Naruto - Untitled (Crazy Itachi)
During my undergrad years, I took a class on rhetoric. We had a section where we had to read stuff by Freud, and Nietzsche, and a novel called The Adversary, which was about some crazy murderer. Anyway, all of that eventually gave birth to this story.
Originally, I had planned on adding more to the story, but I think this fragment can stand on its own as a one-shot. I'm still not posting it on fanfiction.net, though. This story was written before we knew the truth of Itachi's motivations in slaughtering the Uchiha clan, and basically tries to explain why Itachi might have gone sociopath on his friends and family. My concern with posting it on fanfiction.net is having idiots who don't read the author's notes review and tell me that that was not how things happened in canon. I'm reluctant to have the review post turn into a flame forum, so I'm posting this story here, in this quiet corner of the Web.
Title: Untitled (Crazy Itachi)
Fandom: Naruto
Summary: To reach the height of his capacity, he will stop at nothing to eliminate any potential obstacles.
Genre: Drama
Characters: Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui
Warnings: None
He had not had a hard childhood. He had never been pushed beyond his limits by his father, nor was he made burdened with the future that he would one day lead the clan. His father was unapproachable, not in the sense that he did not care for his children, rather, he was too busy to have developed a close relationship with them. He did not have a secret desire to please his father, or to please anyone else for that matter. He had never really cared.
Some people liked to justify his actions as those born from jealousy. Oh yes, his father was always doting on his younger brother behind his back, never giving the elder the love that he so deserved. He was obviously more talented, more capable, but the youngest son always had things easy.
Jealousy? That was a laugh. He was incapable of jealousy.
Others liked to speculate that the clan head, in other words, his father, was in fact corrupt, preparing for an insurrection against the village, when he, the tragic hero born from such an evil father, had oh-so-heroically destroyed the entire corrupt clan in a flare of justice, letting himself be branded a murderer and traitor.
A beautiful, but ridiculous picture.
They sought to explain his actions, to understand why he did what he did. He was, after all, the model citizen, intelligent, talented, and deadly loyal to his people. Or so it was believed at the time. How could someone like the great Itachi turn out into such a nightmare?
If he were the angst-driven hero, at this point, he would insert some inane comment such as, “how could anyone understand someone like me?” then continue on with pointless drivel about his deep fears and sorrows.
He had none to speak of.
No, Uchiha Itachi was what he was, exactly as his deeds showed he was. No painting, coloring, disfiguring of the truth. But those delusional, ignorant villagers continued to dream up their own illusions of him: Itachi the hero, Itachi the compassionate, Itachi the caged. The truth was right in front of them, staring, naked, and yet they could not see it. Could not or would not? It did not matter. They did not see.
If someone were to psychoanalyze him, it would perhaps be said that it all started on one sunny autumn day: the day when the first sign of the real Itachi peeked through. But that was an impossibility. Itachi had always been there, would always be there. He had never tried to hide his true nature or deceive others. He had simply been.
It was shuriken practice, and he had missed his target by a large distance. The first assignment of the year, and he had failed. It wasn’t traumatizing. Many others had failed as well. He went home, and was asked about the day.
“It was shuriken practice, and I had hit the mark dead center,” he said simply. Then he went upstairs to gather his equipment, announced he was going out to practice his shuriken throwing, and slipped out.
He returned in the evening, looking like he had simply taken a walk and had not practiced at all. He sat down with his family, ate dinner, spoke little, and retired to his room. The sun rose like it did everyday without command, and he left for the academy without command.
It was shuriken practice, and he had hit the mark dead center. It was the second assignment of the year, and he had gotten a perfect score. It was surprising. Many others had not passed. He went to his seat, and waited for the next student to try their hand at throwing the shuriken.
His fellow classmates who were waiting for their turn clamored around him, talking excitedly about his great talent. How did you do it, they wanted to know. Did you practice lots?
Of course he did, a student said. Otherwise how could he have hit the target when he so obviously missed yesterday?
“I didn’t miss the target yesterday,” Itachi had said with his now infamous calm.
What? Was he sure, his friends had asked. But then, like children, they had dismissed the matter from their minds, taking his words for truth. After all, they had no reason to distrust him.
