Stumbling Home

Title: Stumble

Summary: “I prayed for peace and I found salvation.”

Author Notes: This is an AU. Strongly AU - if you do not like it, please jump off a cliff. This is for fun and if you do flame, make it actually witty. I hate seeing flames that go on about “lol that is suuuu geyyyzzz.” I have class, you know. This is from an original character’s point of view, I am trying something new. She isn’t perfect, she is flawed up the ying-yang.

I am looking for a Beta - my grammar is not the best. I admit it; it isn’t that hard to do.
Disclaimer: Naruto characters belong to the respected creator, the OCs belongs to moi.

--

Chapter I -- Stumbling Home

--

I still can remember dragging my fingers along my mother's fine linen window drapes when I was four. Watching as the late autumn breeze made the long fabric sway in a forgotten dance -- sunlight barely seeping through the ivory threads. I thought it was a magical gateway, leading me to a paradise that my grandmother would call the pearly gates of heaven.

When my grandmother died a year later, I wondered if she found those pearly gates. And I sat by that window the next late autumn, in hopes I could the gates and see her old face smiling back at me.

I never did, but I never did give up hope.

I was never a beautiful child; the one would grow up from an ugly duckling and become a beautiful swan. It seemed that I only grew into a cute duck, waddling to and from my way in life. I was the quiet one, offering solitude for people and friends if they needed an ear. Though even fewer lent it back, I was content.

I traveled much with my family; the longest I stayed in one place was the three years in Washington State with my grandparents. After that, the longest again was 8, 7 months at the most.

My father would always be away at business, being a representative for our country at these functions I would say. I barely cared; I had my tutors and my mother. I saw sites and sounds, which would make many a jealous in their lives. I saw Europe, South America, East Asia, Africa, and Australia. Sweet Jesus... it was beautiful.

I grew vain with my mother, seeing her as almost a goddess herself. She taught me about her homeland, full of warriors that were swift like the night and loyal hearted as any King Arthur tale. She taught me their tongue and about her own clang; of how they used the mists of dreams as their power. That they could call upon loyal creatures to eat their enemies’ dreams, so that they were only left with nightmares. To devour their own owners’ nightmares and letting me them dream, sweet, sweet illusions. She taught me dance, the motion of mediation, movement. She seemed disappointed though when my strength and body features could not more than simple "jutsus," as she called them. She became my beacon of light.

Though I learned that God can taketh as much as he has giveth when I when lost my grandmother, I learned when I was 14 just how true that was at any other time. My mother and I were to meet my father in London from Paris. I recall the fire on the right wing and we descended, screams were heard, and after flames engulfed my mother -- I saw gray. A haze so thick and silent, that I was alone.

I knew that I should have been scared; I knew I should have been crying out for my mother. It was safe here though and something was around me, something soft with fur and licking my cheek as I whimpered. It didn't feel like my mother but a kinship was there non-the less. When I was finally able to speak and whispered a prayer to God, it rumbled as if in curious laughter at my rambles. Only when the thing stiffened around me did I see a burst of white light and I say the cracks on a hospital ceiling. Leading me down a broken path downward, to my father’s withered face. I drank in his brown eyes and I saw a hallow emptiness there. My eyes stung and I recalled, my mother burning and I cried then. Sobbing because I knew that she was taken away from me and I was angry. So angry that I would never see those pearly gates, her beautiful form going through it.

My father was never the same afterwards, he came a ghost of the former man he was. Throwing himself into his work and leaving me to private schools within Paris and London. I did not have my mother's beauty but I had her eyes, he couldn't bare it. I was alone at times, but in time again -- I let people in and I went on with life. Going to college back within the states, I went back to where I was born. I went back to Seattle, in Washington State. Within three years, I had graduated with Bachelors in Foreign Studies and Creative Writing. I had hoped to be a teacher or even a writer but by this time, Papa had other ideas. Seeming from my up bringing, he sought to have me married off. When I heard this at the ripe age of 20, I thought him mad; yet, even still I could still see the pain in his eyes whenever he saw me. I can still see the way his hands grip onto his handles of the dining room chair, white clutched knuckles and wrinkles upon his once youthful hands.

He had found a good young man of Arabic descend, by the name of Aasim; which means protector. I was blessed and we had a small wedding, binding my name to his. It created a good relation with his family's trading company, along with my father's connections. I didn't know about such things, nor did I want too. Again, as I had stated before, I grew fond of Aasim -- he took care of me and I him, but a true love connection was never there. He found me cute with my plain features and I found his company, enjoyable with many tales of his childhood days. We were still young, new, and we thought... maybe just over time, maybe just over time -- it would be all right.

