Ah, carp.

Moonlight

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 07:26:49 GMT

Lyrics: Moonlight
Notes: Feels too much like "Atone" (see met_amphetamine for lyrics). Probably because I just read it. But I had the urge to write a song, and I like writing creepy songs.

You're dripping red
your eyes no longer see
you've breathed your last
a kiss for only me

we danced under
the light of the moon
my precious doll
the ballerina's tune

but you saw too much

your voice rings in my ears
you love, you hate,
but the girl you saw
will share your fate

we danced together
under the light of the moon
you smiled at me
hear the crazed tune

stop screaming
stop screaming
stop screaming
stop screaming

it'll be over soon
I promise

we'll die under
the light of the moon
my hateful bride
the demented tune

but no matter how I try
I still can't do it
I'm sorry
good bye

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 21:43:47 GMT

Title: First Meeting
Series: Naruto
Characters: Itachi, Sasuke, Mikoto, and Mrs. Haruno
Genre: Semi-narrative, I think. Cute when-they-were-little stuff.
Rating: G
Notes: I always imagined that Mikoto would have lots of friends. I don't remember if Sakura's parents were shinobi, this is written on the assumption they were not. Originally written either in October 06 or March 07.

Inky black eyes peered over the whitewashed rail, one small sticky hand holding himself up, the other clutching his father's kunai, probably getting candy residue on the cloth wrapped around the handle.

"Mikoto, really, you should REST. You'll hurt yourself if you keep fussing!"

"The house is a mess. I need a bath. My parents will be here in a couple of hours, I can't let them see it like this! They'll think Fugaku doesn't take care of me!"

The blue bundle in the crib moved, turned, and revealed a single eye, as black as Itachi's own.

"You still don't need to cook a feast for them! Here, let me-"

"Haruno-san, no!"

"AHH! MY HAND!"

The two continued staring at each other. The bundle had caused Mother so much pain. She'd been crying and screaming all night last night. It'd kept Itachi awake, sitting outside her bedroom door, shaking in fear. His uncle had paused next to him while pacing, reaching to pat his head, before stalking off to some far corner of the house. Father still wasn't home; he was in Iwa and wouldn't be home for days.

"I'm so sorry! Please, let me-"

"I'm fine! Really! It just stings!"

"It's bleeding!"

"AHH!"

"Let me-"

But now Mother was trying to clean up the house, because Grandmother and Grandfather were coming, and Itachi had been told to go outside and play, but had slipped back into the house unnoticed to see what the source of all the commotion was.

"I'm such a klutz, really. I wouldn't have been a good ninja anyway. I really admire you."

"Oh, it's nothing. Could you pass the bonito?"

The bundle gurgled, and the eye blinked. Itachi frowned. How had it hurt her so much? It didn't look threatening.

"Oh, we should make a salad."

"I don't think we have any ginger, we may have run out."

The bundle gurgled again, and he reached over, gingerly pushing away the blanket with the kunai. Pink, blotchy skin on a tiny, pudgy body. He blinked. This was a baby?

The baby's face crumpled and turned red. Itachi was completely unprepared for the screaming and wailing that followed immediately after. His ears ached, and he let go of the rail to cover them, falling from the crib and landing badly on the floor. Stings of pain shot up his spine and down one leg, and he tried to scoot back to the door.

"What a voice!"

"He's far louder than Itachi was. I'm coming, I'm coming!"

His mother pulled open the door, gasping. He still sat on the floor, holding the kunai tight in his hand. He hadn't realized that his tiny hand, which could barely fit around the handle, had slipped down and been sliced open on the razor-sharp blade.

"Oh my god! Itachi! What happened?!"

He looked down, seeing the blood drip from under his hand, and his eyes widened. Perhaps he was just stunned by it, but it didn't hurt that much.

