A Curious Case of Tomatoes

Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto's property. I'm not making any money from this story.

Warning: Language.

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Light burnt red into her cheeks, deeper than the tomatoes he had gathered in a big straw-basket. A smile blossomed upon her mouth as though announcing the arrival of happiness in her face. Her expression changed subtly, slowly like the languid movement of a snail crawling across the expanse of a dry field, leaving a trail of whitish mucus in its wake—a thick and gooey and smelly liquid.

Sun slightly dipped behind the mountain, and a large misshapen shadow slushed over them, weightless, soundless. Her face grew darker, but when she pulled her lips over her tiny teeth, which were strangely reminiscent of a set of goat-like teeth, in what could have been an innocent smile or something entirely vicious, he became a little wary. Her eyes were a bit crazed, and she was showing many teeth—nearly the entire set—in her smile.

Spring's balmy breeze floated against her body up to her round face. Puffs of it blew across her pink hair and stray ones flopped over her forehead, revealing its size: her forehead was huge! His eyes widened, almost in shock, and his countenance compelled her to recover her senses.

Immediately, she whipped her hands up and fixed the hair; she smoothed them down, hiding her forehead from his eyes. Her frown deepened just a bit; she had spent hours preening her hair with the wooden comb—now just her fingers would do. Satisfied, she moved her hands down her cotton dress and bent forward, eyes gleaming, smile returning with full force.

"Can I have one?" she asked in a squeaky little voice like that of a tiny, hair-less, teat-suckling rat.

"No," he mumbled and tightened his plump cheek in a pronounced frown. He had gathered ripe red ones from the farm, and he would give them to his Nii-San!

"But—" she stopped and bit, with nervous desperation, into her lower-lip, the smile going away, "—why not?"

" 'Cause they're for Nii-San. You can't have them!" he said with such boldness in his voice, closing his eyes and nodding. The breeze made the rich fringe of his lashes quiver like grass.

Round Face, framed between the pink, turned so red with anger and sadness. Fisting her hands upon her hips—a very lady-like manner—she tapped her foot onto the ground and sent golds of dust up into the air.

"Red is the colour of love," she spoke, a little loudly, her body shivering. "And you love me!"

He let out a loud exhalation and seemed so exasperated. A faint pink shade yielded to the darker one that flooded his neck and face like waters in a dry bough. His eyebrows rose up, lips twisted, and a deep frown fell across his brow: he shook his head, quite vehemently, and made a sound that was not reassuring to her ears.

"No!" he said—too loudly for her little heart to bear. It collided against the ribcage, heart broken with a child's sadness.

She, with such a sad face, laced her delicate fingers together and pressed them to her lips as though she was praying. "Ino said that when I grow up into a big girl, after I pee out tomato-juice, you—you—" she stopped, pulling in so much air that her cheeks puffed out dangerously to the point where it seemed that they would burst, "—you'll make babies with me!"

Disgust invaded his face with quickness, and he hugged the basket tight to his breast, putting it between them as if it would save him from this girl's . . . evil advances and her grubby fingers.

"Girls don't pee tomato juices—you liar!" he spoke, disgust giving way to irritation—anger.

"They do!" she shouted, and her cheeks quivered like two balloons filled with water—as red as a snow-monkey's backside. She brought her hands down and curved her fingers into mighty fists at her sides.

"Liar!" he shouted back, and faint twitches around his tiny mouth showed his anger. The breeze grew fierce, and his black hairs twisted across his forehead and clove to the sweating skin.

"Yes, I'll pee tomato juice, too, and then we'll love each other very much and make babies!" she spoke and widened her eyes so much as though she needed to enlarge her sight to devour him.

"You're so annoying!" he mumbled, grabbed the durable handle of the basket, made to walk away . . . he started with a startle when she blocked his path and made a swift movement towards the basket to grab hold of a big and plump one.

He bounced back with ease whilst keeping the delicious tomatoes steady; she was too slow. Was she even training to be a Shinobi? What a stupid girl, more irksome than the blond goof! "Stop it!" he warned, snarling this time, his temper flaring; and Uchiha tempers were famous for their fiery nature.

When she did not stop, he leapt up, jumping fifteen feet high, and grabbed one tomato; then he aimed it right at her face. She was too slow to dodge—her head tipped back, face enveloped by awe at his swift movements. The big tomato went sailing through the thick air and struck her face with a squish; upon contact, it splattered and exploded across her cheeks.

He landed smoothly on his feet and curled his arms around the big basket. He did not stop to see what he had done and ran off to his home. (Dusk was radiant on the sky, and his mother would be worried!) The gooey pulp dripped down her face and dirtied her light-pink dress—it was matted in her hair, too. She scrunched her nose, her mouth so tight, and then she wept . . . it was just tomato pee!

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The End