The Cure: Finding It Chapter 1

"I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can drop away"
     -"Black" by Pearl Jam
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"If you want one skewer of kushidango, you'll have to pay me the ¥969.85 I asked for," the weathered old woman at a food stand vehemently spat. Her younger, orange-haired "customer" almost flinched at the vender's clipped tone, but her five year old daughter did just that.  

The cherry-headed girl had badgered her mother into buying her favorite treat, after they had  been in the market spending precious money on much needed food. Still Fumiko Madoka couldn't resist her daughter's pleading face and decided on just one skewer.

However, the elderly vendor had clearly noticed the encircled star tattooed on Fumiko's shoulder - that she had been trying to keep hidden behind her clothing while shopping earlier. Unfortunately the clothing fell away a little, revealing Fumiko as part of the despised witch clan, the Madoka clan. So instead of asking for the regular price of ¥484.93, the old woman stacked more onto it, asking for the price of two skewers for one.

Despite knowing that she wouldn't have much more yen left after buying the kushidango, Fumiko just couldn't disappoint her daughter. She handed over the yen asked with a solemn reluctance and tentatively received the skewer that was thrusted in her direction. She then handed the treat to her now distressed and regretful daughter.

Walking on in their small journey back to the Madoka clan compound, the little girl merely eyed her treat with something akin to guilt. Fumiko peered down at her daughter from behind her bags of food.

"What's wrong, Red?"

The pale dainty girl looked up at her mother with sorrowful opaque brown orbs. "Momma?" came her small voice, "Why do they hate us?"

Fumiko straightened her gaze forward again as she thought of an answer that Red would understand, her face pensive. Their clan was hated for being foreign and their strange customs ,and villagers thought their practice of magick and spells were harbingers of bad luck and evil. Those ideals were quite the opposite. The Madoka clan worked spells for harmonious deeds and healing. Finally Fumiko had an answer.

"Our clan practices old and currently frowned-upon traditions. Being a conjoined clan from members of both the Hyuuga and Masaki clan, we are still foreign to Suna, even after several generations here. They…just misunderstand us."

Red looked back at her kushidango. No longer did it have the sweet-coated appearance of her favorite delicacy, now it had morphed before her eyes into a spear with toxic spheres of blame; and they were leering at her. Red didn't feel like eating them as much as she did before they accosted the old woman behind the stand.

"I'm sorry, momma," the little girl said meekly.

Her mother caught the emotion that flickered in her beloved daughter's eyes and immediately knew what to say. "You're not to blame, little Tora."

Red glanced back up at her mother in mild astonishment, some of the guilt melting from her conscience at the sound of her nickname and clan symbol. The lingering emotion swirling in her mind still refrained her from eating her treat right away.

Coming upon the park on their path home, Red leisurely looked over at the children playing joyously. She did that often, even if she knew she probably couldn't join them, it was a habit of her's.

The group of children were kicking a leather ball to and fro with each other, their faces fixed into expressions of happiness and excitement as each one tried to score for their team. It was the perfect picture of care-free childhood. Something Red didn't exactly have. Her only playmates were her clan relatives.

Red's eyes then were drawn to a lone mess crimson red, and she zeroed in on it. The color she saw belonged to the hair of a lonely boy on a set of swings. His head was down cast and his fingers were curled around a simple brown teddy bear. She immediately recognized him as "Suna's monster." She'd long ago conjectured that the boy had no beastly aspects about him and wondered why everyone seemed to fear him.

The small girl's curious fascination in memorizing his form with her eyes was broken by Fumiko calling out to her for lagging behind. Ever obedient, Red tore her gaze from the mysterious boy before plodding after her mother with her short legs.

Fumiko noticed her daughter's interest in the boy known as Sabaku no Gaara and inwardly smiled at Red's understanding and empathy. Though that was all well and good, she didn't want her daughter to be seen as an associate of Gaara's. It would only harm their clan's already damaged reputation, what with rumors of some clan members using dark magick to create harm towards others. It was only a rumor, but Fumiko wasn't going to take any chances.
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The little boy swinging sedately on the lonely swing set felt eyes. An army of eyes, all directed towards him. Even without looking up he could feel the weight of them and identify the emotions those hundreds of orbs were conveying, it was an odd talent for a boy his age. Yet, he could hardly be considered normal at any age.

