The wandering Uchiha

In the heart of the Island of Moon, Kutari happens upon a small settlement, a collection of modest homes, and meager market stalls that encircle a wide-open plot of land. Together, the settlement is a hum of activity, a gathering of people that come together for this time each day, nestled within a paradise all to themselves. Voices in conversation. The clatter of tools. Children laughing and playing. It’s an experience Kutari soaks in as he steps further into the village center. Kutari strolls around the village. Watching. Listening. The tiger hasn’t been in one place for too long, each with its atmosphere and lessons the island wishes to share. In the embrace of this simple life of this tight-knit community, they are a stark contrast to the loneliness and hardships that have found him as of late.

When he comes upon a stall boasting an array of liquor bottles, the youthful Uchiha pauses; the colors and scents of foreign spirits catch Kutari’s eye, each telling its tale of unseen places and forgotten secrets. It’s a temptation in every sense of the word. Of course, it isn’t as if such gestures have been above the young man, either. As if giving in to the last thought, he meticulously looked over the bottles, picking the right one for his occasion. The passing is quick and practiced, and beneath his smiles and bashful demeanor, the young man can no less tell that he has had practice in finding the shades of gray. This is the first sign that his day isn’t completely white-washed. He would swipe the bottle during his passing, ensuring he wasn’t caught in the act, as his hands were far too deft and his movements far too rehearsed for such a thing.

Kutari’s decision doesn’t come from a place of need, though. Instead, his is a strange mix of curiosity, defiance, and a desire for the thrill of crossing the line. It’s a reminder of the many layers of his mind, which a life of adventure, survival, and, at times, solitude has shaped. He is a wanderer, someone who longs for experience, and every so often, he is a miscreant, one who dabbles in the forbidden, testing the waters of moral ambiguity. There isn’t much that he won’t do if it would make for a fun story later on in his life.

The island of Moon has many people he would be willing to steal from, and there is a good set of people here who have never seen his face. So a missing bottle here and a stolen bread loaf there would be alright. But he would stay vigilant, ensuring he brought only a little attention to himself. He would think about his decisions and what brought him here. He knew that his family was the one who taught him how to steal correctly and how to do it without getting caught, so he wasn’t concerned about whether they would approve. They were dead even if they wouldn’t, so he cared little for that.

With the stolen bottle of whiskey in hand, he finds himself a place of solace under the shade of a small orchard, a grove of trees just beyond the small town’s borders. The trees would act as his fellowship, something he had found himself far too used to by this point in his life. There were few that he cared about that lasted very long in his life, and now, he was alone. There wasn’t a family that he had to go home to. No family to go back to. It was all just him and him alone. The trees would offer a refuge from the village’s bustling life, leaving him in a place of solitude and restfulness. Here, seated on the dirt, his back against the rough bark of a tree, he thinks about the bottle that sits before him. He contemplates just what he is doing with his life, but he realizes very soon after that he has no idea. There had been so little expected of him, and now he had no one to answer to.

He grabs the bottle and uncorks it. The rich and peaty aroma of the whiskey mingles with the fresh air and mixes within his nose as he takes in a deep whiff of the liquor held within the container in his hand. The first sip burns its way down, a sharp reminder of the thrill he receives from his dubious acts and dastardly deeds. He would continue to drink from the bottle for a few hours, not letting a single second go by where he wasn’t feeling the burn down his throat.

As the bottle slowly empties, Kutari’s thoughts turn to the future. The settlement, with its simple, honest life and the untamed beauty of the island, is what he has been able to discover from this point on for a bit. He had been so intrigued by this island’s inhabitants. He hadn’t met many people yet, just those at the bar. He thought of that woman with green hair quite fondly; something about her was intriguing, but he would genuinely cross that bridge another day. For now, he was drinking.

After about two-thirds of the bottle, he soon realizes that he didn’t come here to meet anyone special. He didn’t come for any sense of belonging; he just came here because he felt like it. There was no goal in his heart; no intrigue that he truly cared about. What he had was nothing to worry about and no one to answer. While at the surface, that seems excellent! Some parts of it did seem to pull at him in a rather particular way that was a shade negative. What was he even to do when it came time for him to die? Was there going to be anyone there that would mourn him? His family was gone, all dead. There was a supposed long-lost brother wandering out in the woods, but he was likely dead.