She'd already picked up the bundle from the crib and cradled him against her shoulder, while kneeling next to Itachi. "Let me see, dear." she murmured, taking his hand and pulling away the kunai, stretching his hand flat. Only when he actually moved, did it really start to hurt.

"Mother.."

"Shh." Her hand was glowing pale green, laying over his tiny hand, and the pain and blood were still there, but it wasn't bleeding anymore. He raised his hand when she released him, gazing at the line that had not long before been a shallow cut.

He turned to hug his mother, and say thank you, but she had already left the room, Haruno-san in tow, cooing to the baby.

Returning to his room, he lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Father would come in when he returned from his mission, and would tell him how smart he was and how proud everyone was of him. He would. He was better than the screaming pink thing that was his little brother.

He didn't even notice when he fell asleep.

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 07:37:54 GMT

Title:Headlines 1
Series: Headlines (original)
Genre: Narrative/Creepy
Rating: G
Notes: I love creepy stuff. This rolled around in my head for a while before I wrote it. Originally written in late June, 07.

My mother was a cheerleader, and my father was a cosmetic surgeon. He divorced her after I was born because she drank when she was pregnant with me.

I was born ugly, misshapen, twisted and crippled. My father took one look at me and left the room in a panic. He knew what my future held in store for me.

My father loved me. Every few months he would take me to work and give me little pink candies, and when I woke up I'd be dressed up as a mummy. He'd keep giving me candies and eventually would take the bandages off and take a picture. He kept the pictures in a scrapbook.

He said I would be his life's work, his masterpiece.

When I was eight, he took us and moved to a new town, where we didn't know anyone, and put me in regular school. He gave me the best tutors money could buy. I tried real hard, but I still couldn't understand a lot of what they said. But he said that it wouldn't matter, because his masterpiece was complete, and I was his beautiful little girl, who would never have to suffer and would marry rich and live happily ever after.

I hated the girls in the special ed program, because they were so ugly and poor. But I knew that I wasn't any smarter than them.

Then one day, I found my father's scrapbook when he was at work. I saw the pictures from when I was a baby, and the notes, and the pictures of each surgery. I saw where he took the surgical hammer and smashed my bones, my skull, my face, coaxing them into a pretty arrangement, until I looked just like the little girls in the movies.

My father loved me so much that he smashed me to pieces and put me back together. But I couldn't love myself, because I knew that deep inside, I was still ugly.

The river is so cold today.

Tue, 29 May 2007 00:38:33 GMT

Title:Of roughhousing and well-behaved children.
Series: Naruto
Characters: Mikoto, with mentions of her family and the Inuzukas.
Genre: Perspective/introspective
Rating: G
Notes: I love writing stuff for Mikoto, can you tell?

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

Mikoto and Mrs. Inuzuka looked up from their tea sweets and conversation at the same time as a scruffy-haired boy came barrelling into the room, covered in ink and screaming.

"HANA WAS MAKING EXPLOSIVE TAGS AGAIN AND AKAMARU WANTED TO PLAY SO I WAS CHASING HIM AND HE RAN INTO HANA'S ROOM AND HANA THREW HER INKSTONE AT US AND THREATENED TO HIT ME!"

"I'M NOT MAKING EXPLOSIVE TAGS, THE LITTLE TURD IS LYING, AND AKAMARU PULLED MY SCROLL OFF THE TABLE AND KNOCKED THE INKSTONE OFF, I DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH IT!" Hana stormed into the room after Kiba, similarily covered in ink. She stopped when she saw Mikoto and turned, coughing. "Sorry, Mrs. Uchiha."

"It's alright, Miss Hana, I was about to leave. Thank you for letting me visit, Tsume." Mikoto replied, laughing it off and standing. The matron of the Inuzuka clan apologized again for the commotion (even as she scolded her kids), but Mikoto waved it off, reminding the other woman that she had two kids of her own and a dinner at home to cook.

