Hidden In The Leaf

Secrets of the leaf...Part..43

CONFRONTATION

........................HAIKU(43).......................

                NOT KNOWING WHY,

   I FEEL ATTACHED TO THIS WORLD

     WHERE WE COME ONLY TO DIE

            
                -Natsume Soseki -1867-1916-

..................O0O0O0O0O0O0O0..............

ONE HOUR PRIOR THE RAIN'S INFILTRATION

Time settled in with its usual uncaring rhythm, while both shinobies intently observed each other with hard pointed glares. Sliceable tension crawled into every available nook and cranny in an unwanted need to further lend friction to this unavoidable face off; coiling and patiently awaiting its release.

Gone were the tid bits of warmth that clung to each solid slabs of blackened stone, and in its place a suffocating cold slithered uninvited, borrowing its way into Asuma's racing nerves and making his teeth chatter.

How ironic it was, that with all this murderous intent circling the pair, a blurred angelic-like halo, engulfed Botan's physique, seemingly mocking Asuma's second coming as though he gazed upon an angel of death.

Merging tones of harmonic blues and purples, lluminated the small fraction of darkness that slept between light fixtures bridging one man from the other, adding an eerie touch of miasma to their eventual clash. It was quite the show and tell of one's chakra intensity, and threatening to say the least with a sort of sizzling frenetic energy. One Asuma hadn't the awful pleasures of entertaining since his first kill, or worst, his first death.

Of-coarse this only served as perfect kindling to his already skyrocketing stress, for no more than fifteen minutes into this not so grand escape, he had miserably failed in such a fashion, that shame richly wreathed his so called 'Elite' status.

He felt its wretched slither in the tips of his cramped up toes, in every greasy strand of unkept hair. And just like that, he was transported back in time where bitter memories of his younger years should have stayed.

Asuma blinked and soon found himself rooted dead smack in the centre of a known training ground. He was flanked on both sides by fellow classmates, hard jawed and staring at thier aww struck expressions while his heart hammered against his bruised chest. Mortification buckled his knees and self loath happily shattered that youthful confidence that nurtured his newborn ego, into dust. It was a humiliating defeat against Shiranui Genma of all people.

Sarutobi Asuma had just failed his first battle on the road to becoming a Genin.

He was the son of the Third Hokage first and foremost, so it was understandable that noble expectations had been thrusted upon him and his brother's existences long before their birth. But such blunders were considered inexcusable, and warranted heavy scrutiny no twelve year old should have endured. Especially him whom chose a life of military survice instead of following in his brother's footsteps.

His father remained innocent of this fact, acting in accordance with his paternal instincts despite his official duties. The rest of the village however, not so fucking much. A perpetual lesson was drilled into Asuma's subconscious that day, helping to pave a path toward a future void or political nay say; a life of honour despite his father's given name and complacent behaviour.

Shaking himself of this cursed nostalgia, Asuma single handedly fiddled through Saito's pilfered satchel, hoping to find as little as a simple Shuriken, let alone kunais. Gods above, he was by no means a devout being, but these days he found that prayers easily flowed from his lips regardless of his believes; truly a sign of the times indeed, or perhaps he needed an anchor, something to twart this mounting disquiet that was sure to cost him his second coming.