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Lurking Sunset by SerpentatSunset

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Story notes: Title: Lurking Sunset
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: T
Fandom: Naruto
Character: Orochimaru
Words: 892
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: His humble cottage was a fine place as any to begin. Orochimaru childhood fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
If he could pick the hues of his life, his world would be painted in blues, cloud gray, and brown. Nothing exciting or enthusiastic, but something he was comfortable with. Dependable. His humble cottage was a fine place as any to begin.

But, the dust was everywhere. It was on the floor, along the window sills, and had collected in the tiny corners of the ceiling. However, he was aware that his mother rarely cleaned. It was just how she was. Her nature.

Even at his young age, Ororchimaru knew that one wasn't guaranteed a quiet and rather tranquil life. Still, presently, Orochimaru was happy and secure. He was a child, and his needs were little.

In the home, his only received instructions were to go out and play. His mother and father fastidiously handled the housework, so there wasn't much for him to do. Though he hadn't received much formal education, his instincts were deep, and he was an avid student of nature.

Often, or rather, most of of the time, he went off to "play" by himself. With care, he ignored the other children whenever possible. Though he was just as poor as them, he stuck out like a cloud in an otherwise perfect sky.

His skin was as pale as rice and not normal in comparison to the others. He never tanned no matter how extreme the sunlight, and his fangs were said to be extremely off-putting. Even dangerous. He wondered if they imagined him sinking his fangs into their flesh, and the thought amused him. He wondered if he was poisonous.

Sometimes, he pondered if he should find out.

Admittedly, Orochimaru was upset the first few times. He used to tell his parents, but they simply told him to be mature about it. More mature than they were. He had to remind himself that there was nothing wrong with him just the way he had been born. One day, the village children would see that they were wrong.

In his nearly sacred solitude, he soon become disconnected from the bleak reality he had been raised in as he explored his surroundings. It would be another afternoon with the scent of hot moist earth sinking in his nostrils as he wandered along paths in the surrounding forest that he wouldn't remember in the weeks to follow.

As always, his eyes hungered for something new to alleviate he boredom. He didn't find anything that day and decided to return home, even if his sanctuary had become a little somber lately. Or, had it always been so?

His parents moved through the house like ghosts. They were an exhausted people. He wondered what had happened in their past to make them so. With faces downcast and words half-muttered, they appeared washed out as they drifted from one day to the next. Orochimaru knew that it was better not to ask and to remain respectful no matter how much each resembled a blackened wick.

Yet, to be a wick, that meant that they had once been ablaze. Orochimaru wondered what they had been like before his birth. Would he have enjoyed them more?

Something would have to come after this village but right now, everything it was fine. Circumstances were to his liking. At the moment.

His excursion over with for the day, Orochimaru walked a little quicker along the road until the front door-his front door-came into view and without any hesitation, he opened it. After all, there was nothing to fear.

"I'm back," he announced.

Orochimaru didn't raise his voice; he didn't have to.

Okaasan turned and smiled.

"Dinner is almost ready," she reiterated simply.

Orochimaru knew, of course, that better food in the country. Food that tasted far better than his simple fare of potato stew. But, then, his mother was an excellent cook. He had nothing to complain about.

Sometimes, when she shopped and went on her errands, she would bring back sweets bits of black licorice that were as bitter as medicine. Orochimaru ate them anyway knew that, in time, he would appreciate the vicious bite and would connect a memory as strong as the flavor. Not everything in life could be sweet. He already possessed that wisdom. It came to him naturally and nothing, not even experience, had taught him it. It was inborn.

No matter how much the present circumstances of his simple life begged to differ, a cool voice whispered in his head that he was meant to do great things. Orochimaru wondered if he believed it. He wondered if he could trust it.

Then, at last came the day that he had been dreading; the day it all changed.

He did not greet it as as fondly as he thought he would have.
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