Dream #1
(OOC: Kisame's about four years old or so in this, and killing for the first time; he's pretty damned cute, except for being such a violent little guy. ♥)
(Warning: Graphic-ish violence and death inflicted on a child.)
This was how you held a kunai. This was how you became a ninja. Daddy said so, so it had to be true.
Kisame liked holding kunais. He liked the weight in his hands. He liked how sharp they were, and how bright they were in the sun. He liked how smooth they were, especially when he rubbed his cheek against the flat side and thought about being strong. He liked stabbing things with them, too. It felt nice to hit things and feel it go in-in-in until the sharp part stopped and his hand got in the way anyway, and he liked hearing the different sounds he could make, too. He was good at stabbing things. He wasn't very good at throwing kunais yet, though. That was why Daddy wanted him to practice.
So he had practiced! He had practiced all afternoon until his arm hurt and the tree had lots of scratches when he'd hit it. It would have been easier to just stab the tree if he wanted to hit it, he thought, but Daddy said that it was important to know how to throw kunais, too. He wished he didn't have to keep running after the kunais, though. They all bounced off the tree, or went way far past it.
The big boys had come over, though, and asked if he had wanted to see something cool. Of course he did! Most people didn't like playing with him. The cool thing was at the lake, too, and he liked water. And besides, they were in the Academy already! So they had to be cool, too. He followed them all the way down to the very edge of the lake, and they were pointing at something, but he couldn't see it, so they had him lean closer and closer--
Kisame yowled like the neighbor's cat had when he had dropped her out of the top of the tree in their yard to see if she always landed on her feet. (She did, but she had been pretty mad about that.) Why had they pushed him in?!
Kisame stopped yelling to hold his breath when they pushed him under the water. That was dangerous! People couldn't breathe underwater; everyone knew that. But they wouldn't let him up! They were stronger than he was, and he was struggling and kicking and yanking on their hands and--
He didn't feel like he was drowning.
He didn't even feel like he was holding his breath, either. His chest usually hurt after it had been this long. His face did feel kind of funny though, right around his cheeks and eyes, and what felt like see-through eyelids had slid over his eyes, and he felt fine. He let out the breath he'd been holding in a stream of silver bubbles, watched them pop-pop-pop on the surface, and didn't breathe in.
He still felt fine.
He thought it was pretty cool, just for a little bit. Nobody else could do this! That had to make him special, right? And being a good kind of special should be a good thing, because until now, he'd always been the bad kind of special. People always looked at him funny, and sometimes they said bad things, too--and sometimes even things Mama told him not to say again if he didn't want soap in his mouth, because she thought that people who said those things about him deserved to have their tongues cut out. Mama was really good at using kunais. She usually sounded kind of scary when she said things like that, though.
But he remembered pretty soon that they were still holding him down, and even when he stopped struggling, he still couldn't get up. "Let go!" This time, he didn't hesitate at all to shout; another cloud of bubbles squirmed out between his lips. He wasn't sure if they could hear him, though; his voice sounded kind of weird underwater. What if they couldn't hear him? What if he was stuck down here?
So he decided to just yell louder, and keep yelling until they heard. His voice was all cracked and shaky and too high; it would have been embarrassing, if being that scared didn't hurt his throat and make it too tight and hard to yell with. He wanted to cry, but that would have been even more embarrassing, even if it was underwater and nobody could see. "Let go! Let go! Let go!"
They still weren't letting go! And he could hear them talking, too, even though he couldn't hear what they were saying. But they sounded the same as when people said bad things to him. They wanted him down here, didn't they? Didn't they?! They wanted him to drown!
His voice rumble-growled up through his chest this time, even louder than before, hands balling into fists; his throat hurt a lot now and felt like it was closing up the whole way, and he was shaking even worse now that he wasn't struggling. "Let go!"
They still didn't let go.
(They wanted him to drown. They wanted him to die. They wanted to hurt him. Why?! What had he done to deserve that? He hadn't done anything to them!)