Yet, as she walked the bustling streets of Konoha, Mikoto took notice of the other mothers walking through the market with their children, and felt a little sad, wondering when (if at all) tonight her eldest would return home from his mission, and if Sasuke had come straight home or if he'd really found friends to play with. The thought was somewhat sad, and she walked faster, anxious to return to her home, with its distractions of cleaning and mending and cooking to occupy her mind.

Because, though she loved how well-behaved and quiet her sons were, she often found herself longing for a noisy house, with toads and lizards underfoot and messy rooms to scold her roughhousing boys over. She found that, as much a relief as it was to not worry about their health and safety, she rather enjoyed the times when she'd bandage up Sasuke's cuts and scrapes, and tend to Itachi's occasional burns and headaches. It was peaceful knowing that she would come home and everything in her house would be exactly as she left it, though she wouldn't mind coming home to find the failed results of cooking experiments, or a broken window, or even a bedroom half blown-up from making exploding tags (and she knew that, after the fit Fugaku would throw, he would have no trouble affording the repairs).

Funny, Mikoto mused, how she'd secretly wanted daughters, but now with two frighteningly smart boys, she wished for the things that typically accompanied raising sons. She would never dream of trading them for anything else, but... perhaps all she wanted was the excuse to hug them and tell them how much she loved them...

Which was exactly what she did, much to Sasuke's dismay (and squirming), as soon as she got home.

The life of a shinobi...

Sun, 27 May 2007 15:55:48 GMT

(aka: first post in this journal! w00t!)

Title: The life of a shinobi...
Series: Naruto
Characters: Mikoto, with references to her family.
Genre: Perspective
Rating: PG (for mentions of brutal things)

This was spawned by a rather serious and vaguely morbid conversation I had with xkesshoux/wibbles_wobbles. The inspiring quote is below.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, the nine year old boy stared at a weed growing in the grass at the funeral grounds, where the Memorial stone stood. The breeze blew his bangs and his nearly shoulder-length black hair around his face. The brand-new black funeral suit was a little big for him, and she bit her lip as she watched him, wondering how soon he would have to wear it again.

Tatsu had been one of his few friends. He was a skinny mop-headed kid, from a civilian family, tall for his eleven years and with a crooked grin. The two boys were on the same team, but Itachi had been sick with strep throat, and another genin boy had filled in for him for the mission. Mikoto played with the hem of her left sleeve, aware of Fugaku's silent disapproval of her fidgeting. She didn't feel as though she could help it, though she made an effort to still her fingers. Tatsu. Think of Tatsu, his ashes in that funerary urn on the table before them, his name already engraved on the stone. Tatsu, who loved coming over to devour riceballs and train with Itachi. Tatsu, who was eleven years old when a ninja from a faction left over from the Shinobi wars put a sword through his heart and lung.

Itachi was watching a dandelion waving in the wind, his expression unreadable. He'd already achieved the impeccable Uchiha stoicness, and Mikoto wondered what he was thinking, under it all. Did he blame himself for being sick? Was he angry that his team was sent out without him? Was he depressed for losing a friend? She knew he'd looked up to Shisui for years, but ever since Shisui became a chuunin, he'd been too busy to help Itachi train.

Nine years old. Two years younger than poor, dead Tatsu. What would she do, she wondered, when they sent a messenger to her door, with the same news? When would that be? She squeezed her littlest's hand. How long until both her sons were out there, their lives in danger every moment they were outside the village walls?

"All things are beautiful in their transiency, and it is because nothing is forever that we must treasure it, as we treasured this brave young man."

Eleven year old boys were not men. Nine year old boys were not men. It felt hypocritical to believe this, when she had followed tradition and let her sons go to learn to kill, when she herself had been out fighting for her life at the tender age of eleven.

"The life of a shinobi is never very long. We must accept this fate, as we accept all things in life."

Never taking her eyes from Itachi, never taking her hand from Sasuke's tiny grasp, she rested her head on her husband's shoulder and wept.