8

                                    

                                          
*chapter contains depictions of torture and beatings. Reader discretion is advised. If you don't feel comfortable with either of these themes, you may want to skip to the end of the flashback. Thank you*
                          
Flashback no Jutsu
                          
Naruto was 5 years old. It was his birthday. He had been kicked out of the orphanage the year before, simply because they didn't want to care for "the demon" anymore. His Jiji, Hiruzen had offered to give him a rather cheap apartment, and also a monthly allowance that should help cover both rent, and his monthly food expenses. Sadly, he didn't take into account the villagers' views on the matter of Naruto being the Jinchūriki of the Kyūbi, and therefore their belief that he was the demon itself. They didn't treat him the way his mother had been treated when she was the Jinchūriki. Unlike him, she had been beloved by everyone in the village, and had been a respected shinobi. Naruto, on the other hand, was despised for something that he had no idea about or control over. It wasn't fair to him. The villagers didn't care though.
                          
After the last two years of the same thing occurring, Naruto wanted to avoid going out at all if he could help it, because he knew what would happen. Sadly, he had run out of food the day before, and hadn't thought to get more. He wouldn't have enough to last him until the next day either, which meant he didn't have a choice but to go out and buy more now.
                          
It was getting late. The festival was just beginning. The festival to honor the Yondaime's sacrifice when he "killed the Kyūbi" and saved the village from the "demon". The festival would, of course, reach it's peak after the sun went down, when the "Fox Hunt" began. The tradition had been going on for five years now. The first two, they would release a real fox and chase it down, torturing and killing the poor creature when they caught it.
                          
The third year, they did the same thing, except with one difference. When they went to catch the fox, they found it cowering in the arms of a small blond toddler of about 3. He reminded the villagers of the small babe that had been there when the Yondaime died that night, they turned their rage from the fox to the boy.
                          
Their faces morphed into menacing smiles, and malicious smirks, promises of agony shining in their eyes. The blond was terrified. The small fox leaped out of the blond's arms, obviously feeling the murderous aura leaking off their bodies. Sadly, the blond didn't understand. He thought he was just helping a small fox.
                          
Before he could figure out what was really going on, one of the villagers at the front of the group grabbed hold of his skinny arms, holding him in the air, and causing the boy to cry out. His cries didn't get any sympathy from the gathered crowd. In fact, it got jeers and laughs instead.
                          
"Yes, that's right, demon, cry out!" The villager's voice sounded angry. "This is nothing compared to the amount of pain you put us through that night three years ago! You took away our loved ones! Now, you're going to feel some of our pain for yourself!"
                          
The man shoved the small toddler into a wall nearby, pinning his hands together above his head, and grabbed a kunai handed to him by one of the Shinobi standing in the crowd behind him.
                          
"Give us a good show!" With that, the man stabbed the kunai through the small child's palms and into the wall, leaving him to hang there, tears streaking down his cheeks. The man punched the child in the stomach, causing him to gag and cough, struggling to catch his breath again. He then stepped back, and gave a signal.
                          
Suddenly, the people in the front row of the crowd stepped up, and began throwing weapons at the boy: kunai, Shuriken, even glass bottles. One person had a handful of rocks that she threw at the blond's tiny body. Each weapon hit their mark, some piercing deep, others leaving very shallow cuts and falling to the ground. The glass bottles broke on impact, causing not only large welts from the impact itself, but also cuts from the glass shards sliding down toward the ground below. The entire time, the little toddler is screaming in pain, begging for them to stop, asking why they're hurting him, and not understanding. The rocks hurt the most. The cuts were deep, but the pain wasn't as lasting. However, when he was hit with a rock, it could hit anything, including already existing cuts which made them hurt worse, or they would hit new places and leave large bruises, that lasted for a long time, and hurt every single time they were lightly grazed.