So he bit them.
He'd never bitten anybody before. It felt kind of like stabbing things, (even better, since it was more, and he could feel it in his whole mouth instead of his hand) only nothing was getting in the way; he could grind down as hard as he wanted, just cccchhhhkk and feel how hot-springy-soft their wrist was on his lips and teeth and tongue. There was a whole lot of blood making the water cloudy now; it tasted sososososo good, all salty and tangy and hot and metal, (kunais didn't taste that great when you licked them, but metal was good when it was with everything else like this) way better than even when he'd snuck a piece of raw chicken before Mama could put it into the wok to cook. So he bit as hard as he could, and shook his head to make his teeth go even deeper, and then they let him go; he could hear that one screaming, even through the water.
(They wanted to hurt them, so they were bad. Hurting people in your own village was bad. Hurting people who didn't deserve it for no reason was really bad. But they were bad, so they deserved to be hurt. Hurting bad people who deserved it was good. So hurting bad people who deserved it before they really could hurt you was really good. He wanted to hurt the bad people.)
Kisame growled, and that rumbled his chest even louder than when he had been yelling at them. His teeth ached from how bad he wanted to use them again, and so he bared them at the boys. They were yelling things about 'freak' and 'drowned' and 'five minutes', but he didn't really care about knowing what they were saying anymore. He didn't really care about talking to them anymore, either--they were bad people, and he needed to hurt them. They would hurt him if he didn't, they would! He knew they would! Knew it, knew it, knew it!
(Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? Why did everybody hate him so much?!)
He wanted to hurt them so bad they'd never want to hurt him again.
Kisame wasn't thinking anymore. Maybe he couldn't; he wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't want to, so he didn't do it. All he knew was that he smelled blood, lots of it, and his mouth was full, and there was blood in it too, and it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and they were screaming loud enough that he could barely hear the animal noises he was making, all growl-rumble-snarl-snap-shout-sob. But that was okay, because he liked to hear them scream. He liked to hear them scream, and he liked to hear the cccchhhhkkk and kkkkksssshhh when he bit and tore at them, and the crrrrrkkkk when their bones snapped. He had dropped his kunai when they had pushed him in, but that was okay. He liked his teeth better anyway, and he could use his hands to hold on when they tried to rip him off or punch him. He could use his hands to tear too, just like he had claws, only his nails weren't very sharp. But they were okay at scratching when he did it hard enough, and he was scratching really hard, and it was even easier when he scratched places he'd already bitten.
All he could smell now was blood and fear, and there was blood in his mouth and on his face and running down his chin with his tears, and under his fingernails and all over his hands and arms, and it was hot-sticky-slick, and it tasted good, and it felt good, and it smelled good, and it looked good, and he was still scared and upset, but he was mostly just angry now--but it was a good-strong-angry, an I-can-do-something-now-angry, and he'd never felt this good in his whole entire life.
(Hate you hate you hate you hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyouHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOU--)
"What the hell?!"
"God! Look at him! Get that freak off, now!"
The next thing Kisame felt was a whole lot of pain in his jaw as he was sent flying; he hit the ground hard and skidded to a stop in the grass, spitting out a few teeth so he wouldn't choke on them.
"Disgusting...."
"No way in hell the kid could have survived that. Who is he?"
"I think he's the Hoshigaki boy.... We're supposed to get him into the Academy in a year or two."
"Ugh.... You take the little monster home. I've got to get this thing to the hospital and tell his family."
Kisame realized his kunai was in reach, even with his headache from being hit so hard, and wrapped his hand around it to make sure he didn't lose it before he sat up. The other two boys were gone, but the worst one, the one that had shoved him into the water, was still there. He was laying stretched out on the grass where Kisame had tackled him, and he didn't look very good; a whole lot of his face had been torn right off. So was his chest, and his ribs were all ker-snap-snap-snap. But his stomach was worst of all--it was ripped all the way open, way messier than you were supposed to do for fish, and there wasn't much left inside it; it'd been pulled out and torn up and thrown around just everywhere, and there was blood-blood-blood all over him, all red and shining in the sun, and so dark and pretty like the rubies Mama wore sometimes on her jewelry....