--

It was when my father passed away ( sometimes I think it was the depression that finally got him and his heart decided to one day, let go ) that Aasim and I would go through and select what belongs I wanted to keep. My family was gone so I thought, and there was only a few things I wanted to keep -- mainly pictures and a few trinkets that meant more to than gold or jewels. I ventured to the attic and wrinkled my nose at the junk my father had. I was thankful than I didn’t take after his pack-ratted ways then, but that notion would do a 360 on what real treasure I found there. It was a simple box in the corner, buried under old play clothes and cobwebs. It's silent siren presence calling me over the medium sized object and I traced the thick dust on its cardboard surface. Moving the clutter about it, I pushed it over to a place I could sit and I opened the taped folds, worn and slightly discolored in the single bulbs light above me.
What I found made my breath catch in my bosom.

There were pictures, so many pictures of my mother and two other people that looked like her. Sweet Jesus, I prayed -- could this be her family? It let me thirsting for more and I dug. Looking at slide after slide of black and white photos, some colored but old from the first models of colored pictures it seems. There was my mother with her dark blue hair and gray eyes with golden embers, standing with another woman that looked just like her. Did my mother have a twin? Why didn't she tell me about any of this before hand? There was also a man, handsome, with long lighter blue locks with darker eyes, almost drinking onyx irises. Could this be an uncle that I did not have? My heart quickened in pace and I felt overwhelmed by the sudden discovery. I found pictures of other people I did not know but looked in the same relation as my mother and the others; there was a family here that I never knew about. My eyes were drawn to a colored photo of a beautiful woman with honey colored eyes and golden locks with the man with light hair before, looking at the bottom of the picture there were two names written in sloppy English. Tsunade and Dan...

Tsunade and Dan...

I found pictures of a white haired man and a pale man with golden eyes, glaring at whoever took the photo. My hand ran over all the photos in my lap and I was scared if I blinked my eyes that I would wake up from this wonderful dream.

So many emotions charged through my body, anger... frustration... sadness... and so many questions as well.

Why didn't my mother tell me she had family? Why didn't my father say anything? Why was I kept away from this? Why was these treasures shoved away as they were the Devil?

Collecting the photos, I placed them back into the box careful and looked at what else was there. I found a metal plated headband with a leaf on it, a broken compass, and an old faded silk cloth. There wasn't much left save the pictures, but under the clothe I noticed something clipped together. My heart quickened again as I snatched up the bundle of letters. There was quite a bit of them and I tugged at the worn string holding them together violently. Almost dropping the stacks of paper in my trembling hands and my palms were sweaty when I looked at the first letter. Written in my mother's tongue and I remembered the letters so well, it was almost like it was yesterday when we were on the plains of India when she first decided to teach me Japanese. I saw my old address from my grandparent’s home and here, my father's house. The address from where it was from, changed a total of three times. With many stamps from where it traveled and carried from. I held my breath and opened up the envelope, tracing the fine paper open and let my eyes follow the road of words there. Oh and did it open my world up to something.

All from the woman I had pictured before, Tsunade, and she spoke in riddles of how if she was caught writing to my mother -- then her life would be forfeit. Was my mother a criminal before I was born? I read on.

She talked of things, training in "ninja" was and learning new "jutsus," the jutsus were vague to me and I remember my mother taught fondle of ninjas before hand. I learned more things that left me joyful and things that left me saddened. It seemed that I had an aunt and uncle, but both had passed. My uncle passing a little after I was born and that Tsunade would have been his betrothed. The letters were shortened after that and the last one was Tsunade was leaving with a niece that my mother had, a girl named Shizune of my late mother's twin. My heart leaped and I let out a small joyful cry to the Lord -- I still had someone left, I still had two links to my family that I could still known.

I fumbled for a moment though and looked at the worn letters, they were written long ago and Tsunade or Shizune may not be the same place they were. I was discouraged for a moment and chewed on my bottom lip, and even if I heard a word back from them. How would I get there? Sure money would not be a problem, but I had my husband and where they were -- unless you were of blood relation.. you could not get into Japan. It was a long and hard process.

But would it hurt to just write? Maybe not. Climbing to my feet, I had placed everything back into the box and carrying it down to the small pile of pictures I would be keeping. That night when my husband had went off to his land of sleep, I sat downstairs at our kitchen counter and started to write. It wasn't until dawn had approached and many copies littering the tile floor, did my husband find me; tear-stained cheeks and a final finished five-paper letter.

I stamped it and sent out it with international delivery. God be with me in this time, I prayed hard and I prayed long.

--

I heard nothing, but I still sent 10 letters, two with pictures that I had and of myself with my mother through out my life. After those ten, I stopped because something in my heart told me .. wait.. wait... so I did.

During this waiting time, my husband wished to start a family.

