Genesis

~ ҉ ~

A large explosion shattered the tranquil night, awakening everyone in the village of Konoha. Ninja struck into action, grabbing their equipment and Ninja garb before hurrying to fight against the unknown threat. The Ninja poured out of their village, ready to defend their home. Women and children screamed – the civilians didn't understand the threat as much as the shinobi did.

A young man and woman held their newborn son close. He was welcomed to the world when tragedy struck – and, unknown to them now, it would follow him for the rest of his life. His father whispered comforting words to his wife and child – never wanting to leave them. But his duty, for his village, called to him. His final words – "I love you both" – and he was gone.

Explosions from the village sounded close to where the mother and child hid. The mother cried, as they came close, and whimpered as they retreated. The earth trembled under the might of the explosions, noise blaring out in every direction.

The woman cried out; an explosion came from just outside their hidey-hole. It caused the roof to partially collapse, for the walls to shudder and the ground to rumble. Noise, of which she had never heard, reverberated of the walls and into their ears. It was too much for the woman to take – her head pounded under the force and her ears rung. And this same instant, she heard her baby wail, in a like she had never heard either. It was full of so much anguish, so much pain –

"Oh baby, what's wrong?" She fretted over the child, her fingers fluttering over the newborn. His physical appearance hadn't changed, except for his face flashing an unnerving red. His screams filled the night, creating even more pain for his mother. The mother winced, checking over her child again.

And then she saw it.

Two small trails of blood, one each seeping from the child's ears.

The mother knew what had happened at this point, but she utterly refused to believe it to be true.

"Oh god, no… no!" She cried, using her fingers to wipe at the blood. It smeared over the child's head, making him scream louder.

The child didn't understand what was happening, the only concept it could understand at this moment was pain. The mother, however, understood everything, and emotions overcame her – pain, fear, worry, anger, betrayal, despise – one and all of them swirling in her chest.

Anger, betrayal and despise at whatever god or being was watching. Pain, fear and worry for whatever would become of her child.

When another particularly close explosion came, the mother curled the child close; hugging him to her chest and burying her face in blond wisps of hair. She had talked over this moment with her husband; she understood that this may be her last moments with the child.

Screams from within the village came close, and she wept harder than she had before. Whatever reason became the child for having to lose his hearing, she was glad for it at this moment – at least he wouldn't have to hear the pain and suffering of his village.

~ ҉ ~

When the chaos stopped, it was only with the sealing of such chaos into the newborn infant. This decision was made by the Hokage of the village; and while he wanted the village to remember the child as a hero for hosting the chaos, his wishes were tossed to the side. The infant was destined to be hated and alone – such was his fate.

The child's parents had died in the attack, never even getting a proper chance to wish their child farewell. He was whisked away, and the chaos was imbedded into the child's stomach. A black tattooed seal was the only reminder of the chaos; of his parents. He would not even begin to understand what the seal meant – for everyone present had left without a word. He was left to cry, deep sorrowful cries, as the candles around him flickered.

At the age of one, the child understood he was alone. There were many other children who had what he didn't – families. Two parents, holding the child by their hands, walking and smiling. The child's hands grasped at air; for how he wished so hard for parents he never knew, yet had no one to grasp onto. Thick warm tears rolled down the infant's cheeks. While the child was bright and happy, he often succumbed to a loneliness he didn't understand. His shock of blond hair was in bright spikes around his hear; eyes as blue as the sky above him. His mouth, small and peach coloured, never opened. His hands never reached. His ears never heard.

For him, his world was silence. People would walk past, never saying anything. Animals, the vegetation around him, never made a sound. The child would often clap, or bang things, making a ruckus – just with a hope of hearing something. But this hope always crashed and burned. He was so alone. No one offered to help, no one offered a hand.

The villagers were not particularly cruel; no one ever laid a hand at him. Just their lack of humanity was what burned deep into the child's soul. Doing nothing at all can be crueller than getting beaten. At least that was a sick, twisted way of being acknowledged.

When he was three, he began to hear the voice. It was different to his mind's voice – rough, deep and distinctive. It was a snarl, almost animalistic. The voice would whisper to him, using words he couldn't fathom. The child could repeat these words, both aloud and in his mind, and the voice would praise him in turn – or what the child assumed was praise. The way the voice spoke, left warmth in the child.

By the time he was six, the voice had been a constant form of solidity. It kept the child grounded. Now, if the child knew any better, he would know that hearing voices was definitely not a good thing. But this voice was good. It taught him, something others never bothered to do. It taught him to read – the child going to stores and places where there were books with printed words. It taught him to read lips – which often came in handy when people, rarely, wanted to speak with him. It taught him to speak - although the child refused to practice this much. After all, the child would not understand what his own voice would sound like – was he pronouncing the words right? The only voices he had heard were his own, in his mind, and the other's. He'd never know if he was correct or wrong in his pronunciation. This was not much to go on. Instead, the voice taught him to use his hands. Some were similar to what he saw Ninja use, and others were completely befuddling.

However, his sudden awareness of speech and other's words caught the attention of people who were high in power in the village. The child was visited by a man in a long white coat, with red patterns woven in the hem. He wore a largely brimmed hat, which was similar in appearance. The man was old, although not old enough for it to be a worry.

He seemed to understand that the child was learning, so when he spoke, he did it so that his words were slow and deliberate.

"Hello Naruto. Do you know who I am?"

'Hokage,' Naruto signed. He voiced the word also, but winced when the Hokage looked at him with confusion. Was it his voice? He said it wrong, didn't he?

'Yes, I am. Tell me, who taught you to speak like this?' The Hokage raised his hands, displaying them in easy sight for the child. The child, Naruto, paused, before replying.

'The voice.'

The Hokage jerked; eyes wide and face frustrated. The Hokage stood and motioned to his side, before a man clad in black and a white mask appeared at his side. The Hokage turned to face the ANBU, speaking to him softly. Naruto could read the man's lips, but only understood a few words.

Seal…child…teaching…seal…breaking…

…What?

The voice in his head growled, feeling outraged. The voice spoke to him, whispering doubts and angers. The child tensed at his language; he turned to the Hokage:

"He says leave me alone."

The Hokage was astounded, looking to the boy. His face was beet red, looking flustered and frustrated at the same time.

"He?"

"The voice; he doesn't like you."

The Hokage sighed, and looked conflicted. He spoke quickly to the ANBU – much too quickly for Naruto to read – and suddenly Naruto was gripped from behind. His head twisted to see another ANBU behind him, constraining his arms. The Hokage walked forward, hand raised. Naruto panicked; the voice screaming.

The Hokage lifted Naruto's shirt, viewing the seal. He looked upset, and his hand landed in the direct centre of the swirl. The other hand lifted to place a palm on Naruto's forehead, the fingers wrapping around his small head.

All Naruto felt was… white. A white light flooded his mind's eye, blurring out the voice and any memory of it. Naruto still remembered his teachings; how to read lips, understanding the language and how to sign, but he just didn't know how he came to learn it. He felt smothered, used and…alone. He hadn't felt alone for a very long time.

When the Hokage spoke to him afterwards, mentioning a voice…

Naruto had no idea what he was talking about.

~ ҉ ~