Chapter Text
On a small island, off the coast of Kirigakure, Chiharu whispered to the ocean. Really, she was whispering to the fish in the ocean–begging them to return to the shallow waters she liked to play in. The fish were her friends, but sometimes she didn’t think her love for them was reciprocated; however, this didn’t put an end to her pleas.
“Fishies. Oh, fishies,” her voice was so quiet it was lost in the wind. “Would you just come out!” A beat of silence and anticipation passed before the young girl admitted defeat with a sigh. With a soft smile playing on her lips, she shook her head and dropped it–much like the way a mother would react to a disobedient yet amusing toddler.
The huge rocks she kneeled on scraped her palms, and the tide slapped against them with a gentle violence. Thankfully, they were low enough that Chiharu could safely slide into the water with unhesitant ease. She gripped the spear she borrowed (stole) from a fisherman just that morning with fierce determination and she lowered herself into the water. Her fresh cuts dug into the newly stained wood as she trudged through the beating waves. The child only stopped when the ocean splashed her lower back–she was freezing, but she dared not shiver lest she wished to scare the fish away anymore than she already had. The sun’s shy rays peeked through the heavy clouds. Chiharu tilted her head up slightly to take in the rare sight. One of the few rays caught her peeking and bathed her face. It blinded her for a brief moment before making its great escape. As quickly as it came, the ray once again hid itself behind a cloud in the shape of a vicious dog. The timid sun would set in about two hours; she hoped she wouldn’t be late for dinner.
**
For those next two hours Chiharu never moved an inch. The girl's arms hovered above the water in such a stiff position they felt as if they were on fire. The tide attempted to break her sharp focus with its eager pushes and pulls; however, her feet remained anchored in the wet sand and her eyes to the water before her. No fish big enough had made their illustrious appearance just yet but the girl knew it was only a matter of time before they came to snack on the surrounding kelp and sand worms. The sun began to set, and her vision failed her. The once clear ocean now seemed to be as black as tar. No longer could she see the spidery kelp brushing against her legs nor the worms slithering over her feet. Because of this, she did the only thing she could do: Chiharu shut her eyes. She listened to the heavy breaths of the ocean and the twirling wind blowing through her damp hair. The touch of the dancing kelp and slithering worms felt suffocating as they invaded her senses. If time allowed–and she weren’t as busy as she was at this moment–Chiharu would have been able to count each and every grain of sloping sand beneath her aching feet through touch alone. Despite the girl's lack of vision, the world has never been so clear.
It wasn’t long before she felt it: a slight shift. The kelp to her left had been disturbed and her hands tightened their grip on the spear. Any moment now, and she would be one fat fish richer. The tide splashed on her belly and back, hair tickled her face, sand rubbed between her toes, and a fish brushed against her leg.
The once-clear water now bloomed red.
Chiharu’s spear pierced the fish and wedged itself into the sand. For a brief moment the world hushed and the girl’s heart sung. She quickly looked towards the shore and wiggled the spear from the tugging ground. The fish was heavy but the girl paid no mind to the weight; she was desperate to get home. And so, with the blood from her palms and from the fish’s gaping wound mixing and dripping down her arm, Chiharu’s pruny legs carried her across the shore–sand sticking to her wet and wobbly feet.
She didn’t stop. Even when a sharp rock lodged its way into her foot or when the weight of the dead fish burned her shoulders, Chiharu never stopped. She ran through the village as the twinkling stars reflected on the iridescent fish scales that glittered just as impressively. Each shack-sized house passed in a flash, but she didn't care about those houses–she only cared about the one with a creaky third step and broken faucet: her home.
Considering the size of the village, the young girl made it home in no time at all. She skipped every other step up to her door and knocked eagerly. Soft light basked over her, a sliver at a time, as the door opened hesitantly. The old woman on the other side was greeted with a huge fish and a smile that could rival the sun itself.