questioning, grilled repeatedly on whether or not Kakashi had disclosed anything useful to their cause.
Has he mentioned why he was captured?
Because you're stupid.
Does he talk in his sleep?
He's grouchy.
What does he say?
Grouchy things.
Give me an example.
Yells at his dogs.
What else?
I forget.
These sessions left her in a foul mood, and she would pace the room, pouting one moment, scowling the next, feet stomping for emphasis. When she thought something, she said it. When she felt something, she broadcasted it with dramatic fervour.
Mae's affinity for physical contact was compulsive and she clung so frequently to Kakashi that he took to calling her "little monkey". In the beginning, the forced closeness was strange and discomforting, and after their initial meeting Kakashi fought to shed her weight with each insurgence. The more she was over-powered - being a small, frail thing - the more persistent she became. After a while it was no longer worth the energy required to deter her. She slept sprawled out across his back, rolling him onto his stomach when his position did not accommodate such.
She actively provided Kakashi with distraction and amusement. They tossed the rabbit between them, catching it by the ears. Mae beat him about the head with the animal when she wished to awaken him. Sheets were torn off the bed and pulled off their heads, converted into tents which shook with the wind and filtered the howls of wolves in the night. They battled vicious water demons and chased dragons. In the end, they were always victorious.
When Kakashi slept the weight beside him was reassuring. It softened his dreams and calmed his nerves. Mae would match her breathing with his, waiting until she knew Kakashi to be asleep before closing her eyes. One day, when the ability to sleep eluded him, Mae sang until the condition faltered.
A great and mighty turtle
Sailed smoothly with the wind.
His sails were made of silver
And his hold was full of gin.
He traveled all day and slept all night.
And when he got drunk he yelled,
"Round up your daughters and lock them up tight!"
When he awoke she was gone again. This time she did not return.
Kijo was speaking to him. For once he really wasn't paying attention. The words blended into their surroundings. Meaningless cacophony. Somewhere in the background a guard cursed, accompanied by sounds of a struggle. The other two entertained themselves with a card game, slapping the wax cards against the table. It was easy to tell who was winning. One laughed while the other swore.
The third guard continued his verbal tirade, struggling visibly with the fiery bundle in his arms. Mae flung herself about, screaming in protest, trying to wiggle free. Her constant shrieking echoed off the chamber walls.
Return to sender.
Mae's small fists pounded ferociously against the guard's exposed back and he dropped her as her foot made contact with his groin. He doubled over. The other men turned to look. For the first time their laughter was simultaneous.
Crawling for several paces, Mae then rose to her feet and ran the rest of the way to Kakashi. She fell to her knees alongside him, looping her arms around his neck. He was sticky with blood - the result of Kijo's affections. Mae's breathing was heavy and punctuated with wheezing gasps. Small hands settled upon Kakashi's cheeks, open palms contouring to their landscape, "I don't want them to hurt you any more."
"It's not for you to worry about," Kakashi replied, the instruction firm, though his gaze was soft.
Swollen, inky pools returned his stare and anguished tears rolled off her chin, pelting his shoulders. Mae sniffled and swiped at her eyes, blowing her nose on her dress. She moved behind the light-haired male, staring at the stiff coils of rope wrapped tightly around his wrists. She untied the brown rabbit, whose ears were knotted at her wrist, and reached for Kakashi's hand, grasping several of his fingers. A floppy ear was wedged between the pale digits. Patting the rabbit on the head, Mae stood up and placed a hand on Kakashi's shoulder, glaring at the occupants of the room. "You won't touch him again."
Kakashi expected them to laugh, but no one did. Kijo studied Mae in silence, expression blank. Her hand moved to her side, reaching for the leather pouch which dwelt there.
"Mae, get out of the way." When Kakashi issued a command, he expected it to be followed.
The young girl shook her head.
Kijo withdrew a kunai from the pouch, twirling it with nimble swoops of her finger.
"Move!"
"I won't."
"Kakashi," Kijo trilled, the metal weapon spinning faster now, leaving blurred streaks in the air. "I'd like to hear what you have to say."
Kakashi inhaled deeply.
Relax. Think.