So he progressed at a rapid speed through his academy years. He was the genius of the clan, his father’s pride-no, the pride of the Uchiha clan. He was calm, aloof, graceful. He was the perfect Genin, never failing his duties, carrying out his missions with perfect finesse. The perfect brother, the perfect son, the perfect ANBU member. He was what all the ninja in Konoha aspired to be. To have an ounce of what came to him so naturally would be more than satisfying for others.
However…
On a beautiful, clear and sunny day, by a riverbank near Konoha, Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Shisui sat together. The bond they shared was special, and it was known not only to themselves, but to others as well. They were like true brothers, and perhaps Shisui knew Itachi better than Itachi’s real brother knew him. Perhaps he knew Itachi better than everyone else, even Itachi himself. Or, as well as anyone could ever know the one called Uchiha Itachi.
The mistake, or correction, was made when Shisui transgressed into the truth of Itachi’s world. How was he to know what it had meant to Itachi? How would he know what his words would drive Itachi to do? To a normal person, the words meant nothing; they were a childhood sin, a guilt half forgotten, half buried, repressed.
But to Itachi, those words had a weight that could never fully be comprehended, for until the day that true Truth is discovered, the full weight of those words can never be measured.
What is the height of my capacity? he had asked Shisui. What is the limit of Man?
The capacity of man, eh? Can such a thing ever be measured? Shisui had replied in turn, lying on the cool grass, right hand outstretched towards the sun, as if he could touch it if he simply tried hard enough. We will never know the limit until we reach it, he said softly, hand falling down to rest by his side again. He glanced over at Itachi, seeing the seemingly perpetual frown forming on his face. He laughed. Well, maybe you will be the one who finds that limit, he had said, smiling a little. After all, you rose above everyone’s expectations when you were able to hit the center of the target during your second shuriken assessment when you missed all of them in the first assessment.
The sun continued to shine, the wind to blow, the trees to sway. But in Itachi’s mind, it was not so. The world in his mind stopped in time, frozen.
“I did perfectly well on my first shuriken assessment.”
No, you didn’t, Shisui laughed. You were just like the other rookies. You missed them all.
“I did not miss a single target.”
A frown formed on Shisui’s brow. But… I remember that you missed them. That was why I was so impressed when you managed to hit them all on your second try.
“Why would I lie?”
I guess you don’t have a reason to lie. My memory must be faulty, Shisui had said, but he hadn’t sounded too sure. He put the thought aside, though, thinking that it was not something that was worth troubling himself over. Who really cares about the truth of what happened back then, anyway?
But it was not a trifling matter.
“The height of my capacity…”
Could he reach farther than the sun, farther than any man had gone before him? Could he find the elusive limit of Man, the true potential of Man? He sought to find the truth of Truth, and in order to do that, he could not have anyone taint him, blemish him with lies.
Shisui was a threat.
No, not only Shisui. Anyone and everyone who knew-knew who he had been, what he was. No, that was incorrect. No one had truly known him, known his capacity, the volume of his container. He had worked hard for them to see the truth of who he was, but if he allowed that incident in the past to refresh itself in the minds of the ignorant, the blind, then all of his work would have been for nothing.
He needed to soar in the sky, leaving a trail so blinding that the distances that he had crossed before his flight would be forgotten, and only the glory of the fading trail of light would be remembered.
But in order to create that trail of light, he had to burn all that lay in his path.
As expected, starting the fire proved to be the most difficult. But what was to be expected of the one bearing the name of “calm waters?” To burn water was difficult, but by no means impossible, for in the end, the water must give way and drift off to wherever its capacity could take it.
It was a pity, but that was the limit of the Master of Mirage. So used was he in weaving the illusion for others, that he had failed to realize that he had been tricked himself. Or perhaps it was the illusionary bond that he had believed existed between men, the unspoken contract that had deluded him into swallowing that which was unreal for truth. That blind belief that had been established since the dawn of society was what had killed him. And the fire would continue to burn more lives. If ever the fire could have been doused, it was at this moment, but Shisui lacked the means to quell the fire. He was, after all, the one who “stopped the water,” not the one who “stopped the fire.”
