A/N: Welcome to my first fanfiction! I've had this idea for a while now, and I'm so glad to be posting it! I hope you enjoy it! BTW—Okaa-san means mother in Japanese, and Oba-san means father in Japanese
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Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any of the characters copyrighted by Mirage Studios and now Viacom Nickelodeon. I only own this story and my made-up characters. And my awesome TMNT figurines and DVDs. :)
Sister of Fate
By Meerca aka Butterfly Meadow
Every single human being of the male kind without any exception was a huge, noodle-brained, immature, and ill-mannered jerk.
As twelve-year-old Himeka Hanamoto walked across the bustling Manhattan streets to the public library that was the only thought running through her mind. She kept her tears in check—it was a trait she'd learned to control over the years towards thick-skulled imbeciles whose minds would not let a single respectable thought through and had absolutely no sensitivity to those around them.
They had no reason to remind me! Himeka thought, her breath hitching as she tried to control the sharp little gasps that were always with crying. She kept shaking her head vigorously to try and let the close-to-surface tears fly out of or seep back into her purple eyes. Is that even possible? Himeka couldn't quell the curious and inquisitive feeling she always had. Possibility versus logic was always her area of interest.
Himeka reached the library and quickly scanned the aisles for a good book, but one on the shorter side (she had no money for a library card) .Her mind was still brimming with as many thoughts as tears in her eyes. And why today of all days?! Why did they need to remind me that I was a lonely orphan on my graduation?!
It was the sad truth. For nine years now, Himeka had been an orphan. Her parents had died in a very sudden car accident. Some close friends of the Hanamotos, Mr. and Mrs. Chicory, were eager to take Himeka in. But just last week, the Chicorys moved, and didn't have enough money to bring Himeka along or support her anymore.
But the Chicorys didn't leave Himeka empty-handed. They gave her $100, a tent, and some food. Himeka, who had been a bookworm since she started reading, was forced to pitch the tent in Central Park and sleep and eat there. It was her new home, for now. Nights got a little scary and lonely, but Himeka had been safe up till now.
And today—a pang of sorrow and a pang of pride filled Himeka's body simultaneously—was Himeka's sixth grade graduation. It was all okay (as far as okay can get at a graduation without your parents) until Himeka was confronted by the Boys—a gang of boys who were sons of very wealthy parents.
They think so highly of themselves, Himeka thought derisively, snorting as she slid a pink book entitled The Mother-Daughter Book Club from the shelf and opened it to the first page. The Boys were the only people who sparked enough anger in Himeka to cause her to have a temper. She was normally a very shy, sweet girl who didn't talk much and was very smart. The Boys had been giving Himeka a hard time since the day they'd first settled eyes on each other.
All because I'm an orphan, Himeka thought heatedly, but her anger quickly subsided into sadness. I wonder if Okaa-san and Oba-san somehow . . . saw my graduation. In spirit? It could be possible.
Thoughts of her mother and father made her eyes well up again, and Himeka stood up and went to the librarian shyly. "Um . . . could I please have a tissue?"
"Of course, dear," the librarian replied kindly, handing Himeka a tissue. "Are you alright? You look depressed."
"Oh . . ." Himeka wiped her eyes quickly. "It's . . . allergies."
"Inside the library?"
"There was dust in this book I . . . um . . . opened. I inhaled too much, I guess."
"Okay, dear. Be careful, then!"
Himeka walked away, and sank back into her favorite chair against the wall, immersing herself in the wonderful and perfect world of fiction.
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At nine o'clock, the library began to shut its doors, and Himeka quickly gathered her things into her lavender terry cloth bag and walked outside. She was halfway back to her tent when she heard something peculiar.
Himeka froze, clutching her bag, a rabbit who sensed predators nearby. She swore she could've heard some sort of sound . . . like a struggle nearby. But all she heard now was the crickets serenading their nighttime ballad.
It's nothing, probably a cat and dog fighting, Himeka assured herself, but she was not so sure this was the case. She kept walking, now more alert, interpreting every sound, every shuffle she heard. And as this she-rabbit turned the corner, she found the predators before her.
Himeka rushed behind the corner and crouched. The shady people didn't seem to have noticed her. I did hear something, then! Himeka could hear every word now.
"You traitor," a deep rumbling voice snarled, and Himeka heard something—or someone—being yanked off the ground.
"N-n-n-n-no," a wheezy voice stuttered, and Himeka heard feet shuffling. "M-Master Hun, they threatened to k-kill me! I-if I were killed, what would we d-do?"
"You are a lowly ninja," the same deep voice who was Master Hun sneered. "The Master doesn't care if you die, you fool! You are simply a pawn to do carry out the orders of your king! You should have died, you despicable—"
"Master Hun?" a Japanese-sounding voice interrupted smoothly. "I beg your pardon but . . . I sense a presence."
Himeka's swift mind knew she had to get out of there at that moment quickly. But unfortunately, her body did not react quickly enough.
Himeka backed into a wall, her eyes wide with horror and reflecting the darkness she was being consumed in as the men closed around her. The first man who spoke was the one with the thunder-like rumble to it—Master Hun. Himeka couldn't believe the size of this man—he was either obese or very very very muscular. He had beady red eyes, a tattoo on each of his beefy arms (one red one that looked like the upside-down footprint of an ancient Japanese dragon and one that looked like a long purple dragon), yellow hair in a Japanese-style braid, a black suit, and a curious red three-slash scar on the right side of his face. He was still holding a brown-haired man who looked terrified.
Surrounding the large man were a dozen of people in black outfits, yellow eyes, and the same red dragon-print mark on the chests of their suits. Their outfits . . . they look like ancient Japanese ninja outfits!
"Hello, pretty little girl," the muscular man sneered, cracking his knuckles with a grotesque sound like breaking bones. Himeka winced. "Were you listening in on us?"
Himeka gripped her bag very tightly.
"No one listens in on the Foot's plans and gets away" the large man stated matter-of-factly. The Foot? "So I'm afraid, pretty little girl, we're gonna have to make you not so pretty."
The brawny man threw the brown-haired man into the wall, who fell unconscious, and grabbed Himeka instead. Himeka struggled, thrashing and kicking, but her slim body had no effect on the muscular man. She tried to scream, but the man was covering her mouth with a large hand, blocking off her air supply—
"Get your hands off o' that girl, fatty!"
The man tensed for a second, and threw Himeka into the trashcans. Himeka curled into a ball reflexively, but her head still hit the wall and her jeans and some skin tore at the knees.
The impact to her head turned the world into a blur as Himeka's senses left her, and she fell unconscious.
Please review! :) Thank you!