By: prinzessin at the shakedown
Warnings!: Overactive hormone driven thoughts, stinky language, and sexual situations.
Disclaimer: I do not ownz, I just screw around a lot.
What does life symbolize to you?
Adv. English & Creative Writing - Period 3
By Yamanaka Ino
When I was younger I used to live next to this batshit
crazy artist guy named Deidara. He had really long
blond hair and his house was painted a bright neon
yellow (something most of the elderly couples on our
street weren't too happy about). All the neighbors
would get really pissed because whenever he was
working on his 'art' he'd have these old glamrock or
metal songs from the 1980's playing at full volume,
and get this: he would sing right along with them.
Unfortunately, he wasn't really the most flattering
Being a nosy, curious nine-and-a-half-year-old, I
loved to sneak out of the house to see what he was
currently working on. My mom sometimes caught me
trying to visit the neon house and she'd always
threaten to punish me if I ever went there again. I
went anyways. He didn't really mind me being there,
always saying, "The youth today should be more
creative! Art is a bang, un!"
One day in late August, just a few days before I would
start fifth grade, I was sitting on Deidara's old and
beaten 1986 Ford Thunderbird as usual watching my
insane neighbor work on his 'bomb art'. On the stereo
one of Ozzy Osbourne's softer melodies was playing. I
was flipping through one of Deidara's worn out art
magazines and the question popped into my head.
"Deidara, why do you listen to music all the time?" at
saying that, the blondie stopped working on his
project immediately. "'Scuse me?" he called out over
the stereo. So I repeated the question, only in a
louder and more cocky tone (yes, even back in the day
I was still an arrogant little twit), "WHY DO YOU
LISTEN TO MUSIC ALL OF THE TIME?"
Deidara grunted and wiped his hands. He hopped over
some of his disregarded bits and pieces of clay to
shut off the radio. Then he walked my way and motioned
for me to move over. I did, and he sat right next to
me. I put away the magazine and crossed my legs,
anticipating what the crazy weirdo was going to say.
"Why I listen to music, un? Why do you breathe?" He
joked, giving a hard chuckle. He turned his head and
stared me straight in the eye. "Look, little miss Ino,
music is the vibrancy of life next to art. Music is
always remade, remixed and recycled. That's sort of
like life, right, un?"
I remember that I blinked really slowly and smiled
nervously at his words. "Um...noooo," I said slowly.
Deidara just rolled his eyes and scowled. "Ah, jeez.
Why the hell am I saying it like this?" He took a deep
breath and started again, "Okay, you know what a
mixtape is, right?" I nodded a yes. "Well, let's say
life is like a mixtape, un. You know how on a mixtape
you never really know what song is going to come up
next?" I didn't actually know that, but I said I did
so he wouldn't get angry. "Life is like that. You
never know what the hell's gonna happen next. Things
always happen unexpectedly."
Jumping off the car I saw him stretch out his arms.
"And that's why I listen to music, un," he stated in a
matter-of-fact sort of tone, "it represents the short,
random pattern of life." As he finished stretching he
blew out a breath of air and smiled at me. "But
remember Missy Ino. You can never press that rewind
button, or else the mixtape will jam right up."
I rolled my head sideways and raised an eyebrow. At
the time I thought he was talking like a
pshyco-murderer, like that dude from Silence of the
Lambs. But as I grew older, I began to understand
those words he said to me. Life really was a mixtape;
everything was unexpected. It isn't a perfect
comparison, I suppose; I mean, some mixtapes come with
a label saying what songs are on them, but there's no
fun in those.
So how on Earth did I remember all of that? I guess I
just have a supersonic memory file lodged in my head
somewhere. In conclusion, that is what symbolizes life
in my opinion: mixtape, pure and simple.
"Asshole," I muttered under my breath while stomping my way through the hallways to get to my locker. Twisting the knob on the lock I deepened my voice in imitation of what Mr. Jiraiya had just lectured me about, "'Ino, your essay was a bit of a disappointment. I was expecting more from you, but all I have here is the work of a J.D. Salinger wannabe.' Freakin' asshole!"