"I can't tell you what I don't know. I'm not a fucking psychic. I would not sacrifice a child, not when the people of Konoha are capable of overcoming any difficulty presented by those of your caliber. You could learn anything you want and you would still fail. Stop wasting my time."
The kunai left Kijo's hand.
A spray of blood swept over Kakashi, casting warm rivers upon his frame. The fluid skittered along the surface of his skin, racing for the ground at a suicidal pace. Mae went limp and slumped against him, her throat an open flap which spoke in hues of red, expelling a steady stream of conversation. Gentle waves lapped against the side of Kakashi's torso, growing smaller with each surge.
Blood did not fall like water. Its density prohibited it from moving so freely. A drop of water on a puddle would rise and bloom, scattering in a fit of symmetrical dissolution. A drop of blood was hard-pressed to expand on contact, leaving but a rusty smear as proof of birth.
Kijo grabbed the small body by the neck and tossed it contemptuously to the side of the room, spattering the floor with a trail of blood. The scattering of a thousand crimson pearls.
Kakashi stared vacantly, devoid of all sensation. Empty. In less than a second he'd been split apart, his insides unraveled and tucked neatly away, organs pocketed, bones pounded into dust. The hollow space left behind was, stuffed with bundles of straw. Button eyes. Tattered clothing and a crooked hat. The ticking of a synthetic metronome filled the spot where his heart should be. To be entirely numb was to no longer feel human.
Kijo grabbed the discarded body by the arm, keeping the torso still with her foot, pulling until the shoulder snapped out of place. A firm jolt upward and the limb separated from its host. Kijo turned the arm over in her hands, approaching the jounin. She raised the appendage, grazing the line of his jaw with a lifeless hand. The tips of the tiny fingers had already begun to grow cold.
Shock was displaced, inviting a complex swarm of emotion, and with its departure came denial.
A harrowing stint with alternate reality; a hallucination; the ghost of something long-forgotten; the window of a dream. Any of these things were acceptable. The pool of blood encircling his bare knees was not.
There was nothing to it, only layers of illusion and deception.
This wasn't happening.
He remained still as the inanimate fingers skirted the ridge of his collar bone, wandering down the length of his chest, willed by a force outside their own. The digits dipped and wavered, migrating in unfamiliar patterns, fingertips accumulating a rich blanket of blood, shedding it as the extremities passed over the tiers of Kakashi's lips. His skin had a softness which came from limited exposure to the sun, especially his face, having been long protected from damaging rays that toughened the flesh and quickened the aging process, making the jounin appear younger than he was. His mouth was painted darkly.
It was not until he felt her lips upon his own that this became more real than he cared to accept. The truth, though utterly lacking in appeal, suddenly refused to be brushed aside or ignored. The tip of her tongue lapped gingerly at the bloody smear, striking the pigment from the contours of his lips.
His chest tightened in a manner which reminded him of drowning, with all the pain of fighting for oxygen allocated to signals of emotional distress and stifling constriction. Patterns of irregularity struck his breathing and a clog at the back of his throat made it difficult to swallow.
Kijo smiled and cupped the side of his face. He didn't struggle. She would have enjoyed the sight of it. No words were exchanged between them, there was only the light, continual pressure of the dainty hand; stiffening fingers which had once entangled with his own. Though he refrained from making any sound he could not stop shaking, swarmed by ardent tremors no warmth could quench.
"Her family is still alive, Kakashi. Remain with us and they'll stay that way." The woman took a step back. Kakashi furrowed his brow, turning his head to the side, staring at the wall. "Look at me," she hissed, smacking the side of his face with the stolen hand. He glared at her. "Don't be angry with me. It's your fault, Kakashi-kun. You're the reason for all this. I have to admit I'm a little impressed. I didn't think you had it in you to deny such a delicate creature their life. How many people have to die before you come to your senses?" She leaned in, tracing the bloodied line of his neck with the stiffening digits. "You should seriously consider behaving yourself. You'll never have to look back, never have to suffer." Smiling serenely, she parted her lips and raised a finger from the lifeless hand, swarming it with the slick heat of her mouth, sliding it back and forth between the covered rows of her teeth. The sucking became frantic, then halted suddenly as her teeth clenched around the knuckle. She drew her mouth back slowly, stripping off the flesh, rolling it over her tongue before swallowing.