For three years we were together and I was barren. I knew Aasim was frustrated, but he never would lay a hand on me and never spoke of it. Even after slipping from his bed, I found find myself out on the back porch, over looking the ocean view we had and as the waves came in. The water always calmed me and I gave myself to God again, praying in sweet breathes for something, someone to give me a child.

But faith was not on my side, or so I thought. Two years, did my breast start to ack from something and a lump started to form on my left side. Thinking that it was the stress of trying to become pregnant, I put it off. It was the most stupid thing I had ever done. Aasim became worried from my sudden fatigue and pain in my boson, took me into the doctor -- within a week, I was called again with news that I had breast cancer. It was a long year and the more I struggled in a fight, the worse it had become and the doctor had given me the news that I had maybe two years, or at the least, a year left.

Aasim was crestfallen and shunned away from me, I prayed and I prayed still.

It was a Friday evening that Aasim was struck down by a car, he didn't stand a chance when he was flung into the windshield of his car. It was that Saturday, which I learned that I was pregnant after I fainted from the news. A "miracle," my doctor said. My wrath was at the sweet Lord again, ranting and raving as a mad woman. Cursing his name on high when my husband, that I was supposed to serve, was taken me away. I walled myself up, away from the few friends I did have and I curled away from reality. It was there in feverish dreams, that the same creature that had so long ago hugged around me caressed me. Whimpering and crying into the soft material that could be described as fur. I howled, it purred; I shed tears, it licked my cheek; I clenched at it, it growled in protection of me. Then the white light would come again and I would walk up to the cracks on my ceiling, clenching my sheets as golden rays of sunlight filtered into room from the open windows.

I remembered then that it was only a week after his death that I would be moving from this place I called home and trying out on my own again. I had nothing left, no one had contacted me, and I needed to be away. I almost wanted to end it, but something in my heart still told me to ...wait... wait... so with heaving heavy sighs. I did. I waited.

I still had about two weeks left in my home before checking the mail one day, scanning the junk that I usually received -- a plain cream-colored envelope caught my eye. It had a forwarding address from my father's home. Frowning, the curving letters had a simple return address but it was the how the return address was written finally caught me eye.

My knees nearly gave out. It was in Japanese.

Letting out a soft gurgle, my hands tore at the letter and I scrambled to get it out. It was pages of elegant handwriting; sitting down, I read the enclosed. Two pages were from Tsunade, after long last she had received my letter.

Yume,

A fine name that she picked for you. You have your mother's eyes and look just like her.
Enclosed are travel papers. Come when you can. It took quite a few favors, but it is what you will need when you come and see me. I know you will.

- Tsunade.

I blinked at the short letter, did she just assume that I would leave my life sudden? I flipped through the other neatly folded stack of papers, I let out a squeak at the travel paperwork that would let me into a nearly secret country. It was all there, simple writing, stamped for approval. I blinked in dumb-founded surprise, no wonder she didn't write sooner. I didn't know if I should take this as a sign of God or just this woman to be a mind reader. Falling back into the cushions on my couch, I was at a major-cross road.

My eyes reflected to the glass coffee table in front of me and my plain features were as clear as day. She said I looked just like her, barely it should be said. My face was a soft oval with rounded eyes, surrounded by dark medium length lashes, and dark silver with glowing golden embers in some light. My nose was small, but so were my lips. Drawn out with fine pallid rose colored and matching my even paler skin. I still had a rosy health to my skin, but it was still a bleached out wash almost -- I was a plain jane and simple. I did have high cheekbones or a beauty mark, my ears were flat lined with two simple silver hoops in the lobes. My body was not toned or gifted after a goddess, though I was "curvy," I wouldn't call it fat but on the heaver side. I'd say fluffy or chunky mostly. I was tall for my age, being about 5'8 and my legs were also on the heavy side -- being taller help hide some of it but I would not be caught wearing tighter fit clothing. I had lost most of my hair during chemo sessions, but after about five months with out doing it anymore -- I let it grow back. I had my thick brown locks from my mother and it fell around my ears and the back of my neck in chocolate strands. My bangs swept to the left side of my face -- I wasn't pretty or beautiful, but cute most would say.

I placed my hand at my cheek and the other on my flat pregnant belly, I was at a crossroads. Stay and be alone, let my child be born alone. Or go somewhere, where something would be waiting for me.

Something still shone in my eyes when gazing at myself. I clenched the letter at my sick bosom and felt myself stand up, walking toward my sliding glass window. My star colored eyes watched the onslaught of rain outside and as I gave out a soft sigh, making the window fog in front of me, I decided.

My fingers smeared the pane of glass when I wiped off the fogged substance, but it didn't smear my hope.

I was going, I took the road I needed to go.

'Let's go home little one... let's go home...'