[An entry recovered from an old, torn piece of paper, discovered near the Caves of Despair; its origins remain unknown, although there is some strong speculation; found along with a metal leaf resembling a rare type of tea and broken shards of a katana]
I wasn't enough. That is why I left. Not that I believe any of that myself, I'm too powerful and capable for that. Or so I believed. So I was made to believe.
When I was young, really young, too-young-to-remember-being-that-young young, what I feared most was hunger. I faced that fear often enough, though it never left. Unless you have starved on the streets for years, begging for scraps, you'd never be acquainted with that fear. It feels like your insides are pulling themselves apart, and on the days your stomach aches the most your heart begins to, too. I didn't choose that life, but the leftovers left for me were somehow enough.
When I was a bit older I learned to fear the weather instead. Hunger aches, but it does not sting, and cut, and howl with emptiness of a battered, hollowed world, not just of yourself just the same. Unlike starvation, cold is both bitter and unrelenting. It creeps in when you least expect it, and even after bundling up tightly in rags it is not gone, it simply waits. Waits to seize your bones and blow through your quaking soul without mercy. I didn't choose those trials, but the tattered garments I collected were still enough.
When I left behind the only comfort ever openly given to me, the food and the warmth and everything else, those were no longer enough for me. And I was no longer enough, destined for nothingness just like before.
I'm no longer a child. I can fend for myself, and as soon as I'm finished here proving myself, I think I might return home. I can't forgive entirely, but I can try to make amends from this hate. It's lonely, I've learned, and my heart cannot be satisfied with food or warmth. Whatever is wrong with me, whatever he saw that made him deny what I worked so hard to prove myself for, is something to be feared more than hunger or the elements.
Even writing all of this I feel like a fool. Maybe it's only because for the first time I feel a fear that doesn't seem to have a cause or solution. So onward I go, to seek out my destiny on my own.
To become enough.
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Legends, Lives, and Legacies: Accounts of Ninjago
फैनफिक्शनA collection of various entries and collected writing from Ninjago's greatest heroes (and perhaps villains as well), courtesy of Master Wu and Pixal Borg who collected and assembled these accounts. Requests will be accepted for specific periods of...