The last bit I yelled out, and I knew I received a few more stares than my usual dosage of unwanted attention. Shoving a few unfinished homework assignments into my locker I slammed the door shut and murmured to myself while violently zipping up my backpack, "Jerk...trying to tell me what to do. Communist zombie political pig...graaah!"
I kicked the wall in a fit of rage. Geez, I got to watch my temper sometimes. While screaming out random obscenities in my head I turned around and noticed that Hinata was standing a few steps away from me, a more than worried expression on her face.
Meet Hinata: Uber shy, uber smart, and cute to the core...also my number one most reliable source to copy homework off of.
"U-um, Ino? You're alright, r-right?," she stuttered and started to take a step forward but immediately stepped back like she was afraid I was going to bite her head off or something. "Y-you're talking to yourself a-again. Well, more like sc-sc-sc-," Hinata coughed and cleared her throat. Aww. "Sc-screaming."
Blinking once I instantly straightened up from my position and put on my signature happy face. "Yeah! Don't worry Hinata, I'm totally cool. Yeah, totally cool," I found myself growling out that last part.
"O-Oh. Okay then! Y-You should hurry up, the buses w-will be leaving soon," Hinata informed me.
"Ah! Don't worry about me Hinata, I know."
Slinging my backpack onto my shoulders I grinned in the girl's direction. That's when I noticed something. Hinata wasn't wearing one of her over sized sweatshirts today. Just a tank top and a small, tight cardigan. Then I looked a little lower.
Forget B cups, those had to be at least a 38 C! Damn! She had great legs too, I noted. Especially with that frilly mid thigh length skirt...
Snapping my head up my eyes met with Hinata's. Feeling caught, I instantaneously found an excuse. "Ehhh...I really like your cardigan, it's super rad," I blurted out, maybe a bit too quickly.
A sudden familiar blush invaded the shorter girl's face. "Oh, th-thank you! I just got it the other day and-"
Both of us immediately looked down the hall. Standing by the exit was Neji, Hinata's cousin, and possibly the biggest ego-freak in school next to that Sasuke kid. I don't get what he prided himself in. He had longer hair than I did and the most girlish hips I've ever seen on a fifteen year old boy.
"What are you doing?" he called out in a scolding tone, "you don't have time to socialize. After-school ballet classes, remember?"
Hinata looked to the ground, a shade of embarrassment over-toning her blushing. "R-right, Neji. I'm sorry Ino, we'll talk sometime l-later. Goodbye!"
"'Kay, bye," I replied as I watched her hurry down the halls. Then suddenly, as if the gods of oblivion meant for this to happen, a soft gust of wind burst through the open doors and flipped up her skirt, ever so slightly.
At that moment my mind was invaded by the images of pink, Hello Kitty panties. WITH LACE.
It's times like these where I find my life terribly cliché. I mean really; those old wind-up-the-skirt incidents have been featured in every chick flick and romance novel I've ever read.
Things like this have happened to me before. Like when I was in 5th grade we were playing soccer, then out of nowhere I tripped and 'accidentally' landed right on top of this Kin girl. Well, it was a real accident but the gal thought otherwise and threatened to beat the daylights out of me if anything like that happened again. I'm pretty sure she liked it though, since, right after she was screaming and yelling, a small part of her lip curved up into a grin.
Another example: 7th grade. It was during Math class and my teacher, being the lovely angel that she was, decided to pair us up with study buddies from the 8th grade. I got this wacky-haired chick by the name of TenTen. So this is what went down: I'm silently and calmly trying to finish the rest of my homework like any other normal, conscientious student. Then out of freaking nowhere TenTen is right in front my desk, looking down at me like she's some superior being.
"We're supposed to study together, right?" She stated, simultaneously leaning over my desk and placing her hands on my textbook.
Then her arms started to squish her boobs together as she leaned in.
Did I mention she was wearing her shirt practically half unbuttoned and a near transparent strapless bra?
Now that's GODLY.
