He awoke. Sousetsu's eyes opened to the first sight of a new day. His wound still not healed from the encounter of the Senju who attempted to take his life. He placed his hand under the bandaged shoulder, feeling the cut which was now bruised also, where the bamboo struck and with his cold hands they returned to his vision. It was still red. A little dried and brick red colour from the blood that oozed its way out from the scabs we knew as 'nature's bandage's.'

He exhaled deeply, wondering where had he gone wrong as a leader. As a model shinobi for those younger and who looked up to him, he did not feel the same sense of pride and stoic behaviour he knew too well. What was this sense, this feeling of great remorse and self-pity? In all his years he looked past all those that looked down on him. He proved them wrong by further bettering his capabilities. His techniques were in harmony with one another. He was known for his strategic prowess on the battlefield. He had the perfect combination of strength and mind. No, he did not. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could be perfect, that was a fool's thought to simply believe 'perfection' existed. He had to continue to further himself. He was not strong enough to face an enemy whose abilities were unknown to him, alienating his original strategies. He escaped with his life but his pride was left behind along with his armour and his weapon. His most trusted tools.

He lifted his head from the pillow and removed the blanket which enveloped his body to the sense of comfort which we all grow accustom to at the night skies.

He looked out the window. What he was used to seeing as a bright village with many stories of promises to become great turned to fairy tales in a land so dull. There were no promises that Sousetsu thought he could keep, after all, his own kin turned their back on him. Was it something he did wrong? Were there others that could fit into these shoes of his? Loneliness would creep up on the Senju once more in his time of need, boxing him off from the world as he knew it to be to some foreign land where the ninja did not know of him. Another stranger, not a hero to any child's eyes.

The thoughts rustled around like a stack of papers being tossed into the air and hopefully picking out the answers to his problems but the pages turned out to be blank. There were no answers. They were never recorded within Sousetsu's own recreational mind. He had never faced a threat pointed directly at him before.

He felt like a target. Another bulls-eye with a bounty on his head. He envisioned the many criminals and wandering ninja he had captured during his journeys in a reversed role. They captured him. Some killed him where he stood as he was powerless against them.

He couldn't escape because the very nature of the world was against him also. The trees, they moved away before he could reach the branches. The quickened paces of leaves rustling and the dyer need for attention was beginning to call out. Everyone that passed by ignored him as if to say he was plagued by all the diseases and facing such poverty that he became socially excluded from the common man.

He was at his lowest point. His face drooped with sorrow. His eyes retained black skin that surrounded them. Another night of self-pity. When one man questions his own existence his mind grows in size and it is only a matter of time before his imagination seeps out and becomes a reality. How long must he wait? How long until the days come to an end? Should he have died that day?

The water trickled from the shower cap and soon rushed downwards splashing off of his body as if they were afraid to associate itself with Sosuetsu, to touch the cowards skin would make them feel just as unworthy. His eyes were closed. A tear could be lost within the water and none would know the wiser. A cry for help could be bellowed form the pit of his lungs and no-one would hear him.

He was trapped within his own mind. His own thoughts would laugh at him, disgracing him at everything he stood for. What happened? Why would he be beaten to this level? A psychological level where he would draw a line and nothing would take his side. Only children would point while the mothers and fathers would guide them away.

The squeaking of the shower taps stopped as the water ceased.

The black jumpsuit was now fitted but nothing was there to protect it. To protect his body. The organs of a once noble and stoic figure were exposed for all to see. Anything with so much as a point, a pen, a pencil, were now more frightening than any blade. Just who could he trust now? If not his kin then who?

The food seemed tasteless, as if the taste-buds had ceased to exist to give this may any form of pleasure. He could only taste the bland and weak, which was also how he felt. Why should he deserve better?

His heart raced. Thumping and pounding against the walls that it resided within, there was no escape, it wanted to leave this meat suit. It wanted to turn this man into a husk. A simple mechanical being who only continued on living because the food lay before him and the shelter was supplied by himself. But why? Why would he need such things. Why would he think he could fit into society and be like any other who walked the streets. Possessions meant nothing. It gave the person a sense of normality. His armour and his blade were who he was. Without them, he was a husk.


Word count: 1001