A Thousand Miles

I Would Die a Happy Man...

*Flashback*

That night, the stars were the dimmest I had ever seen them. I was still only seven, but I was old enough to realise that I was unwanted and unloved by the village people. Their eyes chilled me to the bone with their cold, cold glares; their voices with their cold, cold words. I was always so cold and I couldn't seem to find anyplace that was warm. I shivered all the time, and held my hands to my elbows to try, in vain, to warm myself. What little warmth in my body that was left, was sent to keep me alive. No one's touch was ever there to warm me. No one's words were ever there to warm me. I was utterly alone and everyone's backs were turned, not caring at all. So cold...

It hurt to be so cold. It didn't hurt my frozen and stiff fingers, or my frostbitten toes. It didn't hurt my stinging arms, or my chilled legs. It hurt in a place that refused to be physically rubbed to warmness. The cold clawed greedy fingers deep into my chest and paralysed me in its icy grip. I could barely move without an enormous effort anymore. It hurt to move. It was so cold.

I couldn't take being so cold anymore. I would hold my hand over the stove sometimes, right next to the pot of boiling water that was going to be my morning bowl of ramen and spoiled milk. No one had wanted to take care of me. The Hokage had given me an apartment that I could live in, but I was utterly alone as soon as I was able to do things on my own. I was five when the help stopped coming. I had had to learn to read at a very young age by simply looking, and figuring things out. The words would mean something, and unconsciously, the Kyuubi was helping. It needed to survive also. And I discovered the wonders of ramen on my own-- not knowing that all the preservatives and chemicals they added for flavour were horrible for me; not knowing that the nutrient content in the stuff was virtually non-existent; not knowing that if I lived on it alone, I could suffer any of multiple health conditions and an early death. I had no one to mother me and scold me and keep the things that were bad for me at bay. I simply went with what tasted good, what felt right, instinct. I lived on instinct alone.

And that is what got me into the forest on that dark, dim-starred night. There was no moon that night. But I didn't care that I could barely see where I was going, I didn't care that I was stumbling and getting scratched and my clothes were being torn to shreds. I didn't even notice how easily I passed through the little side gate in the wall that not many used anymore. The guard had opened it for me willingly. He wanted me to go. He wanted me to disappear, and Kyuubi along with me. The villagers wouldn't care. And he knew that, so he let me through without any trouble at all.

I ran blindly through the dense forest, letting my feet guide me wherever they wished to run. I had read somewhere, that you could bleed to death. I had bled before, it wasn't that bad. It hurt, yeah, but...it was better than this icy pain that clutched at my whole body, and slowly crushed me. I was slowly suffocating, and anything was better than that.

I finally collapsed on the ground against a tree in a tangled mess of limbs. I was too tired to run anymore. I looked at where my feet had guided me and I found that if I stood facing a certain direction in front of the tree, there was a little opening in the trees and I could see the cliff that the Hokage' faces were carved into perfectly. I smiled a little. That was the one place I could go to for solace. How fitting indeed that when I had come seeking the ultimate solace, I would be in the presence of those who had sat with me, with silent but attentive ears to my ramblings and had comforted me when I was alone. The great figureheads had always struck awe in me from when I was very, very small.

I reached into my pocket and gingerly pulled out the kunai that I had begged off of Iruka-sensei a few days ago. It was almost sort of a shame. I'd only started ninja academy this year. I started a little earlier than most students because, well...I had nothing better to do. But it didn't matter, all the students at the academy made fun of me and stayed away from me too. Just like their parents. I always wondered why they hated me so much? Why didn't I have parents like them? Why? Why!? What did I do so wrong?

I lightly ran a finger down the sharp edge of the kunai and gasped softly when it promptly slit a shallow cut in the tip of my finger. I allowed myself the smallest of smiles. This would work very nicely. Suddenly, I felt a slight burning and stared, annoyed at the unblemished fingertip that stared proudly back at me, no trace of a wound left. I got annoyed. I turned my hand over, and slashed at the clean, unmarked back of my hand. I allowed myself no more than a soft gasp as blood slowly welled up and flowed steadily out of the wound. Yet...steadily, the flow ebbed, and there was only the blood around the wound, and there. was. no. wound. I realised that, suddenly, I wasn't so cold anymore. The pain when I had drawn my blood, was a burning pain. It made me even just that little bit warmer. And I loved it.

My clothes were in shreds from my rough tumble through the underbrush anyway, and it wasn't that hard to get at skin. Soon, I was slashing at whatever part of me I could reach, and see. The rich redness was addicting. The coppery smell alluring. I couldn't stop. I finally settled down for the final strike that should have killed me. I knew. I had read too many books that said so. I was covered in blood, and smiling wryly at my own antics. My clothes were shredded and my hair was streaked with my own blood. I was a seven-year-old masochistic maniac. I raised the kunai as far as my little arm could reach-- and plunged the kunai down into my forearm. I cried out in surprise at the harsh pain. That HURT. Tears streamed down my cheeks from the pain. I whimpered and waited to adjust to the pain until it was a strong, but dulled ache. I then proceeded to slowly drag the kunai up my forearm, from the fleshy part near the elbow, to the bony, sinewy part near the wrist. The blood was flowing thick and fast.

"That should do it," I whispered to myself, relieved. The blood wasn't thinning. I could have jumped for joy. I found that I couldn't control my hand anymore too well, but I had to make sure...the world spun around me and swayed crazily for a few moments. I felt a brief rush of panic, what was that!? Then it was gone, and I sighed in relief. I quickly raised the hand clumsily holding the too-big kunai and swiped it sharply across my wrist also. I licked the edge of the bloody kunai with satisfaction and felt a small cut on my tongue open and as the coppery, sickly sweet taste and scent of blood invaded my senses, I grinned. For the first time in my life, I was warm. Warm, and happy...and at peace. I looked up at the dim and fuzzy stars, and saw an angel in each. I smiled again in ecstasy and the world spun, the angels swirling together in a myriad of soft, fuzzy white lights and I could almost hear them singing, before my world was drowned out in the blissful, peaceful calm of black.

I "died" smiling. I "died" a happy, happy boy. Or so I'd thought.