He wasn't screaming anymore. He wasn't getting up. Or moving at all. And he really wasn't going to try and hurt him again.
(Good. Good. I'm glad you're dead. Glad! You deserve it for trying to hurt me! You're bad. You're all bad people. All of you! Badbadbadbadbadbadbad--)
Suddenly one of the grown-ups was behind him and shoving him down, putting a foot right on his back and stepping on him hard; Kisame kicked and thrashed, just like he had when they had shoved him into the water and held him down, only now he had his kunai to struggle with, too. "Let go!"
The grown-up only stepped on him harder, and took the kunai before he could even cut his hand with it. And then he picked Kisame up and held him straight out, way too far away to kick or punch him, and hitting his hands and wrists didn't work, and he couldn't bend enough to bite him. Obviously the grown-up wasn't going to let him go either, because he just held on tighter and started walking, back towards home.
Once he realized it was useless, he stopped struggling and just dangled, sullen and resentful. They were going to tell his parents, and he was probably going to get scolded and maybe punished and not be allowed to leave the house for a while.... But he thought his parents might be proud of him, too. They always wanted him to be strong, and it was good for him to stand up for himself--Mama said so. And he had felt really strong when he had done that, so they had to be proud of him. Right?
Still miserable and frustrated, but comforted by the thought that Mama and Daddy might be happy with him, Kisame tried to scrub as much blood as he could off of his face, licking his fingers clean as he was carried home.
[Kisame's eyes open, startled and disoriented, bleary from sleep as he looks around. He doesn't seem particularly upset by the memory, nor does he seem particularly pleased by it--really, he just wonders what brought it up. He yawns and rubs his eyes, offering a full flash of his teeth, then settles back down and pulls the blanket up to his neck. For now, he's just ignoring the Hitomi in favor of getting a few more minutes of sleep.]
(Warning: Graphic-ish violence and death inflicted on a child.)
This was how you held a kunai. This was how you became a ninja. Daddy said so, so it had to be true.
Kisame liked holding kunais. He liked the weight in his hands. He liked how sharp they were, and how bright they were in the sun. He liked how smooth they were, especially when he rubbed his cheek against the flat side and thought about being strong. He liked stabbing things with them, too. It felt nice to hit things and feel it go in-in-in until the sharp part stopped and his hand got in the way anyway, and he liked hearing the different sounds he could make, too. He was good at stabbing things. He wasn't very good at throwing kunais yet, though. That was why Daddy wanted him to practice.
So he had practiced! He had practiced all afternoon until his arm hurt and the tree had lots of scratches when he'd hit it. It would have been easier to just stab the tree if he wanted to hit it, he thought, but Daddy said that it was important to know how to throw kunais, too. He wished he didn't have to keep running after the kunais, though. They all bounced off the tree, or went way far past it.
The big boys had come over, though, and asked if he had wanted to see something cool. Of course he did! Most people didn't like playing with him. The cool thing was at the lake, too, and he liked water. And besides, they were in the Academy already! So they had to be cool, too. He followed them all the way down to the very edge of the lake, and they were pointing at something, but he couldn't see it, so they had him lean closer and closer--
Kisame yowled like the neighbor's cat had when he had dropped her out of the top of the tree in their yard to see if she always landed on her feet. (She did, but she had been pretty mad about that.) Why had they pushed him in?!
Kisame stopped yelling to hold his breath when they pushed him under the water. That was dangerous! People couldn't breathe underwater; everyone knew that. But they wouldn't let him up! They were stronger than he was, and he was struggling and kicking and yanking on their hands and--
He didn't feel like he was drowning.
