Random something from being trapped in Atlanta for like six hours after a booking mix up. Go Air Tran. Thanks a lot.
Unbeta-ed. Crackfic. Drabble.
It began, in the way that all truly great twists of fates do, with something small.
In this case, a slate grey pebble that sat quite contently (well, as contently as an inanimate object can be) along the gravel road that lead to the gates of the hidden shinobi village Konohagakure, arguably the greatest such village in existence. It was small, barely the size of a man's thumbnail and oblong, all smooth edges and slick to the touch. Once, the pebble's grey color had been stained almost brown by a large smear that covered it almost entirely. But several seasons exposed to the weather had long stripped it of the ugly color and returned it to its natural drab state. Hundreds of people had walked by – and over – it without casting it so much as a second glance.
However, this time was different and the small rock found itself grabbed by slightly sticky hands from its resting spot. Not that the overly bored nine year old would ever know it, but the moment that Ibu Kenji picked up the small rock in an effort to annoy his sister would change the fate of two worlds.
Despite the fact that the pebble was beyond ordinary looking, it was anything but. The pebble had traveled longer and further than most any human being alive and had been present at events that decided the fates of millions. There was no way that Kenji could have known this of course, so it seemed perfectly natural to him to pelt the small thing at his older sister's head when his father had turned to speak to their Shinobi escorts.
Shinobi are shinobi, however, and a gloved hand reached out and caught the streaking thing before it would have made impact with the side of his sister's head. The sister, Madoka (which Kenji thought was a rather appropriate name since his sister was rather…round and always spelled it with the Kanji to try and imply she was fat) caught enough of the movement to whirl around and stick her tongue out at him.
Kenji pouted as the shinobi tossed the pebble back to him but when the tall, scarred man rose an eyebrow in question, the preteen had enough grace too look slightly ashamed at his own actions. The nine year old spent the next few miles rolling the pebble between his palms.
This, the pebble would have thought if it could have, is very familiar.
Another boy, far away and long ago, used to roll it in a similar manner. For a moment the little rock was swept away in memories as it slowly grew hotter and hotter with each role until the Kenji finally stopped rolling it all together, staring down at the warm rock in mild surprise before sticking it into his pocket.
The pebble would lay there, forgotten for another few months before Kenji had stumbled upon the old pair of shorts in the back of his closet and pull them on with little concern for their cleanliness. Somewhere amongst the full day of tag and wrestling, the little pebble found its freedom, rolling down the neatly cobbled streets of Konoha until the small hill it found itself on came to an abrupt end.
The pebble was in a small pedestrian only square, lined by tall trees and paved with flagstones. People walked the area continuously, both Shinobi and not, but the pebble was left alone; secure and hidden from sight in the long grass in which it had fallen amongst.
Here the pebble could easily watch the village life around it. As a warestone, a construction used by both the Light and Dark to observe and collect, it found comfort in the act. So it sat, forgotten amongst the weeds and cataloged everything that happened around it.
Then one afternoon, everything changed. The pebble felt a stirring inside of itself – felt a terrible stretching at the seams. It shook once, twice, then so many times it could no longer count. And then with a terrible burst of heat accompanied by a loud, almost metallic screech, memories came pouring from deep within.
The whole of Konoha shuddered with the little pebble – feeling an explosion of something, not quite chakra but not quite not either. The images that shot from the pebble lit the sky of the village proper, causing civilians to flee and shinobi and kouichi alike to flock to the roof tops, weapons drawn and chakra flaring in defense and panic.
But the images in the sky didn't hurt anyone. They didn't cast some terrible Genjutsu upon Konoha's population or kill anyone who watched it for too long. Nor did anyone use the distraction to invade. Instead, they simply played, showing images of a civilization far removed from their own – far removed from the world it existed on.
It showed the life of one Harold James Potter, from his birth to his very untimely end. But, it is most likely best to begin at the beginning, like the pebble did.
With that terrible, fateful night…
I may continue it if there is interest. May not. Strange little thing, isn't it?