As bearer of the name “Uchiha,” Itachi waited for the right moment to fan the fire. This would be his test and his initiation.
End
Originally, I had planned on adding more to the story, but I think this fragment can stand on its own as a one-shot. I'm still not posting it on fanfiction.net, though. This story was written before we knew the truth of Itachi's motivations in slaughtering the Uchiha clan, and basically tries to explain why Itachi might have gone sociopath on his friends and family. My concern with posting it on fanfiction.net is having idiots who don't read the author's notes review and tell me that that was not how things happened in canon. I'm reluctant to have the review post turn into a flame forum, so I'm posting this story here, in this quiet corner of the Web.
Title: Untitled (Crazy Itachi)
Fandom: Naruto
Summary: To reach the height of his capacity, he will stop at nothing to eliminate any potential obstacles.
Genre: Drama
Characters: Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui
Warnings: None
He had not had a hard childhood. He had never been pushed beyond his limits by his father, nor was he made burdened with the future that he would one day lead the clan. His father was unapproachable, not in the sense that he did not care for his children, rather, he was too busy to have developed a close relationship with them. He did not have a secret desire to please his father, or to please anyone else for that matter. He had never really cared.
Some people liked to justify his actions as those born from jealousy. Oh yes, his father was always doting on his younger brother behind his back, never giving the elder the love that he so deserved. He was obviously more talented, more capable, but the youngest son always had things easy.
Jealousy? That was a laugh. He was incapable of jealousy.
Others liked to speculate that the clan head, in other words, his father, was in fact corrupt, preparing for an insurrection against the village, when he, the tragic hero born from such an evil father, had oh-so-heroically destroyed the entire corrupt clan in a flare of justice, letting himself be branded a murderer and traitor.
A beautiful, but ridiculous picture.
They sought to explain his actions, to understand why he did what he did. He was, after all, the model citizen, intelligent, talented, and deadly loyal to his people. Or so it was believed at the time. How could someone like the great Itachi turn out into such a nightmare?
If he were the angst-driven hero, at this point, he would insert some inane comment such as, “how could anyone understand someone like me?” then continue on with pointless drivel about his deep fears and sorrows.
He had none to speak of.
No, Uchiha Itachi was what he was, exactly as his deeds showed he was. No painting, coloring, disfiguring of the truth. But those delusional, ignorant villagers continued to dream up their own illusions of him: Itachi the hero, Itachi the compassionate, Itachi the caged. The truth was right in front of them, staring, naked, and yet they could not see it. Could not or would not? It did not matter. They did not see.
If someone were to psychoanalyze him, it would perhaps be said that it all started on one sunny autumn day: the day when the first sign of the real Itachi peeked through. But that was an impossibility. Itachi had always been there, would always be there. He had never tried to hide his true nature or deceive others. He had simply been.
It was shuriken practice, and he had missed his target by a large distance. The first assignment of the year, and he had failed. It wasn’t traumatizing. Many others had failed as well. He went home, and was asked about the day.
“It was shuriken practice, and I had hit the mark dead center,” he said simply. Then he went upstairs to gather his equipment, announced he was going out to practice his shuriken throwing, and slipped out.
He returned in the evening, looking like he had simply taken a walk and had not practiced at all. He sat down with his family, ate dinner, spoke little, and retired to his room. The sun rose like it did everyday without command, and he left for the academy without command.
It was shuriken practice, and he had hit the mark dead center. It was the second assignment of the year, and he had gotten a perfect score. It was surprising. Many others had not passed. He went to his seat, and waited for the next student to try their hand at throwing the shuriken.
His fellow classmates who were waiting for their turn clamored around him, talking excitedly about his great talent. How did you do it, they wanted to know. Did you practice lots?
Of course he did, a student said. Otherwise how could he have hit the target when he so obviously missed yesterday?
“I didn’t miss the target yesterday,” Itachi had said with his now infamous calm.
What? Was he sure, his friends had asked. But then, like children, they had dismissed the matter from their minds, taking his words for truth. After all, they had no reason to distrust him.