Kakashi watched with increasing animosity, a violent flush overtaking his cheeks.
She meticulously exposed the bone one fragment at a time, strings of fibrous tissue catching between her teeth. The hand was broken off at the wrist, the two bones which comprised the forearm cast aside nonchalantly, leaving the humerus, a larger bone which served to connect the arm to the shoulder. Kijo regarded this as a delicacy, sucking the marrow from the grooves, gnawing until there was nothing left but tooth marks and bone.
Sound was subdued. Every movement was muffled, speech rendered virtually noiseless, even the sound of his own heavy breathing distant and distorted, held underwater. The crown of his head hit the ground as he was tugged forward, but even the pain felt second-hand. Muted.
He shivered violently and began to hum.
A great and mighty turtle
Sailed smoothly with the wind.
His sails were made of silver
And his hold was full of gin …
The bicycle was blue with black handlebars - the rubbery kind which bore the impression of human fingers hours after use. Plastic beads made noises like dull wind-chimes as they slid around the spokes, garnishing each wheel with a flash of colour, clicking against the rims with each rotation.
A flock of seagulls circled overhead.
As the man progressed along the winding coastal road the gulls grew gradually nearer, flapping casually as they screeched amongst themselves. They held no formation. One would swoop down low only to rise again, lost among birds of similar shape and colour. The man paid little attention. Crouching down low, he began to peddle faster.
A bird fluttered noisily above his head, settling on his shoulder, tiny talons gripping his flesh through the fabric of his clothing. He turned his head to stare at the creature. Well-fed. Healthy. Black marbles eyes. The opposite shoulder was soon occupied by a pair of prickly feet. He gave no indication of slowing down.
Kakashi wondered where the cyclist was going in such a rush and what made him so attractive to the birds. Surely it was not the neon green bicycle shorts. The tip of his finger traced the man's route on the wall.
The further he progressed, the more the man became obscured by a feathery cloak, its components ruffling on occasion. Webbed feet tangled in his hair. The birds settled for a while, contented passengers. It appeared the man was beginning to relax when a gull took its beak to his cheek. The pecks were soft at first, leaving faint dots on his skin which vanished almost immediately. They grew in ferocity, and in number.
Everywhere the gulls clamoured to find suitable locations, jostling for access to the warm skin stretched out before them. Their chattering resumed - ecstatic, yet synchronous; a warbling chant. Strips of flesh were yanked free and gobbled ravenously, revealing maze-like masses of sinew. The muscle fibers unraveled more with every hungry tug, leaving tattered strings to hang like frayed threads.
The front wheel wobbled and the man struggled to keep the bicycle from falling over, catching his balance at last. He pulled his feet up from the pedals and the bike continued along a downward slope.
A gull pecked at his jaw bone, exposed through a widening hole in his cheek.
His breathing softened, sounding like the constant gurgle of a fish tank.
At last he reached the end of the road, dumping the bike and sprawling out on the grass. He crawled forward several meters and died on a cold stone slab. The seagulls gathered around. Nods of approval were exchanged. A bird hopped on the dark rock, examining the corpse, "Next year, let's hope they send a fat one."
Kakashi's hand fell to his side. The man had come from the direction of the temple, but when he checked for some sign of activity there was only the same old woman locked in prayer. Didn't she ever sleep?
Swings in the schoolyard rocked as if piloted by invisible children, squeaking with each pass, rusty from the rain.
Dusk approached in shades of apricot, swaddling the slowly sinking sun. Kakashi explored around the edges of the town, finding the grassy area. The strange mechanical machine stood guard over the trees. It looked as if it had been pieced together by objects formerly confined to a landfill. Broken VCRs. Strands of frayed wire. Leaky batteries. Today it held a different sign, this one reading, "I am not a robot."
Countless pupae stretched, expanding beyond their original dimensions, and as he watched their woolen coats began to tear. The brightly-coloured creatures unfurled from their prisons, legs sticking to what remained of their dwellings. Their damp wings were dried with care, fanned by the wind.
