Sometimes their lives were painful, but among the scattered flecks of dust and blood there were small slivers of glass, and if looked at carefully, at the right angle, and your eyes half squinted, they each could see light reflected by the sun and creating a clear image of themselves.


Toy's with Knives—Kankuro

He wasn't stupid, he was just young. The problem was, no one told him anything. No one explained. His father did not explain why their mother was dead, Temari didn't explain why she would play with him at home, but ignore him at school. No one explained now either, as the older academy student punched him in the face for trying to do something nice.

Kankuro's head struck the stone wall behind him, hurting sharply.

"You lost our soccer ball you jerk!"

Another punch, this one to the eye.

"It was mine." Kankuro said, shielding his head.

"It was the only one we had to play with!"

Kankuro hunched on the ground, grabbing his injured eye and feeling warm blood between his fingers. He hadn't meant to make anyone angry with him. He had simply seen the way the redheaded boy was watching, his strange colored eyes carrying a familiar look in them; one that, in many ways, Kankuro understood.

So, when the others had hurried into class after the break he had taken the old leather ball to the kid, setting it down and scooting it across the sand carefully with a foot. Then, he'd turned and ran back to the school as fast as he possibly could, knowing already that he had made a mistake.

"Stop it! Stop it!" One of the older girls ripped the older boy off Kankuro, "He's the son of Lord Kazekage you idiot! Don't kill him!"

"If he's the Kazekage's son then he should be able to defend himself and not have to have a girl come do his work for him!" the boy challenged, tearing from her grasp.

They were right, he should be able to defend himself.

"Ya, but if Lord Kazekage finds out he's going to cut off your head." the girl snapped back. "So lay off. It's not his fault."

Not his fault. . .

Kankuro gritted his teeth, jumping at the boy who had hit him. Blood filled his vision as he punched again and again. The other children grabbed him, throwing him off as Kankuro clawed and hit at anything he could get his hands on. One of the boys picked up a heavy rock from the school grounds, anxious to join the fight.




Kankuro didn't go home. He slid through the ripped part of wire fencing that guarded an old training field, long ago closed off as being too dangerous for use. No one went in there, that's exactly why it was Kankuro's hiding place. He washed his face, using the last bit of water from his canteen. In the grey metal he could see his own reflection. He stared, wondering why his vision still seemed so blurry. Angrily, he tossed the empty canteen away "I do look like Him. That's all they see. My father."

In Kankuro's world there were two groups of people, different from each other and yet still the same. First were the people who looked at Kankuro, and respected him for no other reason then his heritage They left him alone. . . Mostly.

The second group were like those boys, they tested Kankuro, they would hurt him for no other reason then to make themselves feel strong. No one cared. No one saw beneath his name.

It was a good thing.

It made him strong and. . .It hurt.

It hurt knowing that he was expected to be the mirror image of their Kazekage when he couldn't. It hurt to know that he was a disappointment. Worse then all of this, Kankuro knew that no one truly liked him. They liked the title, they liked the fight, but if it came down to it they would always betray him. They would always stab him in the back.

Pulling out the small, light wood puppet that old Lady Chiyo had given him last week, Kankuro used his chakra to create little strings attached from his fingers. He gave a little tug, sending the half human/half spider puppet flying through the air. He kept the tension with his chakra until he drove the small weapon into the ground. The young boy lifted it back up with a yank of his hand, sending it the other way where it crashed into a rock, then an old shrub.

"You all hate me," he whispered, watching as the puppet crashed into a pile of sharp rocks. He yanked it the other way with his left hand, then his right.

"I look like my father you know."

The puppet flew through the air, he let it free fall until it almost hit the ground before he grabbed it again and threw it against a metal post.

"And I'm going to be just as strong someday."

The puppet crashed, falling into a shattered clump near a boulder. Kankuro moved his fingers until the pieces came back together, looking somewhat like it originally had—for no other reason then to break it again.

"I can do anything. Do anything I want."


"No one can stop me."


"I'm Kankuro!"





The chakra strings thinned than disappeared. Kankuro breathed heavily, walking slowly to the crumpled heap of wood and metal.

"Loser" he whispered, kneeling and fitting the pieces carefully back together. This puppet was made for training, so certain weak parts broke easily, and repaired just as well. He replaced each part by hand; latching in the arms, the legs, and then the head to the body.

His puppet, he'd destroyed it, yet it was still there. It didn't run, didn't fight back. It was useful; not like the dumb toys the others played with, not like the stupid soccer ball. It was always with him, It would not betray him and repeat his angry words, his promises. It would not tell anyone how he hated life, hated his teachers, hated his fellow classmates, how he hated his family. . .Or his lack thereof.

More than anything, most importantly, his puppet would not tell anyone how much he loved his big sister. How he watched her train and envied that fierceness he couldn't fake. How he watched his father, willing to do anything, even something he hated, just in hopes of hearing, even a displeasing word.

Or. . . When there was a storm outside, it would not tell anyone how he still missed his mother, a woman he couldn't even remember.




Author notes: So essentially I was feeling like a one shot and decided to start writing random small pieces about all the different characters and their childhoods. So, not just sand sibs, I'm thinking of doing Hanabi or Hinata next actually. So stay tuned and we will see what I can come up with.

IMPORTANT: If someone wants to see a character done, tell me. But MORE IMPORTANTLY. If you have a fun prompt I can try, or a different way of writing that I can experiment with, just tell me so in the comments. I want to experiment a little with these. Leave me reviews and tell me what you think.