He was usually able to tell the emotions the people who looked at him were feeling. Everyone of them looked at him with the uncomfortable weight of hate and abhorrence. It was nothing new to him, but it was still like vehemently rubbing salt in an already festering wound.

Gaara's temples tingled uncomfortably and his little fingers itched to do something his young mind couldn't comprehend.

'Pluck out their eyes with those aching fingers,'</i> a velvety, yet rough voice buzzed in from the space between his ears.  

Startled, the little boy lurched forward a bit on his swing, his eyes suddenly wide and alert. 'Who…said that?' he heard his own conscience ask within the confines of his mind. Sure he'd heard little bits of fragmented phrases in his head, but he just thought he was imagining things after being isolated so long with only his father and other ninja as occasional company. This was the first time the voice ever spoken a full sentence.

A rustling sound at his feet caught Gaara's attention and he looked down to see small granules of sand quivering and slithering at his feet. It was then that a wave of nausea struck him in the gut and he had to double over to keep from heaving his stomach contents. He was seeing visions of gore that he'd never seen or thought of before, but they were passing through his mind like his own memories. He dropped his teddy and pressed one hand against his abdomen and the other pushed into his right temple to abate these new sensations.

Gaara pressed with his hands against the un-wellness he felt and tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing. Moments later his small, tired frame slumped in his swing and he let his feet slowly propel him back into the swinging pace from before. His muscles felt weak and shaky after being pulled taut like a bow prepared to fire an arrow.

His mind was jumbled with thoughts. What did he just hear and why? Why did his skull feel like it was squeezing his brain  and his muscles were electric and pulsed to do something when it spoke that dreaded sentence just now? And the sand. Why was it acting up more now than usual when he was being trained by his father?

The lonely little boy lowered his head and let his teddy simply dangle loosely in his grip.

'What am I really?' he thought with despair.

He suddenly felt more eyes on him and he nearly cringed, but he soon realized the weight of the eyes were different than the others. Cautiously he looked up and searched for the in-oppressive gaze. Innocent depths of light brown - almost amber - orbs stared back curiously at him. Her pale, childishly rounded face was framed by thick auburn red hair. He glanced at her hand and saw a stick of kushidango held forgotten in her little fingers. She had apparently found him more interesting than her treat.

In fact, Gaara felt his own interest was piqued. This was his first taste of someone not glaring at him with disgust or glancing away in fear. Gaara met the little girl's gaze and kept it.

The girl also stared back openly at him as if she was in a trance, but suddenly averted her eyes to an older woman - that looked related to her - when she called out to her. He assumed it was the little girl's mother. The little girl quickly followed after her parent, leaving his sight.

Gaara's interest then took a different, darker turn. His grip tightened on his teddy bear until the tendons in his entire hand ached with the pressure. The sand at his feet grew restless again, writhing and hissing like an angry animal.

It was then that the thought of wrapping his tense fingers around the girl's fragile neck made way into his mind. He saw himself squeezing it until her neck snapped or her head popped off while making her mother watch. His sand then disposed of the woman, crushing her body into tiny bits until only blood and shredded flesh remained.

His head pulsed violently enough to jar his entire little body, and Gaara dropped his teddy and reached up to grip at his head again. Pushing against the rhythmic pounding in his head, he tried pushing back whatever it was that felt like it would break through him and escape. With a shuddered breath, he finally managed to force that horrendous thought from his head, and his body relaxed some. He was left panting and feeling extremely weak

Tentatively Gaara stood on his feet and retrieved his teddy bear from the ground. His small body ached with the effort of taking his first steps towards his father's estate, feeling tired, but never able to actually sleep.

'Were those thoughts really mine?' he mentally asked himself, 'I'd never hurt anyone before, and I don't want to hurt anyone ever.'

But as he walked he couldn't deny that the line between his real thoughts and these alien ones were becoming more blurred and indistinguishable by each day that passed.

'I have to stop whatever is wrong with me, before it makes everything I ever knew disappear.'