Obito came running. He carried with him several large pails and huffed as he set them on the ground, wiping his forehead, sighing with relief. A hand delved into their contents and he wrinkled his nose at the writhing mass of mice squirming in his grasp, some held by their tails, others gripped by no more than a foot. He drew back his arm and hurled the mice into the wind. All at once the butterflies descended from their perches, attracted to the sight of the frantic furry animals. Their feet attached to the rodents and on every butterfly a thin proboscis emerged, bearing tiny rows of teeth at its apex. Obito moved around the trees, reduced to half-heartedly dropping the mice to the ground in startled heaps. It became obvious that he did not enjoy what he was doing, and before long the task had him sniffling miserably, but he worked until the job was complete, drying his eyes. He took the buckets and left. All that remained of the mice were skeletons poised in various horrified positions. When the sun set they sank slowly, melting into the earth, no trace remaining.
The butterflies slept.
The morning sun warmed the dark fabric which obscured Kakashi's face. He opened an eye, glancing at the boy beside him. Obito sat with his legs crossed, his chest raised and puffed outward menacingly, an expression of intense concentration dominating his boyish features.
Kakashi sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, "What are you doing?" he queried, puzzled yet not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
The Uchiha boy deflated, exhaling. "I'm sucking my energy back in."
There was more than one word poised on the tip of his tongue, yet Kakashi withheld them all, opting to shake his head instead. It was his fault for asking.
Obito sprawled out languidly on the grass, placing his hands behind his head. The grass was wet, speckled with dew, but the dampness incited no complaint.
"Don't you have something productive to do?" Kakashi questioned wearily, agitated by the blatant display of laziness.
"Shut up and relax."
Kakashi stretched his legs over the grass, sighing softly. The butterfly nesting grounds were visible in the near distance. Most of the butterflies were still asleep though a few had ventured forth to drink from the crystalline pools of dew scattered freely among the greenery. The robot stood on alert. Today the sign it displayed read, "I am not a member of the human race."
As it grew warmer more of the butterflies emerged, drifting idly on the breeze. He noted several traveling in their direction and looked to Obito for some indication as to how to react. If there was any danger, the boy would be on his feet in no time. Kakashi never saw Obito run as fast as he did when he was fleeing from something in a panic.
Obito tucked a long blade of grass into the corner of his mouth.
Knowing all was well, Kakashi turned his attention to the sky, watching the clouds. It was soothing to track their movement across the field of blue, old shapes vanishing in order to make room for new shapes, a process of constant change and rejuvenation. Hearing his friend laugh, he turned his head. Obito grinned smugly as a butterfly perched on his bottom lip, ruffling its wings. He laughed softly, trying to speak without disturbing the creature, "It tickles."
Strands of grass were plucked from the ground and Kakashi balled them into a tightly-compacted fist, throwing it at his deceased companion. Death had failed to deteriorate the strength of their friendship. If anything, it served to increase it.
The butterfly abandoned ship. A playful growl erupted from the depths of Obito's throat and he uprooted large clumps of grass, hurling them at Kakashi. They landed everywhere except where he wanted them to. Proving that ineffective, Obito gathered another hand-full, tackling Kakashi in an attempt to stuff the grass down his shirt, ending up with a mouthful of it instead. The boy spat the grass out and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sheesh. You're no fun. Hey, I've got an idea. I want to show you something!" He grabbed Kakashi by the shirt, tugging him into town.
Everything looked exactly as Kakashi had imagined it, only in greater detail. He smelled coffee brewing and heard the soft clicking of short nails on cobblestone; the woman with a fetish for homeless people was wearing what appeared to be a houseplant on her head, walking a dog which looked more like a shrub than a canine. He stared at the dog. It wagged a leafy tail.
They sat where there were tables with sun shades and plush chairs, the outside of what appeared to be a small café. Obito glanced over the menu. Whatever he'd intend to show him was clearly forgotten. Across from them sat a girl who Kakashi recognised by her long brown hair. Her lips were pursed tightly together and she stabbed the tip of a pen numerous times against a sheet of paper, peppering it with circular dents but no ink. Finally her patience broke and the pen was snapped into multiple pieces, cast over the fence and into the street. She crumpled up the paper, depositing it atop their table as she stalked past.
"What's with her?" asked Kakashi. He and Obito stared at the crumpled ball as if it was inclined to explode, reluctant to touch it.
