She’s coming. She’s coming.

The sound of a walking stick hitting the ground gradually got closer and closer until it finally stopped in front of the door.

She’s here.

The blonde-haired kid’s eyes widened. Fear clouded his mind, making him see the images he desperately wanted to forget.

Kioshi, Aiko, Hana, Jin, Hide … all of them, gone. And whose fault was it?

No one’s?

Wrong!

Mrs Humura says that it’s my fault … and she’s always right. She’s always right.

The blonde-haired boy curled up into a ball as the door opened.

He raised his head slightly, forgetting that he should never meet her eyes.

Her eerie smile and her wide-open, bloodshot eyes scarred him … again.

He would never ever forget her face. Until the moment that the darkness would come to take him too, just like they had done to all of his friends and the people that did not hate him.

Kioshi had jumped. Mrs Humura had forced him to look as Kioshi closed his eyes and slipped down the cliff.

Mrs Humura excitedly said: “Wait for it! Wait for iiiittt …. AH! THERE HE GOES! Little Naruto, did you hear it … the way his body hit the rocks. The way his bones broke. I love it~.”

Aiko had hung in their shared room, dangling from the ceiling.

Her face blue and her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

She had a smile on her face. The very same smile that she always looked at him with when they played.

Isabelle had … after stealing a kitchen knife … slit her own throat and bled out in his arms.

When Aiko had started choking, Mrs Humura had forced him to watch from outside the room.

When Isabelle had started wheezing and twitching on the ground, Mrs Humura had made him watch and cover himself in her warm blood.

All the time, Mrs Humura had laughed, as if that was the best day of her life.

As for Jin and Hide … well … they had drowned themselves in the big pond in the forest adjacent to the orphanage.

It had been his job to watch the last bubbles rise towards the surface and it was his job to get their bodies out of there. The amount of times he needed to swim through the shallow water, just to untangle them from the stones they bound to their feet …

And always, Mrs Humura had made it very clear that he had been the very reason for their suffering.

All his friends had needed to suffer severe beatings and torture when he had made a mistake, or whenever Mrs Humura was in the mood to hurt him.

By now he had learned. He musn’t … feel for anyone anymore. It wouldn’t be fair for them, he would only hurt them.

Don’t feel. Don’t feel. Don’t feel. He chanted, whenever he was alone with his thoughts.

It calmed him. It helped him keep a smile on his face, always.

When all that he cared for was gone, it was time for him to suffer the same torture that they always suffered for being close to him.

Mrs Humura took great pleasure in cutting him up and watching his wounds close rapidly.

At first, he screamed. When he didn’t scream anymore, he cried. And when all his tears had been used, then he simply endured. Unmoving.

That’s how it was, every single time when she came into his room … just like she had right now.

And just as he guessed … it was the same procedure as always.

Cutting, breaking, beating, burning. It was always the same.

She always told him that he was her favorite child. That just meant that he was the main target of her affections.

And he wondered why, when people that seemed to care about him and the other children arrived, that they never said anything about their obvious bruises and their obvious pain. It probably had something to do with the Hide she had drawn onto every child’s right ankle.

They only smiled at them, patting their heads and offering some money for Mrs Humura, congratulating her for her good work at raising all the children.

Whenever someone did get adopted, it was never him.

Never.

The best days were the birthdays he was allowed to celebrate in the village. He shouldn’t come back until the morning of the next day.

And every single year, he was chased by groups of adults that would beat him, stab at him … sometimes they even found pleasure in skinning him, leaving his bare flesh open and exposed to the air.

Honestly, he wondered how he was even still alive. He knew that he healed quickly … and maybe that was why they called him a monster.

…

Today, Mrs Humura did something else. He had never been in this part of the orphanage before, it was dark and cold and wet.

Taking out a metal key, Mrs Humura opened a huge iron box.

The door was rusty. He patiently waited behind her, a smile on his face, but his eyes showed not even a hint of emotion.

He had become numb. He was close. He knew now … what his friends felt.