So he progressed at a rapid speed through his academy years. He was the genius of the clan, his father’s pride-no, the pride of the Uchiha clan. He was calm, aloof, graceful. He was the perfect Genin, never failing his duties, carrying out his missions with perfect finesse. The perfect brother, the perfect son, the perfect ANBU member. He was what all the ninja in Konoha aspired to be. To have an ounce of what came to him so naturally would be more than satisfying for others.
However…
On a beautiful, clear and sunny day, by a riverbank near Konoha, Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Shisui sat together. The bond they shared was special, and it was known not only to themselves, but to others as well. They were like true brothers, and perhaps Shisui knew Itachi better than Itachi’s real brother knew him. Perhaps he knew Itachi better than everyone else, even Itachi himself. Or, as well as anyone could ever know the one called Uchiha Itachi.
The mistake, or correction, was made when Shisui transgressed into the truth of Itachi’s world. How was he to know what it had meant to Itachi? How would he know what his words would drive Itachi to do? To a normal person, the words meant nothing; they were a childhood sin, a guilt half forgotten, half buried, repressed.
But to Itachi, those words had a weight that could never fully be comprehended, for until the day that true Truth is discovered, the full weight of those words can never be measured.
What is the height of my capacity? he had asked Shisui. What is the limit of Man?
The capacity of man, eh? Can such a thing ever be measured? Shisui had replied in turn, lying on the cool grass, right hand outstretched towards the sun, as if he could touch it if he simply tried hard enough. We will never know the limit until we reach it, he said softly, hand falling down to rest by his side again. He glanced over at Itachi, seeing the seemingly perpetual frown forming on his face. He laughed. Well, maybe you will be the one who finds that limit, he had said, smiling a little. After all, you rose above everyone’s expectations when you were able to hit the center of the target during your second shuriken assessment when you missed all of them in the first assessment.
The sun continued to shine, the wind to blow, the trees to sway. But in Itachi’s mind, it was not so. The world in his mind stopped in time, frozen.
“I did perfectly well on my first shuriken assessment.”
No, you didn’t, Shisui laughed. You were just like the other rookies. You missed them all.
“I did not miss a single target.”
A frown formed on Shisui’s brow. But… I remember that you missed them. That was why I was so impressed when you managed to hit them all on your second try.
“Why would I lie?”
I guess you don’t have a reason to lie. My memory must be faulty, Shisui had said, but he hadn’t sounded too sure. He put the thought aside, though, thinking that it was not something that was worth troubling himself over. Who really cares about the truth of what happened back then, anyway?
But it was not a trifling matter.
“The height of my capacity…”
Could he reach farther than the sun, farther than any man had gone before him? Could he find the elusive limit of Man, the true potential of Man? He sought to find the truth of Truth, and in order to do that, he could not have anyone taint him, blemish him with lies.
Shisui was a threat.
No, not only Shisui. Anyone and everyone who knew-knew who he had been, what he was. No, that was incorrect. No one had truly known him, known his capacity, the volume of his container. He had worked hard for them to see the truth of who he was, but if he allowed that incident in the past to refresh itself in the minds of the ignorant, the blind, then all of his work would have been for nothing.
He needed to soar in the sky, leaving a trail so blinding that the distances that he had crossed before his flight would be forgotten, and only the glory of the fading trail of light would be remembered.
But in order to create that trail of light, he had to burn all that lay in his path.
As expected, starting the fire proved to be the most difficult. But what was to be expected of the one bearing the name of “calm waters?” To burn water was difficult, but by no means impossible, for in the end, the water must give way and drift off to wherever its capacity could take it.
It was a pity, but that was the limit of the Master of Mirage. So used was he in weaving the illusion for others, that he had failed to realize that he had been tricked himself. Or perhaps it was the illusionary bond that he had believed existed between men, the unspoken contract that had deluded him into swallowing that which was unreal for truth. That blind belief that had been established since the dawn of society was what had killed him. And the fire would continue to burn more lives. If ever the fire could have been doused, it was at this moment, but Shisui lacked the means to quell the fire. He was, after all, the one who “stopped the water,” not the one who “stopped the fire.”
As bearer of the name “Uchiha,” Itachi waited for the right moment to fan the fire. This would be his test and his initiation.
End