He truthfully could only remember so far back, any-time before the age of Four seemed like a blur. Clouded thoughts and images that were undecipherable. He imagined it had to do with his parents, family and the events that unfolded to the circumstance he lived in now. But that was truly neither here nor there. At most, it helped him establish a sense of confidence and will to push through the thresholds that normally halt a child from maturity. He of course, fit the role of a young body, old soul.
Looking back, age Four. He knew he had parents and lived with them for awhile, he had to of till the age of Five. Their faces were unusually faded, in-spite any efforts to recollect their details. He always found it distinctly odd but never paid it much heed. It wasn’t glamorous by any stretch when he did have a home, never going outside the humidity was awful all the time and he was perpetually upset with the environment. Being shushed and hushed physically whenever it got unbearable; food was scarce and he felt weak mind, body and soul. Such was the life of poverty, a concept he knew not of.
Inevitably the necessity of schooling, or helping guide the child down a path of professionalism was deemed a conversation by the age of Five. His brain had ripened and was prime for learning, sponging any information presented to him; true or false. Unfortunately for the young Karu, it was a conversation not well received in a family that struggled to pay for their living necessities already, adding extra expenditure was only a burden. So at some point between his Mother and Father’s discussion they decided; he was brought out for a treat. The heat was unusual, he rarely experienced the above ground temperatures and when he did it was for brief lapses of time. This time, it was different- it was painful. He felt his lungs ache and his legs were noodles. Within’ moments of his recollection, he noticed neither of his parents were around. The alley wasn’t dark by any stretch, but it was desolate- hauntingly.
--
Karu looked to the left and right. The heated haze was enough to convince a master shinobi that it may have been a genjutsu. It was surreal, the buildings warped and flowed like rubber in extreme heat; it was terrifyingly quiet, all that murmured in the headache was the sound of grating winds to the sand. The sun was high, bright and draining by being exposed to for prolonged periods of time.
He could feel his heart pumping steadily, supplying the body with as much energy and nutrients to survive in the harsh conditions; but for someone his size and age was destined for failure in a matter of minutes. This pain, the throbbing in his chest from the stress of the heart and the panicked breathing that fired through his body had his senses jumbled. – “We’re sorry… You’ll get through it.”
That was the last sound, feeling of ominous senses that shocked his body. Until it went dark, the embrace of dead silence that slowly lulled into the distance, the heat faded into the distance and he felt a sensation of bliss in the staggering pain only moments before.
The next day he awoke, still above the underground complexities of the Sunagakure infrastructure. In the alleyway, the day was early. The shade was casted heavily where he was propped up against; the wall of an adjacent building. Beside him was a burlap bag about the size of a typical shinobi butt-bag; it didn’t feel full but inside held the contents of half a loaf of bread, a bottle of water and a few ryo. Call it charity or an abandonment package. It was accepted with some relief- but the confusion settle quickly. His parents were gone, with little remembering much of their details. This forced some painful thoughts of uncertainty and fear of the unknown. He was in an alleyway with no idea where he was, where his family was and what to do. – In the struggle of fending the growing tension in his chest; the invisible hand that clenched his heart and lungs until they ached. He felt ‘something’ it was an unusual sensation- As if triggered. He felt that in-spite the odds of abandonment and his survival he needed to survive. Somehow. And he would do that.
By the age of Six, a year had passed almost exactly- Give or take a week or two. He wasn’t fully certain but his growing understanding of life fast-forwarded dramatically as the need arose. Such tasks like finding edible plants and drinkable water- or lack of such the manner of needing to cleanse the water was well received. Although, it wasn’t learnt alone- tasking himself with gathering a circle of people that he could trust; a child alone was and is never the best of situations to be in. Easily exploitable and often end up deceased in the matter of months, or in some lucky circumstances a year. The folk he ran into, he later discovered were one such individuals that supplied him a year prior with the ‘abandonment package’ as they called it. It stung every-time it was said, but was quickly relieved mentally with the thought that despite his distinct lack of remembering family, he still had somewhat a group of mostly older men and women that helped teach him the intermediate tasks of survival.
Patching clothing, finding shelter, suiting supplies of food and water and how to cover them without getting stolen or spoiled, fending oneself in the streets from hooligans older than him, muggers and criminals. Most of which, he found were drugged, drunk or loss of sanity. It was even easy enough for someone as small and scrawny as himself to muster the tactical knowhow to outmaneuver them- Although, that didn’t necessarily mean out-power. To name a few.
Growing in the streets, was far from glamorous and it was dead-end. Literally, almost daily the young boy was faced with running into another dead kin, someone lost, abandoned and forgotten in the grimy and unsanitary streets that were long abandoned; only some being recovered into what presently is being rebuilt. Due to this he needed to use his youth, a gift not to be taken lightly; he needed to develop it into something more, he couldn’t be like this indefinitely or he would live and die an insufferable life. His child tenancies to rebel were used with unbreakable will; part the depressive suicidal actions found in most hopeless, and the ambition to grow; he found the profession of a shinobi odiously alluring.
Forwarding to the age of seven, nearing the age of eight closely. The boy had grown into that of a rather notorious child; he was quick, using his low center of gravity and quick-witted, cunning to a fault having used his studious mind to trick and ‘borrow’ objects from unsuspecting or fooled individuals. Garbed in random attire that consisted of some scrubs, a gimmicky lab coat and some trashy bag that he stitched a medical cross on- it was fake of course. But it helped with the image; the disheveled and loathsome population of scum found him as a godsend, thinking he were the image he portrayed. Of course, like he worried about as a younger him- he exploited the weaknesses for his gain. Mainly in the sense of monetary gain with the falsehood of ‘healing’ them of any irregularities and sicknesses. Without doubt, it failed but he came out scot-free. Using his foreknowledge of finding shelter in the masses of the village both above and below ground. He rarely ran into the same filth; if he did. It was a simple task of outsmarting them to escape, using the small tight routes he’d map out. Identifying the strengths of their bodies and the acuity of their minds to help create and employ diversions and traps.
By the time he was eight and then some. He had accumulated enough funds—Even if it were illegally acquired funds. To help pay the tuition, barely; he knew there were ends to meet eventually it was a matter of time until the acquisition of tools, equipment and the like to deliver new strings of funds required. He of course; with a charming smile and the steel in the blue of his eyes knew. He’d get it.
