The Price of Freedom Ch.1 Part 1 (T-M for Violence)

On 2017-06-04 05:18:42 ｜ Show this Author Only ｜ Descending Order

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|The Price of a Monster|
I sighed through my mask as he exited the Kage building, though I quickly regretted the action as my less than aromatic breath became stuck within the confines of the plaster which forced me to smell the result of forgetting to bring a toothbrush with me on the mission. My teammate and I had just returned from a mission out in the Land of Steam, and had passed our report to the Hokage. For some reason, Fox, my teammate, had insisted that he go and get some food while he disclosed the rest of the mission to the Hokage.What a white lie.Fox, better known as Kurama, was probably chatting with that old man and kissing up to him by spilling everything about me on the mission. Probably not literally, but it was close enough a description to the general picture of the idea.Typically I would have annoyed the hell out of the two by being petty and refusing to leave, but I was tired and in dire need of both food and a shower after that particularly bloody mission. Deciding it best to take a shower first before grabbing something to satisfy my stomach, I made the signs to Shunshin away as I disappeared in a flicker of movement. I had moved in the past few years from home to home as I never liked staying in one place for too long- a force of habit from living among the two-faced villagers. The building wasn't very well renovated from what it was nine years ago, when I was three and still rather feral. The roof had been elevated enough to allow any man up to 8' 11'' in size to stand without bending down, unlike when only the small child lived there. Though it had been elevated, the constructors deliberately did a poor job on the materials, the old oak wood worn with age and were kind enough to leave a few holes that allowed rain to come in. Anyone who went into the house could see the green, lush moss growing on the moist roof, and could hear the scurrying of mice within the thin layers of wood. The walls were in no better condition than the roof, the tree wood having been carved from one of the infamous Forest of Death's trees, soaked up any and all rain, causing the walls to be soaked after a night of continuous downpour. It was still a single story house. There were no stairs. No bedroom. A small hole for a bathroom outside, and enough room for a small kitchen and study room.The kitchen consisted of a broken-down, well-rusted stove that had a few frying pans and pots stacked upon it, waiting to be washed outside on a rainy day. An old oven was placed next to the stove, it's mouth that led to it's fiery insides laid slightly open, and a relatively new pantry for storing staple foods like cereal, canned soup, and ramen. The living room, to put it simply, was a mess. Dust layered the floor in gentle layers, the only bit of clean wood showing where one of us recently stepped. The old, shattered window laid multiple colors of light in the space, gently reflecting off of the old bookshelves' glass coverings. Tens and twenties of books were neatly placed within the shelves, all facing the correct way, every single one of them gently torn from years of use. There was a small, round table to the right side of the room, placed near to the center but close to the window. There were two tall chairs, both dirty and had cracks in their wooden poles. At the very least, it was nicer than most of my hideouts. I finally caught my breath, and relaxed with a forcibly exhaled breath. Typically, I would've gone straight to my more comfortable home, but I found it too much of a hassle to use an unnecessary amount of chakra to Shunshin to the other side of the village where my mansion hid and deemed it better to occupy the older, closer house. I suppose someone could call it unethical to have so many homes in one village, but I liked to to be prepared for anything.You never know when a giant nine-tailed fox might swoop in for a visit and crunch your house, for example.Guess my dad wasn't all that good a ninja. He certainly never expected the giant fuzzball to come crashing in.'Expect the unexpected,' they always say, yet they never seem to listen to their own advice even in these days.I trotted on over to the bathroom, flinging off my mask with dramatic momentum in happiness to finally get off that stuffy, tortuous plaster sweat device. I flung off my shirt and turned to face opposite of the mirror, but momentarily cringing at the face that stared back at me. It was the forgotten face of an unloved child. The face of Naruto. My yellow hair pooled over my eerie eyes, shadowing them so others could not see these wretched eyes that curse my very being. The tips of the long hair strands were naturally a deep, passionate red like Kurama's mane. If one could see my eyes, they would be shocked to see my left eye. It was a ghostly blue, with nothing but white overshadowing what was supposed to be a pupil. It was no longer the beautiful sapphire blue it once was that oh-so closely resembled my father's, as it now resembled a drained sky, it's gentle blue color forever fading. My right eye is a fearsome, shocking blood red, like the color of freshly spilled blood. Not only was my face peculiar and outlandish, but the scars and kanji that marred my chest and back only makes me even uglier than I already am. The words 'Monster' and 'Demon' were the most popular commentary upon my skin, being the favored words of the villagers to hurl at me. The occasional 'Killer' and 'Beast' were also scrawled upon my shoulders and upper biceps that were normally hidden under the tough Anbu gear I wear. Though I've always made it a point that logically, I am none of these things. I am not a monster. Not a demon. I'm not a killer, a murderer, a freak show. And yet, that tiny little blotch that resided in my mind told me otherwise.
Whispering words and circling my mind like vultures screeching;It's there! Their blood... is on your hands!The voices never stop. Now that I think of it, did they ever really even begin? Or, like some evil deity, they had already existed before me, carried down through the life of the prisoner that was once inside me? Or were they side-effects of said companion? Perhaps, maybe... I think to myself with a dry, humorless chuckle, They prove that I really have lost my marbles?Never mind the reason, it only mattered if I knew how to get rid of them. Yes, I'd accepted them as a part of me long ago, but it would still be preferable if I could block them out at the times when such thoughts and emotions were really unnecessary.Are we unnecessary? Or do they just want you to think that way?Now would be a prime example.Shaking my head, I reached past the off-white shower curtains to turn the rusted, mossy nozzle on to a blistering hot temperature.I really am acting like an old man.