"That's Hoshi. She was writing a novel where the main character kills someone but ran into a problem when she discovered that she could only write what she'd experienced for herself. She became obsessed with the idea and it was all she ever talked about, really. Her lover got so concerned for her mental health that he told her to do him in. She did, and she hasn't said a word since. She only communicates with notes."
Kakashi unfurled the wrinkled mass, courage sparked anew, and read what it said, "The burning in my heart will never fade. I cannot say the same for this fucking pen." He passed the note to Obito. Obito didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Eventually he settled for both.
The woman on the street settled on a bench with the dog in her lap. "Poochie, poochie," she cooed, allowing the animal to lick the tip of her nose. "Who's a good poochie? You are. Yes, you are. Oh, sakes. Aren't we a handsome boy today? Awwww. Such a precious little boy. You're the sweetest thing. Yes, so sweet. Sweet like the man who lives in a dumpster on 3rd street."
Kakashi cringed inwardly, "I hate when people talk to their dogs that way. It's degrading."
"Doggy voices," Obito affirmed, nodding his head.
In Hoshi's place a wide-set man sat down, the chair barely accommodating his expansive backside. The previous night at 11:11 PM he had become a dentist with an addiction to food.
"Hey!" Obito called out, "Did you know that if you surround yourself with grains of rice before going to bed you'll inhale them in your sleep. It cooks in your stomach, and when you wake-up you'll already be full."
The man's jaw dropped, hitting the surface of the table. Obito laughed and laughed. Kakashi smiled warmly at his friend.
"Now what are you doing?"
Obito grunted as he drew back a wooden arm attached to a bowl, locking it in place, "I'm testing my rodent launcher." To demonstrate the contraption in action he fished a mouse from a nearby bucket and dropped into the bowl. He pulled a lever and the arm snapped forward, sending the mouse hurtling through the air. It landed somewhere among the butterfly trees and Obito cheered. He then stared sourly at the remaining buckets.
Deciding it best to allow Obito to lament his duty in peace, Kakashi took a walk, hands resting within the confines of his pockets - pocketing his hands was a habit he'd picked up from Obito years ago; one of many. The air smelled sweetly of nectar and he took his time walking along the twisted paths, admiring the peaceful scenery. The temple straddled the horizon and he continued at a leisurely pace in that direction. When he got there he entered a pagoda where the old woman stood, as always. How did she survive out here with nothing to sustain her? She prayed more than he did, and he spent more time talking to the dead than the living.
There were no specific offerings to indicate why she was here, only the usual assortment of fruit, incense, and a slice of cake.
"Do you do anything other than pray?" he inquired quietly, looking straight ahead rather than at her wrinkled visage.
The woman lowered her hands slowly until she was standing straight with her arms at her side. "Prayer is for fat people and liars," she declared, turning and walking away. When Kakashi finally peered outside she was already gone.
It was a long walk and his feet were tired when Kakashi settled upon the grassy knoll where he'd spent much of his time with Obito in the passing days, weeks, whichever interval of time was applicable.
The natural ambience of the field was interrupted by a sharp metallic screeching, gears sparking and grinding. Among the circle of trees the robot was rattling in its post, cogs popping and wires snapping. Its mechanical skeleton collapsed, leaving a pile of junk with a sign on top. I am not torn apart.
Obito plopped down breathless and graceless at his side, "Man, that took forever."
"You're a model of efficiency," Kakashi commented, rolling to the side as Obito moved to strike him, catching hold of the other male and wresting until they were both covered in grass stains and wearing half the field in their hair.
The butterflies locked legs, spinning through the air, colliding in colourful swarms, stirring up clouds of dusty scales.
Obito held out his hand and the silky powder collected in his open palm. "I was always told that if the dust comes off a butterfly's wings it will never be able to fly." He turned his head to look at Kakashi, gradually forsaking seriousness for tenderness. "It's not true."
The dark-haired ninja was sulking about feeding the butterflies, a tradition at this point, dragging the buckets on the ground as if they weighted ten times more than they did.
"If you hate it so much, why do you do it?" Kakashi asked.
Obito set the buckets down and pointed a thumb at his chest. "Because people have to respect me."
