Disclaimer: I don't own much, being a student—and I certainly don't own Naruto.
Warnings: Crude language. Ninja-world violence and gore. In the later chapters, an implied sexual situation that may be trigger-worthy.
My world turns sideways, and proceeds to laugh at the falling sky...
The first thing I remember is a bleary view of a stark white ceiling, and suffering from an unparalleled monster of a headache.
I hate fluorescent light.
My head pounds like a drum, and my eyes feel crusty, like I'd fallen asleep while crying. I don't remember crying... And I don't remember doing anything stupid enough to land myself in the hospital, either.
It's definitely a hospital ceiling; the tacky white tiles give it away. And the air has that forced sterile smell, like bleach and medicine, with a sharp undertone of sick.
I moan, and realize my throat is sore. Scratchy and achy, and... And even though I've just woken up, I'm exhausted. Bone-tired. Should roll over on my side and fall back asleep.
Unfortunately, I really, really, need to pee.
Fuzzy-headed and weak as a newborn, I practically ooze out of bed and stumble awkwardly over to what I hope is the door to the bathroom.
It is. I function on autopilot— finishing my business, washing my hands, and then proceed crawl back into the hospital bed.
And then I realize that yesterday, or however many days it has been since I fell asleep or unconscious, I was definitely not, by any definition, male.
I try very, very hard not to scream... It's easy, my throat still hurts.
I also try very, very hard not to hyperventilate. I'm pretty sure I don't succeed at that— I pass out, embracing blissful unconsciousness wholeheartedly.
I wake a second time, just as bleary-eyed and sore, if less tired. Just as blissfully alone. A careful check and— yep. Unfortunately just as male. At least the headache is gone.
Okay. Okay. Don't panic.
You can deal with this. Just look on the bright side: no mood swings, no periods, no pregnancy.
No sexist comments?
Why the hell am I a prepubescent boy? Did I just dream of being a twenty-something woman? That doesn't make sense. Most prepubescent boys don't think of themselves being prepubescent. Well, as far as I know.
They're not particularly self-aware either, I idly note. This is turning out to be a stupidly horrible day— I know I'd been in too much pain earlier for this to be a dream. And I never remember my dreams, anyway. I've always slept like the dead, even though I wake up at the slightest disturbance. That had made having a roommate decidedly un-fun.
And then, I remember.
Being a medical student— a third year. Sleep deprived, over caffeinated, constantly stressed, neurotic... A sharp pain in my chest, gasping for breath, and everything fading to black. I remember a lot of information: the names and functions of the twelve cranial nerves— how to speak to patients when delivering bad news— how to bake an apple pie— the plotlines of literally hundreds of novels.
A short lifetime of memories.
But... I cannot remember my name. I cannot remember my parents' names or faces, or my friends. I cannot remember what I once looked like, beyond the fact that I was a girl with blue—or was it grey—or green eyes?
This has got to be hell.
Except... Well, I'm alive, sort of. Not myself, sure. I think. But alive. Not paralyzed, or crippled, or a innumerable other horrible situations I can imagine. I've always been blessed with a very vivid imagination. And apparently a boy with no memories of how I became one.
I stare at the ceiling.
This is going to take some getting used to. Did I replace someone, or is this body my own, just changed? Do I have a family? Will they notice me acting strangely? No one else has been in my room either of the times I've been awake. Or, rather, that I remember being awake. There are no flowers or cards on the small end table near my bed.
The soft knock on the door startled me. It is very much a 'coming in right now, but I'm warning you out of politeness' sort of knock.
A small, very reasonable voice at the back of my mind points out that I am probably in shock. I grip the edge of the sheet covering most of my body with both hands.
Where am I?
Who am I?
My hands shouldn't be that small.
The door opens to admit an average-looking man in a white labcoat. He murmurs a polite, "Good morning, Uchiha-san," followed by some idle prattle about what he's there for.
Uchiha? Wait.. As in that anime? What was it called— Naruto? Homicidal baby-killers and unhinged megalomaniacs trying to take over the world... That Uchiha?
...I don't even speak Japanese!
But, somehow, I don't have any problems understanding the doctor. Medic-nin, my mind retorts. I suffer in silence through a thorough, if brief, physical exam.
"I see you've recovered from your ordeal, Uchiha-san."
I stare at him mutely. During the course of the exam, he'd had me sit up, and move to a position where my legs were dangling from the bed... at least I'm wearing soft pajamas and not a shapeless gown.
My toes are cold.
What ordeal? I certainly haven't recovered from waking up the wrong gender and not knowing my name. And also, apparently a member of a clan destined to be massacred for their disloyalty in a fantastical world populated by magic-wielding ninjas.
My eyes follow the doctor as he retreats from the room, pausing at some point beyond the doorway to speak with someone. "He's awake, and physically recovered. The Yamanaka have verified he's... well, he's relatively sane, given the circumstances. He follows commands, both simple and complex, but hasn't spoken yet."
I'm too annoyed to bother listening to the rest of his report.
I can hear you, you ass! I'm quiet, not deaf or stupid! What kind of idiot delivers a report like that outside a patient's door?!
Well... the kind that doesn't expect his patient to understand his words. I scowl, hands fisted on my knees, glaring at the floor. In fact, I am so intent in my glaring, that I miss the moment that someone else enters my hospital room.
It's an old man, dressed in elaborate red and white robes and a strange wide hat, moving slowly but intently towards me. I notice him from the corner of my eye, but I can't even hear those robes rustle— dangerous! –some half-remembered instinct insists.
...Is that the Third Hokage? "Hello, Sasuke-kun. How are you feeling?"
I stare at him, wide-eyed. Oh.. Oh! Oh, shit.
Suddenly, everything makes a horrible kind of sense.
I spend the rest of the short conversation in a haze, nodding and shaking my head at what I hope are the appropriate times.
My name is Uchiha Sasuke, last loyal Uchiha present in Konohagakure, and I am not okay.
I've wanted to write something like this for over a year, but hesitated. First, my knowledge of Naruto canon is mostly second-hand. Frankly, that's because Naruto's voice grates on my nerves something awful; I couldn't stomach even the subbed version of the anime. I've never written a "Self-Insert" fic; I thought it might be something fun to try.
So. This is an experiment. (With a new profile, for my "experimental" ficlets.)
Mostly, I created this because I've read some OC self-inserts, and a handful of Naruto/Sakura/Hinata is replaced by a self-insert stories.. but I've never stumbled on a Sasuke one.
So, I figured I'd give it a shot. Anyway, tell me what you think, and if you'd like for me to continue.
Edited – May 2, 2016. Obviously, I decided to continue. Anyway. I revised the wording somewhat to make this a little easier to read. Enjoy!
...Oh, yes. Before I forget again: the thoughts of the character whose POV the text is are in italics.