Board Thread:Konoha Arc/@comment-25687356-20161020211256/@comment-30269418-20161021134718

Listen and read....

Rena Hikari had always been a strange child, even though she had grown up in the same village as everyone around her. Despite what seemed to be a sad moment, she couldn't feel sad. In fact, she couldn't really feel anything towards these people. There were many faces around her, many screams, many crying figures, but none of them felt relevant. She didn't belong here, even though she was supposedly 'born' here...

Where were her memories since before she was eight? Wouldn't she have at least one? These were topics she pondered over every day. She tried her hardest to remember, but none appeared... and that was alright, but lately, she had begun to have doubts whether any of this was real. It had been harder and harder to focus lately, as if she was watching everything going on from behind a glass wall.

War. She knew what it was, but had never seen it up close. If it did this to the survivors, Rena wasn't sure she'd ever want to partake in it. Her hands trembled; the looks on their faces, she had seen them before. She could feel it, even if it wasn't in her memory. Even though people from Konoha were injured, she didn't care.

Something wet dripped down her cheek; was it raining? She reached up to wipe it off, and realised it was not the sky, but herself that was crying. If she didn't care, then why would she...? Nothing made any sense anymore. She felt like giving up everything, although she didn't have anything to give up.

She found herself being pushed to the side because she had not been paying attention; she stumbled, losing her footing and falling over. Someone glared at her, but all she did was stand up and brush the dirt off of her knees. There was a little cut on one of them, and she noticed that a rock had still been wedged into it. As she pulled it out, she did not wince; there was no reaction to the pain and yet a small stream of purple blood came from her wound.

Rena watched as the blood dripped to the ground; even when she had asked her foster parents, they couldn't tell her why she was different and why nobody else was like her. She felt lost and unwelcome, and as she saw other children play together, fight together and eat together, she became more and more distant, not wanting to form any relationships with another person.

And so, she stood there, not tending to the small cut, but simply crying with an expressionless face.