He didn't even feel like he was holding his breath, either. His chest usually hurt after it had been this long. His face did feel kind of funny though, right around his cheeks and eyes, and what felt like see-through eyelids had slid over his eyes, and he felt fine. He let out the breath he'd been holding in a stream of silver bubbles, watched them pop-pop-pop on the surface, and didn't breathe in.
He still felt fine.
He thought it was pretty cool, just for a little bit. Nobody else could do this! That had to make him special, right? And being a good kind of special should be a good thing, because until now, he'd always been the bad kind of special. People always looked at him funny, and sometimes they said bad things, too--and sometimes even things Mama told him not to say again if he didn't want soap in his mouth, because she thought that people who said those things about him deserved to have their tongues cut out. Mama was really good at using kunais. She usually sounded kind of scary when she said things like that, though.
But he remembered pretty soon that they were still holding him down, and even when he stopped struggling, he still couldn't get up. "Let go!" This time, he didn't hesitate at all to shout; another cloud of bubbles squirmed out between his lips. He wasn't sure if they could hear him, though; his voice sounded kind of weird underwater. What if they couldn't hear him? What if he was stuck down here?
So he decided to just yell louder, and keep yelling until they heard. His voice was all cracked and shaky and too high; it would have been embarrassing, if being that scared didn't hurt his throat and make it too tight and hard to yell with. He wanted to cry, but that would have been even more embarrassing, even if it was underwater and nobody could see. "Let go! Let go! Let go!"
They still weren't letting go! And he could hear them talking, too, even though he couldn't hear what they were saying. But they sounded the same as when people said bad things to him. They wanted him down here, didn't they? Didn't they?! They wanted him to drown!
His voice rumble-growled up through his chest this time, even louder than before, hands balling into fists; his throat hurt a lot now and felt like it was closing up the whole way, and he was shaking even worse now that he wasn't struggling. "Let go!"
They still didn't let go.
(They wanted him to drown. They wanted him to die. They wanted to hurt him. Why?! What had he done to deserve that? He hadn't done anything to them!)
So he bit them.
He'd never bitten anybody before. It felt kind of like stabbing things, (even better, since it was more, and he could feel it in his whole mouth instead of his hand) only nothing was getting in the way; he could grind down as hard as he wanted, just cccchhhhkk and feel how hot-springy-soft their wrist was on his lips and teeth and tongue. There was a whole lot of blood making the water cloudy now; it tasted sososososo good, all salty and tangy and hot and metal, (kunais didn't taste that great when you licked them, but metal was good when it was with everything else like this) way better than even when he'd snuck a piece of raw chicken before Mama could put it into the wok to cook. So he bit as hard as he could, and shook his head to make his teeth go even deeper, and then they let him go; he could hear that one screaming, even through the water.
(They wanted to hurt them, so they were bad. Hurting people in your own village was bad. Hurting people who didn't deserve it for no reason was really bad. But they were bad, so they deserved to be hurt. Hurting bad people who deserved it was good. So hurting bad people who deserved it before they really could hurt you was really good. He wanted to hurt the bad people.)
Kisame growled, and that rumbled his chest even louder than when he had been yelling at them. His teeth ached from how bad he wanted to use them again, and so he bared them at the boys. They were yelling things about 'freak' and 'drowned' and 'five minutes', but he didn't really care about knowing what they were saying anymore. He didn't really care about talking to them anymore, either--they were bad people, and he needed to hurt them. They would hurt him if he didn't, they would! He knew they would! Knew it, knew it, knew it!
(Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? Why did everybody hate him so much?!)
He wanted to hurt them so bad they'd never want to hurt him again.
Kisame wasn't thinking anymore. Maybe he couldn't; he wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't want to, so he didn't do it. All he knew was that he smelled blood, lots of it, and his mouth was full, and there was blood in it too, and it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and they were screaming loud enough that he could barely hear the animal noises he was making, all growl-rumble-snarl-snap-shout-sob. But that was okay, because he liked to hear them scream. He liked to hear them scream, and he liked to hear the cccchhhhkkk and kkkkksssshhh when he bit and tore at them, and the crrrrrkkkk when their bones snapped. He had dropped his kunai when they had pushed him in, but that was okay. He liked his teeth better anyway, and he could use his hands to hold on when they tried to rip him off or punch him. He could use his hands to tear too, just like he had claws, only his nails weren't very sharp. But they were okay at scratching when he did it hard enough, and he was scratching really hard, and it was even easier when he scratched places he'd already bitten.
