Chapter Text
I never thought I’d die at twenty.
I mean, who would? I lived a peaceful, healthy, and extremely boring life. I couldn’t even imagine what killed me. Hell, I don’t even understand how I know I’m dead and not high out of my mind or dreaming. I don’t remember dying, I just know that I never made it to twenty-one, I never achieved my dream, I never even finished my degree. I was a nursing student at a local college, and I worked in childcare. I never was good at making friends, I was the middle child, I never had an interesting talent, I was lazy, I was intelligent but had no motivation, I smoked too much weed -not like that helped any with my lack of motivation- and I was never a violent person.
I’d always been someone to give a hug more than throwing a punch. I tried it once, my sister and I got into a fight and she had always been a bit violent, so I socked her in the mouth. Her lip swelled and bleed and I cried. I’d always been a bit sensitive, not much of a brute in any sort of way. I didn’t handle physical pain well just as I couldn’t handle emotional pain. But I am always aware of myself.
My self-awareness might be the only thing that allowed me to recognize that I died. Granted it could be the fact that I woke up with my lifeforce entwined with another’s when I had never felt something like my life force before. I woke to find myself engulfed in darkness and curled into the warmth that the dark provided the constant. I feel at ease, safe. Like everything is well and as it should be in this tiny bubble of darkness. I feel as if my soul, which had aged with the impurities of growing up, was being re-purified. I felt as if someone had taken a turkey baster filled with innocent and genuine happiness, curiosity, determination, and energy and stuffed my soul with the things that had dampened over my twenty years.
I have no idea how long I have been in my warm little cocoon since I came to awareness, but it became a comfort. So, when the pressure drops and the walls start to flutter around me I am not happy. I’m not happy because I know I will never feel the comfort of that cocoon again. If I think logically about this whole ‘I died’ situation, it’s easy to figure out what I’m about to experience. I was a nursing student and if I can’t tell that I am about to be born than I have learned nothing.
Rebirth and the afterlife have always been things that I have subtly believed in. I was raised Christian and I always figured that there must be somewhere our souls go when we die, especially since it's super depressing to think that your soul dies with your body. I have a strong feeling that you’re not supposed to remember the life you had before. Shit, there must have been a system error, a bug in the rebirth programming.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry when I was born -reborn if I get all technical. Of course, I cry, I’m freaking out. I’m not supposed to be aware. Do you know how scary it is to be squeezed out of a vagina? And that’s on top of the fact that now I can’t ignore the fact that I died. I loved my family and I have lost them and only have spotty memories to carry with me. My anguished cries echo through the too bright hospital room as gentle hands lay me on a soft chest that makes me feel that same comfort I found in my cocoon. A finger strokes my head and I listen to the sound of the heart I have been placed against and my cries soften.
With my wailing diminished, soft voices whisper words of love and affection. Words of comfort. Words, I realize, I don’t understand. I watched enough anime to recognize that the language spoken was Japanese. A small comfort, but I’m not looking forward to learning a new language, I’ve never been the best at new languages. The words sing through the air, a soft melody, against the thrum of my new mother’s heart, and I sleep.
The next few months are spent mostly asleep. When I am awake, I familiarize myself with my new parents and pick up a few names and words here and there. My mother is soft and kind and filled with so much love as she holds me close to her chest that it practically swims out of her and fills the air around us. She sings to me softly with a smile that insights happiness in others. Her eyes are green and remind me of grass in the summertime. My father’s adoration bleeds from his honey brown eyes when he holds me. He has sharp features and radiates intelligence. He often will sleep under the shade of a tree as I lay on his chest, a large, warm hand as a comforting weight on my back.
My parents talk to me often, as if I can understand them. I happily respond with whatever sounds I am able to make despite the fact that I still don’t understand them. I do, however, learn my name. I figured it out one morning when I was actually paying attention to the words my father spoke as he lifted me from my bassinet. This was also the moment I began to truly understand my situation.
“Ohayō, Kiyoko-chan” he whispered softly in the early morning light, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I coo softly at the obvious telling of my new name and look up at him as he walks with me to the kitchen. He turns his head down to smile at me and the sunlight coming through the window reflects off of a metal plate on his forehead, a familiar metal plate with Konohagakure’s symbol etched into the center. Fuck. Shit. This not happening. I take back everything I said about rebirth. I’m obviously tripping on acid or something because I am NOT in the Naruto universe. I can’t be.