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[After the events of this thread.]
For the first time in Hanabi's life, she realized that she was in constant pain.
And not just any pain.
The kind that latched onto you and never let go, for as long as you lived.
She knew pain; Neji had dislocated both her arms several times, had popped a small hole in one lunch, had gotten a clean hit at her solar plexus so often.
Her father had done at least that much.
She knew physical pain, how much it hurt just to use your chest for breathing, lying back as blood entered a lung, staring at the sky knowing that the moment this was healed you'd have to do it all over again until you learned to block your open spots.
She knew the pain of tedium, sitting in a classroom, one on one with an Elder for a teacher, having to write pages and pages of essays on Why The Juuin Kept Hyuuga Safe and How The First Three Ninja World Wars Started. Having to repeat the same stroke in calligraphy until her arm felt like it was ready to fall off.
She knew the pain of desire; to watch Konohamaru, Moegi and Udon going to class together while she was forced alone in a room with a man 70 years her senior. Watching others enjoy the pleasure of teamwork and company, of going to a sleepover, sitting around a campfire eating junk food and telling stories, of being patted on the head by a teacher and told you did a good job in no uncertain terms, no workarounds, no backhanded compliments.
But this? This was beyond any of those. This was hunger. Sheer hunger, to be thought of as a human being and not a "thing to protect". Not an "heiress". Not as "Hinata's little sister". Not as "the better of Hiashi's daughters". Not "that Hyuuga". Not "the girl with the big bug eyes who was creepy and would put the Hyuuga curse on you!"
She had been trying to make it back to Orochimaru's...but her vision was fuzzy and her limbs were trembling. She fell to her knees, staring at the ground, unable to stop them any longer.
She just wanted to be herself.
Just "Hanabi".
For once, in her sad life, to not have her eyes give her away and have people treat her with instant indifference and deference before she could open her mouth.
It took several moments, but Hanabi got back to her feet. And when she did, she swung her fist and hit a large rock settled into the side of a cliff. Again, again, again she hit the bare stone, splitting the knuckles of both hands as tears flowed.
Crying. She was crying?
She couldn't remember ever doing that in her life.
The pain and the blood didn't matter. The eerie creak of the stone, as if it were upset by the brutality, it meant nothing. She was not a person, she was a tool, a thing, a means, a purpose, a body to stand in that any person could've taken if only their stars had been aligned a little differently and sprouted at a different time.
Crack. Crickack.
The stone was soon coated in red.
Hanabi slumped back to her knees, staring at it. It was good, then, that she wasn't a person. Tools didn't bleed, only people.
For the first time in Hanabi's life, she realized that she was in constant pain.
And not just any pain.
The kind that latched onto you and never let go, for as long as you lived.
She knew pain; Neji had dislocated both her arms several times, had popped a small hole in one lunch, had gotten a clean hit at her solar plexus so often.
Her father had done at least that much.
She knew physical pain, how much it hurt just to use your chest for breathing, lying back as blood entered a lung, staring at the sky knowing that the moment this was healed you'd have to do it all over again until you learned to block your open spots.
She knew the pain of tedium, sitting in a classroom, one on one with an Elder for a teacher, having to write pages and pages of essays on Why The Juuin Kept Hyuuga Safe and How The First Three Ninja World Wars Started. Having to repeat the same stroke in calligraphy until her arm felt like it was ready to fall off.
She knew the pain of desire; to watch Konohamaru, Moegi and Udon going to class together while she was forced alone in a room with a man 70 years her senior. Watching others enjoy the pleasure of teamwork and company, of going to a sleepover, sitting around a campfire eating junk food and telling stories, of being patted on the head by a teacher and told you did a good job in no uncertain terms, no workarounds, no backhanded compliments.
But this? This was beyond any of those. This was hunger. Sheer hunger, to be thought of as a human being and not a "thing to protect". Not an "heiress". Not as "Hinata's little sister". Not as "the better of Hiashi's daughters". Not "that Hyuuga". Not "the girl with the big bug eyes who was creepy and would put the Hyuuga curse on you!"
She had been trying to make it back to Orochimaru's...but her vision was fuzzy and her limbs were trembling. She fell to her knees, staring at the ground, unable to stop them any longer.
She just wanted to be herself.
Just "Hanabi".
For once, in her sad life, to not have her eyes give her away and have people treat her with instant indifference and deference before she could open her mouth.
It took several moments, but Hanabi got back to her feet. And when she did, she swung her fist and hit a large rock settled into the side of a cliff. Again, again, again she hit the bare stone, splitting the knuckles of both hands as tears flowed.
Crying. She was crying?
She couldn't remember ever doing that in her life.
The pain and the blood didn't matter. The eerie creak of the stone, as if it were upset by the brutality, it meant nothing. She was not a person, she was a tool, a thing, a means, a purpose, a body to stand in that any person could've taken if only their stars had been aligned a little differently and sprouted at a different time.
Crack. Crickack.
The stone was soon coated in red.
Hanabi slumped back to her knees, staring at it. It was good, then, that she wasn't a person. Tools didn't bleed, only people.