All he could smell now was blood and fear, and there was blood in his mouth and on his face and running down his chin with his tears, and under his fingernails and all over his hands and arms, and it was hot-sticky-slick, and it tasted good, and it felt good, and it smelled good, and it looked good, and he was still scared and upset, but he was mostly just angry now--but it was a good-strong-angry, an I-can-do-something-now-angry, and he'd never felt this good in his whole entire life.
(Hate you hate you hate you hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyouHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOU--)
"What the hell?!"
"God! Look at him! Get that freak off, now!"
The next thing Kisame felt was a whole lot of pain in his jaw as he was sent flying; he hit the ground hard and skidded to a stop in the grass, spitting out a few teeth so he wouldn't choke on them.
"Disgusting...."
"No way in hell the kid could have survived that. Who is he?"
"I think he's the Hoshigaki boy.... We're supposed to get him into the Academy in a year or two."
"Ugh.... You take the little monster home. I've got to get this thing to the hospital and tell his family."
Kisame realized his kunai was in reach, even with his headache from being hit so hard, and wrapped his hand around it to make sure he didn't lose it before he sat up. The other two boys were gone, but the worst one, the one that had shoved him into the water, was still there. He was laying stretched out on the grass where Kisame had tackled him, and he didn't look very good; a whole lot of his face had been torn right off. So was his chest, and his ribs were all ker-snap-snap-snap. But his stomach was worst of all--it was ripped all the way open, way messier than you were supposed to do for fish, and there wasn't much left inside it; it'd been pulled out and torn up and thrown around just everywhere, and there was blood-blood-blood all over him, all red and shining in the sun, and so dark and pretty like the rubies Mama wore sometimes on her jewelry....
He wasn't screaming anymore. He wasn't getting up. Or moving at all. And he really wasn't going to try and hurt him again.
(Good. Good. I'm glad you're dead. Glad! You deserve it for trying to hurt me! You're bad. You're all bad people. All of you! Badbadbadbadbadbadbad--)
Suddenly one of the grown-ups was behind him and shoving him down, putting a foot right on his back and stepping on him hard; Kisame kicked and thrashed, just like he had when they had shoved him into the water and held him down, only now he had his kunai to struggle with, too. "Let go!"
The grown-up only stepped on him harder, and took the kunai before he could even cut his hand with it. And then he picked Kisame up and held him straight out, way too far away to kick or punch him, and hitting his hands and wrists didn't work, and he couldn't bend enough to bite him. Obviously the grown-up wasn't going to let him go either, because he just held on tighter and started walking, back towards home.
Once he realized it was useless, he stopped struggling and just dangled, sullen and resentful. They were going to tell his parents, and he was probably going to get scolded and maybe punished and not be allowed to leave the house for a while.... But he thought his parents might be proud of him, too. They always wanted him to be strong, and it was good for him to stand up for himself--Mama said so. And he had felt really strong when he had done that, so they had to be proud of him. Right?
Still miserable and frustrated, but comforted by the thought that Mama and Daddy might be happy with him, Kisame tried to scrub as much blood as he could off of his face, licking his fingers clean as he was carried home.
[Kisame's eyes open, startled and disoriented, bleary from sleep as he looks around. He doesn't seem particularly upset by the memory, nor does he seem particularly pleased by it--really, he just wonders what brought it up. He yawns and rubs his eyes, offering a full flash of his teeth, then settles back down and pulls the blanket up to his neck. For now, he's just ignoring the Hitomi in favor of getting a few more minutes of sleep.]