First one shot, it's pretty angsty.

This is not for those who don't sit well with suicide.

Tell me what you think, review please. Even if you think it's awful.

I don't own Naruto.

If Naruto wasn't as strong as he was...


The hate in their eyes burned deep inside his very soul. It hurt in a way he didn't understand.

The words he heard confused him. He wasn't a monster or a killer...was he? Was he really a bad person? He didn't think he was, but if he wasn't, then what had he done to deserve this?

He wished he knew, maybe he could fix it. Maybe it would stop their awful feelings toward him.

He also longed to have parents. He saw children who hurt themselves at the park stop crying when their parents kissed them. The pain, though it was different from what he was feeling, would just disappear.

Maybe if he had parents to kiss him then he wouldn't feel the need to cry. Maybe everyone wouldn't hate him.

Was it the lack of parents that made the people hate him? Was that why the other children always ran away when they saw him?

There were a few people that were nice to him. The Old Man was always kind to him. The Old Man would smile at him when he saw him, something that most people never did. He treasured that. The ramen restaurant owner and his daughter were also kind to him.

Despite his few friends he still felt alone. He hated alone because alone was sad. He smiled as much as he could but those few moments where the sadness didn't consume him weren't enough. They were never enough to stop his pain.

There was so much he couldn't understand, so much that confused him. He hated his life. He longed to be someone else, someone who wasn't sad and lonely. Sad and lonely were his every day.

As he walked down the street more people said awful things to him. "Die, you monster." A middle aged lady yelled after him. A few people began throwing rocks while mustering up glares that etched into the boys mind. He ran down the street.

One young woman looked at him sadly, but did nothing more to help him. A sad look couldn't save him from the rocks or the glares.

He continued running, he didn't want to be beaten up again. That happened all too often at night. Most of the time, the men or women that hurt him were stopped by ninja, other times he would wake up hurt in the forest without help. Sometimes the ninja that arrived to stop them would wait a few minutes and let him get hurt more. They gave him the same glares that the villagers gave him.

He knew that the people wanted him to die, but they didn't want to suffer the Old Man's wrath. He would yell at the people to stop when he saw them be mean to him. The people always listened.

If he died would it make the people happy? Would they care at all?

He felt that they wouldn't. Maybe the Old Man, Teuchi and Ayame would be careā€¦ but maybe not.

He ran down an alley and the people chasing him stopped. He sat down and breathed heavily for a few moments before letting the tears stream down his face. He felt so empty; he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. The only place he could go was the orphanage. He hated the orphanage, though, because it was almost worse than out in the village. He was closed in and couldn't runaway when he was beaten.

It was getting close to the dangerous time when the drunken men would come and hurt him. He hated this time. If he tried to run they would always catch him and hurt him worse than originally. He heard people talking and approaching.

He quickly stood up and ran down the street as fast as he could. He turned into another small alley next to a dumpster. He was safe for now.

Then he thought about something. Did he want to be safe, did he want to continue living his life in sadness, fear, and hate?

He wanted it all to stop. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he imagined the glares that were directed at him from earlier. He quickly opened his eyes, fearfully.

He then looked at a cluster of small chunks of broken glass on the ground near him. One of them was specifically sharp and pointed.

He reached toward it and looked at it for a long time. He heard more people approaching and talking loudly. Frightfully, he looked at the piece of glass again. He lifted it toward his neck.

At that moment he decided no one would care if he continued to life. His pain and fear blinded him from what as reasonable. He heard the voices get closer.

He took a sharp breath and plunged the glass toward him. It cut his neck slightly but he stopped its drive and dropped into onto the ground.

Quietly, his eye spilled tears as they had so many other times. He couldn't follow through with it. Something was stopping him but he wasn't sure what.

In his sadness didn't hear the footsteps come down the alley he was in. A man, with alcohol thick in his breath, roughly grabbed the boy by the collar of his dirty orange shirt. He pushed him against the wall and spoke in a rough voice; "If you scream we'll cut out your vocal cords." The man dropped him from his grip and another man walked over. This man punched him and spit in his face.

More tears flowed onto the ground. He spotted the piece of broken glass again. Another man with ill intent toward him approached. The man kicked him in the back and cursed at him.

He was afraid, but he still crawled toward his previous sitting place. The boy grabbed the broken piece of glass and without hesitation plunged it into his own neck. A solitary tear dropped down his cheek as he went limp and fell forward.