Tale of a setting sun

Chapter 1- Tale and Ambition

This story was written by PK samurai on Fanfiction.net. The link to his site is in the description

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Go check him/her our or else Im deleting your account

I sadly do not own Naruto or and of the characters

By the time Naruto Uzumaki had turned five years old, he had come to realize that a good majority of the people in his village hated him.

It was not an immediate realization:as the haze of colors and sounds called infancy slowly but inevitably passed, he first came into the awareness of his individuality.

Looking down at his stubby toes and observing how they wriggled at his every command, he saw that he was his person – his body and mind belonged to him and only him, and as far as he could tell, every other person that he saw possessed this right.

All of the people in his village were the same as him in this regard.However, he gradually began to see differences between these other people and himself.

When Naruto first visited the village playground at the age of four, he saw many other children running around in the dust.

Another young boy was chasing them making threatening sounds, and Naruto felt rather frightened – however, the other children were laughing as if they were having fun.When he asked another child what was going on, he looked at Naruto strangely and asked him if he'd never played ''tag before.

When Naruto returned to his home that evening and asked his caretaker – a stern-faced woman with dark hair – about the game, she merely slammed a bowl of rice down on his table and told him to stay away from the other children.

He didn't understand why the other children could play ''tag together and why he couldn't, but his caretaker's hand was even faster and sharper than her words, so he shut up and ate his dinner.

But from then on, though he didn't approach the other children, he did start going out more by himself.

He was quite sick of the tattered book of folk tales that he had thumbed through since he was two, and felt that he was a bit too old for the cracked old wooden blocks he'd once fondly 

stacked for hours before.

And after all, he'd quite enjoyed the feel of the sun and wind on his skin.The few times he had been out in public before, he had usually been with his caretaker, who always insisted on him covering his face with a black scarf.

She'd told him it was so that he wouldn't pick up any diseases, but now that he was exploring the streets of his village, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Wherever he went, inevitably, he was followed by an intense storm of heated whispering.He hadn't realized at first;even following the realization of his individuality, he'd never thought of himself as particularly unique.

He'd read before in his book of folk tales that no two snowflakes were alike;

and as such, so were people.But in the winter, when snow covered the village, there were so many snowflakes that he couldn't possibly distinguish between them.