Board Thread:Konoha Logs/@comment-30269418-20161207181432/@comment-30269418-20161207184346

Rena Hikari had definetely not been home. The wonders of Shinobi medicine had saved her, narrowly. If she hadn't taken the preventive measures during the blast that she had she'd be dead right now. Sitting up in her hospital bed, she'd strech out her  right hand and burned palm and turn it, looking at the back of her hand which had the empty seal on it. She'd assumed it was only a tattoo, and yet... if it was, it would have seared like her flesh did. She sighed, dropping her hand. It was feeling numb again but she rubbed it against the soft covers of the bed. She took her other hand and grazed her fingers across the palm, feeling the roughness of her skin, or what was left of it. All of her aspirations, what she wanted to be, what she'd become... were they ever worth it in the first place?

She had no reason to be a shinobi. None that she could think of. In the end wherever she went she ended up fighting for her life. It wasn't useful, nor was it something a shinobi was supposed to do. They were supposed to defeat the enemy and that was something she hadn't done. Every mission she had been on was basically a failure. What was the point? Luckily, they could speed up the healing process, but her appearance would suffer more than anything else. Her face and left arm had been healed, but her midsection, torso and legs were all wrapped in bandages. Her right arm up to her forearm was wrapped in bandages. They'd sped up the healing of the more important parts, and her arms would remain useable. Her legs, too. It was unknown if her ability to have children would remain. Third degree burns covered her entire body save for half of her face and her upper midsection and shoulder/arm.

She'd turn in her bed, curling up and wrapping her arms around her legs, tears dripping down her face and onto the scarred valleys of the left side of her face. She hadn't been allowed to leave the hospital for more than a couple of hours at most due to her condition. They had not been happy with her whatsoever and her more important possessions had been moved to her hospital room. They expected to hold her for six months barring missions and training; she was too much of a danger to herself and kept ending up here anyways, so why not go a step further and keep her there?

The bandages on her legs smelt like the hospital did; clean. And yet the tainted mix of iron from her blood, a smell that was extremely potent and metalic and usually prominent in hospitals, seemed to grow even more potent with her flesh having weakened. She smelled of blood and she knew it would never go away. Forever would this scent stain her; she'd never be able to hide close to an opponent again let alone a normal person without recieving a look of disgust. Could she really call herself a shinobi at this point when all she ever did was dissapoint her superiors and screw up? She'd paid the ultimate price for being careless. For making a mistake on a mission.

If she couldn't make friends now, what could possibly come of looking like a monster other than hatred? At least the outside finally reflected the inside.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed and slammed the window open. She was only on the first floor, so it wasn't much of a drop at all. She pushed off the windowsill with her feet and ran as fast as she could out of the hospital area to the training grounds. She was wearing her usual clothes; black skin-tight capris and a turquiose shirt that showed her shoulders. This style would expose how half of her was burned, although it was obvious from her arm. She turned the corner and a mother gasped and a child screamed. She ignored it, shutting it out. Her feet were badly burned and she wasn't wearing shoes, only bandages.

She dashed towards the training fields. Why had she become a shinobi? Why do people become shinobi in the first place? She hadn't done so for herself. Did she do it out of boredom? If so, why did she keep going like this? Was it something to do? Would she be lost without it? She needed to know.

She hated, with every fibre of her being, the prospect of being a shinobi. The violence and pain it brought. She once had thought these things were 'fun.' They were all she had known.

Her feet hit soil and dug in as she pushed herself into the training grounds, looking for something, anything, a reason of some sort, to continue being a shinobi, or to see why others themselves pursued the violence and pain of the life of a shinobi.