So it's no wonder that sooner or later in my 15th year of living, I would come to question my sexuality and whether or not I prefered mammary glands over masculinity. I sometimes look upon my life as a tad bit pathetic, seeing as how I am a girl and I had more suggestive encounters with chicks than I did with dudes. Now, don't get me wrong. I like guys too, but for some odd reason, I could never find myself completely attracted to one. It always seems as if I just have bad luck with the opposite sex.
When I was in kindergarten, I remember having a huge crush on Uchiha Sasuke. But I think the only real reason I liked him was because my best friend, Sakura, had a crush on him too. And since I was (and still am) a competitive, bitchy and bossy little child, I couldn't allow Sakura to show me up. If ANYONE was going to get all of our female classmates jealous by getting with Sasuke, it was going to be me.
Soon enough, both Sakura and I realized what a complete bigot Sasuke ended up to be. Even though he started out nice and innocent in our younger years, the power got to his head. I mean really, he goes around with his own goddamn compact mirror to check his hair and he talks as if he owns everyones ass. The dude even goes around announcing for everyone to clear the hallways so he can get through.
Of course, since at least half the population of the girls in our school are head over heels infatuated with him, he usually ends up getting what he wants. Damn son-of-a-bitch. Because of that, I found myself highly disgusted by dudes who thought they were the hot shiz, which is pretty much most of the men occupying this planet.
Ahh, maybe I'm exaggerating...
I was in the middle of doing my Algebra homework when I heard the familiar banshee-like screaming that could only possibly come from my mother. I stopped doing my work and sat there for a few minutes listening to the guy who fucks my mom (otherwise known as my mother's fiancé, Iruka) trying to calm the pshyco down. It seemed ineffective, as all of his calm words just made the woman screech even more.
Groaning and rolling out of my seat I made my way through the hallways to the kitchen. Anything that had to do with my mom yelling and hollering had to be more entertaining than trying to find the standard form of a linear equation.
Once I entered the kitchen it was like an army of screaming rabbits was unleashed upon me. In the background the small, impudent whimpers of the fiancé could be heard.
"I WILL NOT ALLOW THAT THING TO MOVE BACK TO OUR PEACEFUL ENVIRONMENT!," My mom screeched, making my ears cringe. "I'VE WORKED TOO HARD, IRUKA! TOO HARD! I WILL NOT ALLOW MY DREAM OF LIVING LIKE A PERFECT HOUSEWIFE BE SHATTERED BY THAT SOCIAL...SOCIAL...REJECT!"
Turning my gaze towards Iruka, I could tell he wasn't a man of pride. To let a woman scream at you; that's one thing. Now, to let a woman who is 5 feet tall, weighs one hundred and fifteen pounds scream AND overpower your ego at the same time? That's a whole different level of domination, mi amigo.
"Honey, your dreams won't be shattered," Iruka said weakly, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "We've dealt with him before and the last time he was here, he was much younger. Now that he's older, he's probably matured."
Ooh. That sparked my curiosity. Who was this mysterious 'him'? Maybe a rebellious teenager who ran away and now decided to return? A distraught writer who went insane and got released from the asylum only a week ago, wanting to come back to the calm suburbs of Konoha to reclaim his former love? Or possibly just grandpa Katashi?
"What do you mean Mom?" I started, my insides overflowing with anxiety. "Who's coming back?"
I looked over to my mother who was lighting a cigarette with her bony and shaking hands. Before she answered she took a long, deep inhale of smoke.
"That 'artist', Ino darling. That goddamn artist."
When I heard that I stopped to think for a few seconds. Artist? After a moment, my slow as hell mind suddenly pieced it all together. I could feel my heart rise up to my throat.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a yuri fic! I'm actually really happy with my results and this was so much fun to come up with. I want to give a humongous 'Thank you!' to the beta of this fic. Without CrazyNinjaPenguin's help this fic would be complete failure, eheh...-sweatdrop-
Anyways, to anyone who happened to stumble upon this, please give me some feedback! Reviews are like crack for almost every author on this site. So, readers! Please tell me what you all think. Or else I'll have to go through withdrawal.