Strawberries (A Naruto Fanfic)

Chapter 1: Reality

Author's Note

Hello all! A reminder: I'm still new so leave a review or comment with some of that constructive criticism you have in mind. Keep it nice, thanks. Enjoy!

P.s.- Menma is the alternate of Naruto. This means that he will have a totally different personality than our loud, exuberant, sweet, Naruto we all love. Please expect some OOCness even though technically it isn't OOC because we don't know for sure how Menma's character is in the movie because he changes back to normal, the last minute.

Just think of this story as a look at a more serious side of Naruto.

I sat in the darkness.

Ignoring the pounding of the people asking me to come out for school. Blocking them out...Or at least trying to.

'The people' as in my parents. Sometimes I wish I just lived alone.

But who knows? Maybe I'm just a teenager.

Blocking them out is hard, unfortunately. Especially my mother. She's just about forced her way through the door now.

I quickly hide my head under my covers as the first rays of light hit me when the door is busted open.

In she steps, turning the light on as she came in all the while, clenching her fist in rage. Her unusually long red hair flailed about in anger as she heaved angrily like a ravage, panting, dog.

The one thing that never seemed to leave me in awe was how beautiful she could still look despite being in this condition. That was the one thing I would never cease to understand...

...Or admit out loud.

I can tell she is narrowing her dark purple eyes in resentment as she stops and stares down at my covered form.

"Why do we have to always go through this?!" she starts. I choose not to answer her. It adds fire to her already fuming rage even more.

"I swear if you ignore me one more time Ill-" she is cut off when Dad comes in and puts a hand on her shoulder.

Despite the natural genes of my parents, that stand out so much in public, I barely even look like their child. The raging dark purple color of my mother's eyes, her red, wild hair, my father's blonde hair. I have none. The only thing I have is black hair, the looks of my mother and the unruly mess of spikes in my hair and cerulean eyes from my father. Sometimes I wonder if I'm even their kid.

"Look Menma, please just come down and eat and go to school," my Father pleads sympathetically to me, before dragging my mother over to my room door with him.

"What, that's it?!" my Mother exclaims unbelievably, in my father's face, shrugging his hand off her shoulder, "I ought to beat some sense into him and lecture him and-" My father cuts off her rant by closing the door. I hear her rant continue on through the thin wood of the door though...

I silently thank my father from saving me from the lecture I always seem to go through every time I wake up and sit here in my room in the darkness.

The lecture about, "When I am going to change?" About "How much they love me and hate seeing me so distant from them." About, "How they just think that is due to the simple fact that I am a teenager, and will let it slide for now, because of that."

I don't get it. I don't get what they are trying to save me from. Do they really think it's that easy to change?

I hate reality.

Reality is cruel, and I only choose to live in it because it isn't a lie. Isn't a lie, like my imagination.

I'd rather take the red pill.