He honestly just had nothing and no one to show what he could achieve even if he was to unlock the Sharingan. The most potent weapon in the arsenal of all Uchihas, what would that even matter? He had no one that would care. Nobody that would give a shit. It was just him out in this world, alone, and that wasn’t soon to change. He had heard rumors that the people in the settlement, led by some woman named Junko, were quickly to raise a village with the help of her friends, but who cares?

That village could erect tomorrow, and his life wouldn’t be any different. He wouldn’t start caring about anything more. He would be in another place whole of try-hards who had nothing in their brain other than manifest destiny and taking what isn’t theirs. But who cares about that anyway? It doesn't affect him if they start taking from the smaller populations. He couldn’t care less if they began to burning the forests down; he would just move away from the flames. He knew this already, as this had been his life for the past ten years. But for some reason, it was hitting differently just now.

Eventually, he would set the bottle aside and begin to think about what he wanted for his life. He had an affinity for fire; he knew that. He had an affinity for music; he knew that too, thanks to his parents and the rest of their caravan. But what more was there for him in life? He couldn’t think of anything. He just kept sitting there, staring at the sky, praying that something would come out of it and give him the answers he was seeking, suddenly he understood religion.

He could use a book of answers. Something that gave him a higher purpose. But truly, he felt like he was a vague existence in the world with no fundamental understanding or use. He just had it in his mind that he was a simple speck in the vast nothingness, with no one to care about him or someone to honestly care about truly. So what to do from here? That was the question that he couldn’t seem to get answered for himself. He could find someone and settle down, but for what? He wouldn’t be a good father.

He could get a job, but he realized that if he just stole everything he needed, what would be the point of a job? It was a constant game of cat and mouse with him regarding responsibility. He didn’t care much for extensive conversations, for being an adult. But generally, when you become more of an adult, you have to have those extensive conversations constantly—owning up to your decisions and being accountable to others for things you have done. But he didn’t want that for himself.

He lights the bottle on fire, watching the glass go from a clear to a molten yellow and red. They were beautiful colors that mixed and melded together until it just turned into a bit of goop on the sand. He looked at it as it cooled, thinking about what it would feel like to actually be caught on fire. It was a sensation that he would think about from time to time, being unsure what it would feel like to feel your nerve endings burn off as your flesh became seared with the intense heat of fire.

Was it truly the worst way to go? It definitely seemed that way and who knows? Maybe one day he will be the one on the other end of that horrid flame technique. He thought about death a lot, but usually in different ways than the other. He couldn’t imagine dying of natural causes, as a matter of fact. It always seemed so sad to simply die in your sleep. What a way to go. No glory. No feasting. But then again, if he got killed by some rogue ninja, or some village ninja who had some bad judgement of character, who would care about him?

Would it be any different than dying in his bed where there was no one next to him? Only to have some maid find you three days later after he had already began to rot. He didn’t want that. But he figured it was better to be killed in combat, than to simply die from something “natural”. He pushed the thoughts away for a moment, trying to think about just what he could do for the rest of the day now that he was slammed and hammered by noon. He stood to his feet, and he began to wander through the streets of the same settlement.

With a swagger in his walk, he would start going from shop to shop, just eyeing the things that they had within. Partially because he wanted to see what interesting things he could steal and later sell at a higher price, but also part of him was just simply bored and that was about it. There was no glamourous reasoning behind what he did in life, he was beginning to find out. He was just simply bored out of his mind and wanted to learn more about the world that surrounded him.

The alcohol certainly made things easier on his mind, made his mind think more sure. But he was able to get through the day with out as much pain and heartache then if he was to try and do it sober. Fingering through the wares that were being held at the shops, he would overhear the conversation being had that someone had stolen a bottle of liquor from the merchant. He would of course start moving away from the area, walking as straight as he could as to not draw any attention. He would hide himself away for a time until he believed it clear, then continued on his journey through the small settlement on the island of moon.

WC: 2000
Exit
Claims:

+2000 words towards Shringan Tomoe 2 (2000/3000) Max Stat Discount applied.