(Naruto) Rain
Title: Rain
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Naruto
Warning: Child Angst
Word Count: 658
Notes: Written as a drabble for the Himmel RPG where I play Naruto. Stands alone, I think. Just keep in mind it's a modern AU. Backhistory of Naruto's childhood.
Date Written: July 29th, 2007
It was raining again.
Raining, raining. It'd been raining every other day for the past two weeks. Unpleasant. Unwanted, not when no shoes covered your feet and no roof sheltered you from the relentless downpour of polluted water.
He sat in an alleyway under a flight of rusted stairs that provided little cover. Knees drawn up to his thin chest, dirty toes with cracked and brittle nails dug into broken pavement as he shivered, curling into himself. It shouldn't be so cold.
But it was. Trembling, with tattered jeans and a dirty t-shirt a size too small clinging to his skin, soaked, he glared at the pavement, of the dirty puddles gathered in the potholes, and the broken pieces of concrete that served no purpose other than to remind him how miserable his life was.
It wasn't fair, he concluded. He didn't ask for any of this. He wasn't even given a choice. Thunder rumbled in the distance and he scowled, ignoring the sting as chapped lips pulled back to bear teeth, some missing, some growing in.
The rain was stopping now, but the damage was done. He was wet once more, and it hadn't succeeded in cleaning him off. Dirt smudges still stained whiskered cheeks and black dirt lay thick under uneven fingernails. His clothes, raggity and threadbare, clung like a second skin, showing off bony knees and protruding ribs. He finally found it in him to stand, grabbing a rusty support rail to pull himself up and wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand as he glared disdainfully down the alleyway toward the street. An old, battered car drove by and slowly he propelled himself forward, walking carefully and avoiding deep puddles and broken glass from old beer bottles.
He reached the end of the alleway, staring at the street as sunlight peaked through dark clouds and water rushed down gutters and into sewers.
People walked down the sidewalk, some with rain coats on, some with umbrellas. None looking quite as shabby as he. No one paid attention to the little boy with dirty blond hair that certainly had not been washed in perhaps weeks. He was just part of the scenery, after all, another part of the ghetto.
No one cared.
And really, that was better. Because the alternative was when they did notice, because that was never pleasant.
He reached up to pick at a scab on his forearm, an infected cut from a couple of days ago, a reminder of why it was better to be part of the scenery.
It was merely unfortunate for this boy. Unfortunate that he did not know his special circumstances, just why he was where he was, and in the state he was in. He did not know that people normally on the receiving end of a slash from a broken liquor bottle required stitches and several days of healing. Having no one to compare to, he was under the impression that most people could heal from bad gashes within three days' time.
Simply put, he did not know he was special. How could he, when he was not even sure of his own name? No, this little boy knew only one thing.
A faint memory, oh-so-vague, that would sometimes surface in his dreams, on the nights he could actually sleep. Of brilliant blond hair and blue eyes so very much like his own.
A father, perhaps, but he hoped not.
Because he had been abandoned. He was not wanted. And the idea that this blurry image of a man could be his father who tossed him on the streets hurt. It hurt so badly, because this one little picture was the one bright thing he had in otherwise dark dreams and horrible nightmares, and he didn't dare tarnish it.
Still bitter, he tilted his head up and glared at the sun, before picking up his feet and walking off down the littered sidewalk.
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Naruto
Warning: Child Angst
Word Count: 658
Notes: Written as a drabble for the Himmel RPG where I play Naruto. Stands alone, I think. Just keep in mind it's a modern AU. Backhistory of Naruto's childhood.
Date Written: July 29th, 2007
It was raining again.
Raining, raining. It'd been raining every other day for the past two weeks. Unpleasant. Unwanted, not when no shoes covered your feet and no roof sheltered you from the relentless downpour of polluted water.
He sat in an alleyway under a flight of rusted stairs that provided little cover. Knees drawn up to his thin chest, dirty toes with cracked and brittle nails dug into broken pavement as he shivered, curling into himself. It shouldn't be so cold.
But it was. Trembling, with tattered jeans and a dirty t-shirt a size too small clinging to his skin, soaked, he glared at the pavement, of the dirty puddles gathered in the potholes, and the broken pieces of concrete that served no purpose other than to remind him how miserable his life was.
It wasn't fair, he concluded. He didn't ask for any of this. He wasn't even given a choice. Thunder rumbled in the distance and he scowled, ignoring the sting as chapped lips pulled back to bear teeth, some missing, some growing in.
The rain was stopping now, but the damage was done. He was wet once more, and it hadn't succeeded in cleaning him off. Dirt smudges still stained whiskered cheeks and black dirt lay thick under uneven fingernails. His clothes, raggity and threadbare, clung like a second skin, showing off bony knees and protruding ribs. He finally found it in him to stand, grabbing a rusty support rail to pull himself up and wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand as he glared disdainfully down the alleyway toward the street. An old, battered car drove by and slowly he propelled himself forward, walking carefully and avoiding deep puddles and broken glass from old beer bottles.
He reached the end of the alleway, staring at the street as sunlight peaked through dark clouds and water rushed down gutters and into sewers.
People walked down the sidewalk, some with rain coats on, some with umbrellas. None looking quite as shabby as he. No one paid attention to the little boy with dirty blond hair that certainly had not been washed in perhaps weeks. He was just part of the scenery, after all, another part of the ghetto.
No one cared.
And really, that was better. Because the alternative was when they did notice, because that was never pleasant.
He reached up to pick at a scab on his forearm, an infected cut from a couple of days ago, a reminder of why it was better to be part of the scenery.
It was merely unfortunate for this boy. Unfortunate that he did not know his special circumstances, just why he was where he was, and in the state he was in. He did not know that people normally on the receiving end of a slash from a broken liquor bottle required stitches and several days of healing. Having no one to compare to, he was under the impression that most people could heal from bad gashes within three days' time.
Simply put, he did not know he was special. How could he, when he was not even sure of his own name? No, this little boy knew only one thing.
A faint memory, oh-so-vague, that would sometimes surface in his dreams, on the nights he could actually sleep. Of brilliant blond hair and blue eyes so very much like his own.
A father, perhaps, but he hoped not.
Because he had been abandoned. He was not wanted. And the idea that this blurry image of a man could be his father who tossed him on the streets hurt. It hurt so badly, because this one little picture was the one bright thing he had in otherwise dark dreams and horrible nightmares, and he didn't dare tarnish it.
Still bitter, he tilted his head up and glared at the sun, before picking up his feet and walking off down the littered sidewalk.