"What happened to your rodent launcher?"
Digging his feet into the ground, the boy resumed hauling the buckets, "Bad lasagna."
"Hey, Kakashi?"
"Hmn?"
Obito hauled himself into an upright position, focus remaining on the ground. "I really like spending time with you," he stated softly, shoulders sagging. "I don't want you to go." The boy brought the goggles down from atop his head, shielding his eyes, bowing his head like a sleepy soldier.
"Don't start getting over-emotional on me."
"You consider any display of emotion excessive," Obito scolded, folding his arms across his chest with a huff. "Lie to yourself for long enough and you can become convinced of anything. It's a survival mechanism. You're still following the rules. You're still forsaking emotion for logic. One doesn't have to over-power the other. There's room enough for both."
The corners of Kakashi's mouth twitched into a frown and he rubbed the Konoha insignia on his hitai-ate, an absentminded mannerism indicative of thinking deeply. "Don't lecture me."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Don't argue with me."
"Stop fighting for the last word!"
"I'm not. You are."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Knock it off!"
Kakashi narrowed an eye, shoving the Uchiha boy to the ground, twisting an arm behind his back.
"Jerk!" Obito protested, squirming fruitlessly. "Get off me! Wait until I get my revenge!"
Releasing the other male, Kakashi regarded him with a mocking stare, "What are you going to do?"
Obito turned and flung himself at his best friend, embracing him, arms linking tightly around Kakashi's frame, fingers catching in the fabric of his clothing.
Kakashi rested against him, placing a tense hand upon Obito's shoulder, "I don't want to lose you again."
"Now look who's being over-emotional," Obito teased, seconds before he was forced to remove his goggles, covering his eyes with an arm. "Dirt …"
The jounin sighed sadly, patting his companion's back, "Your eyes are a magnet for foreign objects."
Obito sniffled and took hold of Kakashi's free hand, entwining their fingers, "You don't belong here. Go home." A frail smile arose amidst the flood of tears and Kakashi's hand was squeezed tightly. The light-haired male reciprocated the gesture.
The field was gone, as was the sky and the trees; everything. Kakashi was left breathing softly in the dark, his fingers clenched around the small brown rabbit. He heard something pop. Surprised, he felt deep within the rabbit's gut, squishing it flat, detecting the presence of tiny capsules inside. He recognised instantly what they were. Soldier pills.
The energy-boosting soldier pills countered the effect of the chakra-inhibiting drugs which had been present in his system for so long. It required all of them for Kakashi to reach a state of sub-normality. He would have to be careful.
Tying the rabbit around his wrist, he left the room through the now visible door in the ceiling, catching hold of the ledge and pulling himself up, arms quivering from the strain. He rested a short while and then found his way to a brightly-lit hall. He hugged the corners and the walls, listening. The underground river was nearby, and with it came the subtle splashing and plunking of stones. Someone was skipping rocks. Scarcely daring to breathe, he peered into the room. One of the guards squatted on his haunches, glumly searching for stones flat enough to suit his purpose. He was alone.
The man remained ignorant of his presence until the guard was forced wide-eyed against the wall. His lips parted, tongue at the ready, protests lined up in a row. A foot connected with the underside of his chin, forcing his head back against the wall with sudden ferocity, cracking open his skull, words lost to him now. A second blow impacted his brain. Kakashi searched the body, confiscating his weapons.
He found the second guard asleep and it was tempting to awaken him; to provoke a heated response and feed on the adrenaline which came from the thrill of the fight. However, he wanted to keep things quiet, reluctant to push himself to the point of contending with two opponents at once. He settled for snapping his neck.
The third guard was as noisy as he was elusive. Kakashi had searched numerous rooms before happening upon him, and the sight of the jounin caused the man to scream cowardly.
"You came into this world bloody and screaming," Kakashi growled, "you'll exit it the same way." With a swift motion of his hand he pierced the guard's chest with a kunai, right below the rib cage, forcing the sharp weapon down well past his navel, intestines spilling. The man continued to howl. "You make too much noise," the jounin declared, forcing the blade into the tender pulsating flesh of the heart. The hole squirted a geyser of blood. Kakashi spat and wiped the splotches from his face with the back of his clean hand.
