We are the 99, a naruto fanfic

You never found a woman, always too unattractive with the ladies.

You wonder if you did marry and have children, you would be facing this moment with more courage. More pride. Less religion and desperate begs.

You are trembling down to your bones. You want to cry that you have never killed before, never even swung a sword, not in the entire six months of your draft. Your hands are clean, you are a person, can't they see, you are a person, just like-

He has never killed before either.

You are number one.

You are bleeding, internally and out. Your hand scrapes against the winter bark, your knees buckling inward from your weight.

You have gotten not more than one hundred meters from the ambush, and it is with choking despair that you realize their sacrifices are in vain.

Blood pools at your thighs, thick and warm as a blanket. The ground is spinning.

After all the shivers, there is only stillness, your forehead pressed against the tree. You sense his arrival, but can no longer separate reality from black.

You are number two.

You are hidden behind a fur coat, huddled in the darkest corner you can find. There is the sound of smashed plates and trampling footsteps. But no sound from kaa-san. No sound from tou-san either.

You do not dare move when a set of footsteps stop outside the closet door.

There is a pause, then a call from the kitchen. "Burn it all!"

You snap shut your eyes, head under your arms, as the handle turns and the door to the closet opens. You do not open your eyes. Monsters cannot hurt you as long as you do not open your eyes. But when you are pulled out of hiding, you feel his fingers.

Monsters do not have human hands. Your eyes snap open.

You are number three.

You are not defenseless, a katana joined at the hip, worn down through the years by metal and bone. You are not innocent, soft robes still crumpled and hair matted. And you are far from sinless, as you position yourself into stance of a tiger.

There is no such thing as a right to life. Life is earned. Life is fought for and killed for, the way of nature and of man.

If they want you, they would have to die for it, bleed for it, weep for it.

Two are dead and one is blind before he finally strikes you down. Your laugh is of scorn, and you use words to deliver one last blow, the most devastating of them all. With any luck, he will kill himself.

You are number six.

10.

"Takimoto is an asshole, that's what he is!" she says with a kick of a soda can. Like a blowfish, she puffs her cheeks and exhales louder than the cheapest of kettles.

You laugh. The laugh fades to a smile, which then fades to a look, before you avert your gaze towards the city streets.

You finger the pair of festival tickets in your pocket, but before you could muster the courage, she has already stopped talking, her apartment in view. She sends her good bye in a hug, all red-nosed and mummified behind the knits of a scarf. She stands as the most ridiculous thing you have ever seen, the most precious thing you have ever held.

And as you watch her go, you promise yourself tomorrow.

You swear to the horizon that tomorrow, tomorrow you will-

You are number ten.

18.

In your arms is a bouquet of baby's breath, the soil and roots still fresh. They stain the wrinkles in your hands, something you held with disdain all those years ago but grew to love. Just as you grew to love the texture of his skin, the callouses of his inner thumb, the ring of black under his fingernails.

At the gravestone, you settle into your daily conversation, a cup of hot tea to ease your throat along the way. As usual, your thoughts meander in strange directions and you knock on his tombstone, crackling a joke that only the two of you would understand.

You ignore the presence of your unwanted company, because this is your moment. You breathe, and you talk, and you laugh. This is your moment, and you will go when you are ready to go.

The autumn breeze sends a wave of orange and gold, dry and crisp in the ground.

You are number eighteen.

33.

They say answers start unraveling as you age, when your teeth are missing and your hair is white, but you got impatient.

Between people, what is different? you once asked.

Your mother gave a piece of her thought. Well, some are rich, and some are poor. Some are old, and some are young. Some are strong, and some are weak. Some are happy, and some are sad.

Some you know, some you don't, he whispered. Some you love, some you don't.

You sink in the waters, letting the cold consume you.

He had posed a better question. Between people, what is the same?

You are number thirty-three.

35.

You pull the covers over your shoulder. You wish your husband will put down the books for once and turn off the lights.

You are number thirty-five.

36.

You never did finish the story.

You are number thirty-six.

40.

"What do-"

You are number forty.

44.

"Okaa-san!" Your fingers reach out.

You are number forty-four.

45.

You can't reach your daughter's room. Blood seeps out your womb and down the cracks of your fingers.

You can't scream.

You are number forty-five.

46.

The katana has pierced before you could even find the handle of your kunai.

It does not matter. Your heart stopped the moment you saw his face.

You are number forty-six.

57.

You claw the road, blood bubbling out your open mouth.

You are number fifty-seven.

58.

You never could touch him.

You are number fifty-eight.

59.

Why.

You are number fifty-nine.

65.

You stare at the tatami floor, oblivious to the presence of your husband and eldest son.

You have nothing to say to them. No cries of remorse, no words of comfort.

You are number sixty-five.

66.

You imagine the peonies tucked behind her ear, the fibers of her cashmere cardigan against the evening sun. While a wall of wildlife and shrubbery blocks your way, she rushes ahead like an excited child, her fingertips brushing against stalks of thin, dry stems, still white after the winter.

Mikoto.

Mikoto, look at me.

She turns around and her smile faces you, framed in bright white light.

You are number sixty-six.

99.

You sit at the shrine, crowned by the hundred arms of a god.

Your body is already burnt to ash, but someone has detached your mind, placed you within a different flow of time.

Your thumb is rolling beads in meditation, your ears acute to the flute of summer, the joys of your boy chasing a grasshopper. Faintly, you remember his tethered grey shirt and straw shoes, what he wore on the day of his leave. Faintly, you remember the knock three years later. It was his honor, the officer said, to have served.

But it becomes harder to remember these things when your boy, now a man, returns home with a woman and baby by his side.

You were worried there. He was never confident with the ladies, but it would appear he found love after all. It would appear he married, right after the war, having ran as fast as his legs could carry him, ran far away from the battlefield, and fuck honor if it means you can feel his hair again, his neck hooked under your arm, his smile as bright as the day he was born.

Papa, you're embarrassing me!

Usually, you would bark and knock your foolish son on the head. This time, you just weep.

You are number ninety-nine.

I am the sacrifice for your life.

I am the sacrifice for your power.

I am the sacrifice for your obedience.

I am the sacrifice for your resistance.

I am the sacrifice for your success.

I am the sacrifice for your failure.

I am the sacrifice for your judgment.

I am the sacrifice for your indecision.

I am the sacrifice for your safety.

I am the sacrifice for your comfort.

I am the sacrifice for your voice.

I am the sacrifice for your silence.

I am the sacrifice for your loyalty.

I am the sacrifice for your faith.

I am the sacrifice for your family.

I am the sacrifice your friends.

I am the sacrifice for your people.

I am the sacrifice for your home.

I am the sacrifice for your leaders.

I am the sacrifice for your government.

I am the sacrifice for your economy.

I am the sacrifice for your love.

I am the sacrifice for your duty.

I am the sacrifice for your devotion.

I am the sacrifice for your brother.

Your brother.

Brother.

We are the sacrifices for your world.

May you be forever remembered in honor and glory.