He was slipping. Already, death seemed sweet, so sickeningly sweet. He did not want death, but he couldn’t escape. He wouldn’t escape. There was nowhere else for him to go. Everyone, everyone in the village, hated him.

Everyone.

Mrs Humura stepped aside and said: “Get in, fox. It’s a funny place. All of your friends were in here before you, you won’t feel lonely in there!”

She snickered as the blond-haired boy slowly stepped into the metal box.

Still, there was light shining into the box, when he carefully inspected the box, he found a small line of symbols engraved into the place just above where the door would close on him soon.

It said: “Children of Iron.”

He was glad that Aiko had taught him how to read and after she was gone, Jin and Hide had taught him to write. It was only because of them that he was even able to understand just what was carved into the durable metal box.

Mrs Humura smiled at him as she slowly closed the door. When the door snapped shut, he felt darkness envelop him.

He tried pushing against the door, but it was unmoving against his meagre strength.

Trying everything he thought of to get out of the box, he noticed that there was no escape.

Panic set in.

His breathing fastened. He felt the blood rush through his body.

He heard his quickening heartbeat inside of his own ears.

His thoughts raced … and to distract himself from the darkness, he closed his eyes, pretending that it was his own decision to not see anything.

After a few minutes, or hours, or whatever … he couldn’t measure time at all anymore, he started screaming. As his thoughts became louder, his screaming turned louder as well.

It grew and grew and grew and grew until something shattered.

Whatever it was, he didn’t know. But he knew, he was all alone. It was only then that it finally hit him, he was all alone in the world. His friends had already left him and he wouldn’t ever forget them, he would try to live to remember them. There was only him, the box, the knifes and other instruments, darkness and Mrs Humura.

A few hours later, he was taken out of the box, although he did not move even hours after being thrown back into his room.

Days later, when he finally recovered from the experience, Mrs Humura appeared again, having the same smile on his face.

It was then that he knew: again, I’m going there again.

There were other children that were also taken into the box. He remembers every single one of their faces … but he dared not get close to them … they would only suffer.

Whatever pieces he had picked up again, shattered and he feared that every time he entered that box … more of them would vanish.

Every time he was locked in the box, he would first not move at all, then he would scream and thrash around, trying to escape the confinement and cage … but then he’d realize that it was no use. No one would come, again and no he couldn’t escape.

Years passed … and someday … for some reason … Mrs Humura kicked him out of the orphanage … and he was given an apartment by the kind old man that he called “grandfather”. He was the third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi. In order to protect himself, he dared not ask the question: “Where were you, all these years? Whenever Mrs Humura came for me?”

It was then that Naruto awoke, swimming in his own sweat. He felt his throat tighten, he couldn’t breathe.

Shaking, he sat up, looking around his apartment in alarm.

“Is she here?” He thought, listening for the wooden stick she always used to steady herself.

He heard a knock on his door.

Just like she did at times, when she wanted to scare him or the other smaller kids.

They all knew, and especially him, a knock meant … that it was time for a “performance”, another one would soon succumb to darkness.

His eyes widened and he hid his face inside of his hands.

Regaining his breath, images of his lost friends flashing past, he slowly sat up, wearing no shirt, he walked towards the door.

Don’t feel. Remember their faces, voices, names. He chanted and gradually calmed down.

Before opening the door, he shook his head, making sure that a smile was in place.

As he turned the doorknob, he was thrown back by the person on the other side of the door.

A head full of pink hair rushed in and shouted: “Naruto! What the damn hell took you so long, you useless idiot!”

Sakura hit him on his head, in the same place that she always hit him.

He smiled idiotically, mumbling a sorry.

She’s right. She’s right.

He clothed himself and quickly got ready to move out for whatever urgent mission the Hokage had for him. He hoped to … see Uzu again.

…

A/N: Yeah. The idea for the Children of Iron originated from the fanfic: “All Started with a Smell”. It’s great. Perfect. Wonderful. A true masterpiece of fiction. And I’m shamelessly using the ideas the author of that fanfic used.

Let me know what you think! I’ll try hard to include all of his insecurities in his decision making.