DISCLAIMER!

I do not own Naruto or any of the characters. There, done and over with.

My name is Gaara.

I hate my life.

Then again, what don’t I hate?

Ever since I was little, people treated me like a complete fool. They made fun of the way my hair looked, the dark circles that were permanently embedded around my eyes in a constant insomnia-like form, and the heart-shaped birthmark on my forehead over my left eye. I wasn’t the most popular. Hell, even the geeks and the loser were more popular than I was in middle school.

Then high school came along.

It was all the same old song and dance, as Aerosmith put it.

The first day was always the most peaceful. There were fewer people to worry about, mainly because they were still on vacation, or they had gotten sick or something along those lines.

But the days after that were the worst yet.

After getting ahold of my class schedule, anybody who was anybody was able to plan how they would ambush me with silly string, eggs, or fake blood and death. It was all expected, and I continued to try to find the best routes away from advantageous ambush points. I was sort of like a ghost then.

Then I met Hinata.

Hinata was the friend of Naruto Uzumaki, one of the biggest pranksters in the school. Her hair was violet, and so were her eyes, which was even odder than her hair style. The first time I met her was in middle school, when she randomly drew my name for a Valentine’s thing that our teacher was having us do. She bought me a stuffed anime doll that she thought I would like. I just took it and stared at it.

It was on the eighth day of high school of my freshman year, the very year that would change my life.

I was walking through the south hall to the science department. I was supposed to be retrieving some animal fur samples that Jiraiya, our bio and chemistry teacher, had forgotten to get over the resting period. As I was turning a corner, I heard the sounds of slapping and laughter. I stopped just on the other side of the corner ahead of me, where the sounds were coming from, and peeked around the corner.

Hinata was slumped against the wall crying, her face bearing red handprints. She wore a blue sweater and blue jeans, the sweater ripped near the right shoulder. Two girls stood over her. One of them was Ino Yamanaka, and the other was who I thought was her sister, Deidara.

“Look at the loser cry. God, what a mess.” Ino said, kicking a stack of books down the empty hall. Hinata was staring at her hands, still crying.

“Man, this boring, un. C’mon, Orochi’ll kill us if we don’t show up, un.”

“Yeah, let’s leave this loser and bad excuse of a woman to drown in her own sorrow.” Ino said, and she and Deidara left, kicking papers and book along the way. When they rounded the corner, Hinata looked around. I stepped out from around the corner.

“Oh…Gaara…You dind’t…?” I just nodded. Hinata used the torn sleeve of her sweater to wipe away her tears and started to pick up what papers and books were within reach. I started to help. Both of us were silent for several minutes as we picked up her things. Hinata broke the silence.

“Thank you…” I just grunted and handed her some of her papers and a poetry notebook.

“You ok?” Hinata nodded, and then looked at her sweater, more tears sliding down her face.

“My father gave me this sweater before he died…” she muttered. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Then I realized how completely different we were. She was dressed in her blue sweater and jeans, and I was dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt with a fishnet shirt beneath that. Hinata and I stood in the hall for a few minutes, silent.

“Gaara…Shouldn’t you be getting back to class?” she asked. I cursed under my breath.

“Yeah. Sure you’ll be ok” Hinata nodded, smiling gently.

“I’ll be alright.” Both of us said goodbye and I went to the Scientific Dept. I was nearly 10 minutes late for class, but Jiraiya let me off with a warning. As I sat down in my seat, I thought back to the events that had unfolded that day.

‘Angels singing, unto one another, can find among their burning terms of love none as devotional as that of mother.’

E. A. Poe

I’m hoping to be able to get this story updated regularly, but don’t get your hopes high. But keep checking in every so often. I may even throw in some journal and diary pages for your enjoyment.