Having killed the guards, there was only one person left to find, and the sound of heavy sandals clomping on the stone ground made her location easy to pin-point.
Kijo took a surprised step backward when she saw the bloodied figure of the jounin. She recovered quickly. "Hello, Kakashi-kun. It's quite a surprise to see you out and about. Can I get you anything?"
"Your generosity exceeds all reason," Kakashi replied in an acerbic tone.
"Doesn't it, though?"
Only the tips of her toes hit the floor as Kijo rushed forward, a dagger at her side. Kakashi feigned to the left. She grabbed him by the arm and stabbed him in the side, the wound long and jagged but not too deep. She laughed lightly, falling silent upon noticing the kunai at her throat, eyes narrowing. "It won't change anything, Kakashi."
If I could kill you a thousand times, it still wouldn't be enough." Kakashi thrust the blade upward, twisting it. He pulled it out, jabbing her side, her stomach, wedging the weapon between her ribs, pushing until they cracked, stabbing, slashing, mutilating.
Kijo fell to the ground and Kakashi checked for a pulse. Despite the lack of rhythm he would take no chances, dragging the body with him until he found what he was looking for - a sturdy, sharp sword. He hacked off her head first, then her arms and legs, burning them in the wood stove.
Kakashi conducted a thorough search of the area, looking for any clue as to who they were or what they wanted. He found nothing. He did, however, happen upon a section of richly furnished rooms. They were living in luxury while he was confined to his hovel. Locating a box of his things, he extracted the items, laying them on the nearby bed. Everything was there, untouched, exactly the way he'd left it. The sight of Ichaicha Paradaisu invoked a surge of relief. The hostage crisis was over. He noticed blood on the floor, questioning its origin, only to realise that he was the one bleeding all over the rug. The rabbit was placed alongside his things.
He found a bathroom, utilising the supplies he found beneath the sink and in the drawers to clean and bandage the wound. The shower was too tempting to resist and he wallowed excessively in the hot water, putting to use a bar of soap and bottle of shampoo. By the time he was finished the soap was reduced to a thin wafer and the shampoo bottle was deprived of its contents.
Before exiting the room he paused at the mirror, striking the fog from its surface. He looked tired and in dire need of a haircut. Shaking his head, he walked back to the bedroom and pulled on his clothes, unzipping his vest far enough to enable the rabbit to nest against his chest before doing it up again. With everything in its right place, he headed for home.
It was the kind of day which made it difficult to find anything wrong with the world. The sun was warm but not too hot and a breeze stirred the leaves gently. Iruka listened to the birds, the river, and the wind in the trees. Together they made beautiful music. He was not far from the village, roaming its outskirts, taking the opportunity to walk and think, finding the latter easiest to do when accompanied by the former.
The sound of a twig snapping gave him a start and his hand poised to open his weapons' pouch, ready to react at any moment. Branches were broken, accompanied by a dull thud. He parted the bushes, staring in disbelief. "Kakashi-sensei!"
He fell to his knees alongside the jounin, elevating the other's upper torso, supporting his head. The jounin cringed, each breath strangled and forced.
Poison!
The lump in Kakashi's vest caught Iruka's attention, for there was a chance that it would offer some clue as to how or why the jounin came to be as he was. He swallowed and drew down the zipper. The rabbit tumbled to the ground. Kakashi sat up a bit, opening an eye, extending an arm toward the animal.
"That's mine," the jounin stated softly, collecting it by the ears.
Iruka frowned deeply, linking his arms around the older male, helping him to his feet.
Kakashi leaned forward, burying his head into his shoulder, "Sleep now."
"No, no!" Iruka replied sharply, "I forbid you to sleep."
Kakashi imparted a heavy sigh. "Iruka-sensei is so cruel."
Iruka allowed the comment to slide, hooking an arm around Kakashi's waist, guiding him forward. Kakashi took several steps and crumbled, falling into Iruka's arms.
"Good catch." Kakashi smiled gently and closed an eye, his breathing shallow and becoming increasingly irregular.
The chuunin flushed faintly, lifting Kakashi, balancing him on his back. He ran off in the direction of the hospital, his footsteps a steady heartbeat in the midst of a perfect day.