Unbreakable (Book 1) #Wattys2015

Worthy- Erika

Forever. Forever was the equivalent to the time it would take to produce the antidote. Forever. With Erika's knowledge, they didn't have  two weeks, not to mention a month. Not if his poison was used. Their sensei would be dead by then. And if–when  death came, it wouldn't be swift and painless. No. It would be slow and torturous. Bringing nothing but the worst kind of torment.

And if Kakashi Hatake managed to survive that, he would still have to suffer for a month. A month. He wouldn't be sane by the time they arrived to relieve him with the antidote. Erika knew that much. Not if that poison lingered in his veins. Erika, Tamiko, and Hibiki would have to do everything in their power to cut down on the time the process of creating the anti-poison would consume. Take a couple of days off somehow, a few hours. Anything. Every second counted.

"Erika, I need you to run down to the market and fetch me some basil leaves," Sakura informed her from her spot above a boiling pot.

This particular anti-poison involved a series of applying intense heat to some ingredients and drastic cold to others. It was very complex work and Sakura's short hair frizzed around her sharp face due to the humidity emanating from the boiling pot, odd fumes filling the air. She had been working for hours, occasionally asking Erika questions about the poison they were striving to counteract or asking her or the other kids to run errands.

Inwardly, Erika groaned at the medical kunoichi's request. She hated  having to walk through the Village Hidden in the Sand. Though Erika had only walked its streets several times in the past day, with each occasion she did, she received insults and jeers from passing citizens.

She wasn't one of them and they knew it. But that wasn't what instigated their behavior. They thought she looked like a monster with her paper-white skin and jet black hair. Not to mention her eyes. Oh, how her eyes never failed to scare people. They were  unnatural after all. Erika would ridiculous to expect anything less. But were the awful insults really necessary?

"I'm on it," she responded and rushed out the door.

The weather outside was tranquil, if a bit dry, due to the fact that the village lie in a desert. The sun beat down hard, but, then again, Erika never sweat. It was just something that never really applied to her. Her skin was colder than a normal person's for reasons she didn't know.

On her path to the market, Erika did her best to ignore the murderous glances given by the occasional people walking past her. Of course, there were stories about children like her everywhere. Striking children that concealed spirits of which were nothing less than lethal. Naruto was one of them. But just because she looked like them, she was treated likewise.

Erika physically shrugged. If they chose to be bitter for something she couldn't help, that was their problem. There were plenty of other things for her to focus on anyway.

Erika took another moment to admire the Sand's unique architecture. The road was lined with oblong sand-colored buildings, some reaching high into the sky, others a basic single story, some with curved roofs, others simply flat. In between each building, numerous allies branched off the main street creating long dead end pathways.

A large older man exiting a building suddenly bumped into Erika, causing himself to drop several of the parcels he carried. Flustered, he looked down to see what had caused his fluke.

"My apologies," Erika said quietly, stopping to retrieve his fallen parcels. Rising to her feet again, she held them out to the man. Expecting thanks, Erika was surprised, only briefly though, for the reaction she got instead.

"How dare you touch what belongs to me?!" The large man bellowed, snatching the objects from Erika's outstretched arms as if they had been infected. His face grew read in a fury which came quickly and unforeseenly. "Get out of my sight, you freakish brat!" In that moment, the man's arm reeled back across his body and swung forward in a motion intended to deliver a mind-boggling backhand blow.