EDIT: Corrected a few spelling/grammar mistakes.

I challenge you! (A/N at the bottom.)

ALSO: Drowning is mentioned below, if it's a sensitive subject skip past the page break.

I don't own Naruto.

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Waterlogged – 水浸しの

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I'd always loved the water – swimming was a beloved pastime of mine for many years – and I'd even been on the swim team in high school. So it was ironic that I died by drowning when I could swim so well.

When my family had went to visit the set of grandparents we had in Louisiana – New Orleans to be precise – we'd borrowed our grandparent's old pontoon boat to go out a little ways on the Mississippi River. We expected to have fun and enjoy some sun, what we didn't expect was for someone to lose control of their speedboat and ram into us.

First there was nothing but confusion and shock clouding my mind, but then I realized I was surrounded by water from all directions. With that realization I did what any person would do, I tried to swim up.

Only I was stopped by a heavy tugging at my ankle.

I can remember the water stinging my eyes as they widened at the sight of the rope knotted around my ankle, a rope still attached to a sinking part of the boat. My hands tore at the rope, the tight feeling from a lack of air swelling in my chest and the muscles in my throat constricting and my hair floating up and around me.

Despite being underwater I could feel myself crying, crying in fear, crying in pain, crying as the hysteria eventually caused the air to burst forth from my lungs and through my lips. Water rushed into my mouth, down my throat, and my vision fuzzed for a short while before I completely blanked out.

That was the end of the girl known as Makenzie Holmes.

It was an unknown amount of time later that a great pressure seemed to bring my mind back, though I couldn't really feel anything and my eyes seemed glued shut (though I can say after remembering the boating accident I didn't quite want to open my eyes).

All that mattered was the pressure, the pressure that squeezed and pushed at me until I was suddenly oh so cold and my ears were ringing with horribly loud cries.

Cries that sounded oddly like a baby's. Warm things cradling my body that felt oddly like giant human hands.

`*/`*/`*

After my birth I had probably wailed longer than what was the norm, which I considered a valid reaction considering my situation.

I was a baby. I had died and became a baby.

My eyes were underdeveloped and everything was nothing but blurs, and I could tell that whatever language they spoke that it wasn't English or Spanish or even French. But I could tell one thing from their tones, and that was that they were hardly ever happy.

Stress, anger, and sadness were predominant in every voice. The woman's – my mother's, I assumed – was always stressed and sad. One man's – possibly my father's? – was usually angry and stressed, and another older man's voice was much the same as the woman's.

Sadness seemed predominant in the air today, even the normally angry man seemed somewhat sad. I wanted to ask, but nothing but baby burbles could be formed with my gumless mouth and little tongue.

A few wet droplets brought me out of my thoughts and the light sound of sobbing followed; the arms holding me were also trembling. She was crying.

I burbled at her and her shaking worsened, the red blur that was her hair shaking around her before I felt a soft pair of lips press to my forehead before the arms holding me lowered me and placed me on something soft. Then there was some more rustling and something cold, probably metal, was placed around my small neck; some kind of jewelry perhaps.

"One day you'll figure the secret to this locket out," she sobbed around her words, words I couldn't understand, "I just know you'll grow into a smart, strong woman."

My container – possibly a basket or bassinette – was then picked up slightly only to be placed down again.

What was going on here?

The babble of a river became the loudest sound I could hear and my little fists instinctively clenched in my shock. I was bobbing as if I was in a boat, as if I was in water.

This crazy lady was sending me out on my own, on the river nonetheless.

Me.

A baby.

I may not have understood what she said at that moment, but I would never be able to get them out of my mind until I learned, and even then I'd never forget them.

"May the tides forever flow in your favor, my daughter. Grow strong. Grow happy. I'm sorry, I love you."

`*/`*/`*

The first thing I registered were warm hands, the second –

"Ryouji!" A woman's voice called out in a mixture of shock and awe, "Ryouji, look at this poor child!"

My mind roiled in annoyance at being unable to understand. Why couldn't I have been born in America or some other English speaking country?

"Oh dear," the man's voice was deep and rough, "Someone left this little one floating down the river?"

The mush of words exchanged between the man and woman was lost on me, but the warmth in their tone and the love in her hold made me feel safe. Surely these people wouldn't be crazy enough to put a baby in a basket and send them down a river.

The woman tutted and cradled me close, "Poor thing couldn't be more than three, maybe four months old." She brushed a somewhat rough hand across my cheek, "Don't worry little one, we'll take care of you now."

And this – this was the beginning of my life as Kinkai Matsushita.

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Five Months Later – Ten Months Old

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By now I'd gotten a good look at my new parents, and even picked out their names. Heck, I'd been able to pick up on words and phrases too. It probably helped I had an older mind, and that they actually tried to teach me things.

"Kinkai?" My mother – Minami – reached for me, my chubby arms reaching out for her.

I burbled, spitting out some syllables I'd picked up on, some sounding oddly close to 'mama' without actually saying the word. This elicited a sweet smile from the woman, her slight laugh lines stretching as she did.

"How about you come with me to the market?" She cooed, situating me on her hip before picking up a homemade wicker basket, "We need to pick up some yummy foods."

At the thought of 'yummy foods' I could only babble in what I hoped was a skeptical tone; the mushed foods she'd been feeding me weren't exactly what I'd call yummy. The only response I got was a chuckle and I figured my tone hadn't carried the message that I wanted to send.

The supposed 'marketplace' this place had was pitiful; I couldn't even really call where we lived a town. A vague memory from my old life brought forth the term shantytown, which was more of a proper term for what this place was. It wouldn't be ideal to grow up in, I figured, but it was better than floating down the river and ending up starved or eaten.

So I continued to do what I could to make sure my future would be easier: I observed.

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One Year Later – Twenty-two Months Old

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It seemed I was somewhat correct back when I'd thought of the place we were living a shantytown or sorts, because several small families were moving on – including my own. By this point I had a solid but vague idea of why we were moving, and why they'd been living in the town in the first place.

Refugees.

I'd managed to pick out the word 'refugee' some time ago, so it seemed the people in the broken down town were running away from war or just plain horrible conditions. Part of me wondered if that was what my birth parents were, if them sending me away like they did was to save me in some way. I'd been trying to pick apart and decipher what my mother had said to me back then, but the words I understood were few and not enough to piece it together.

At this point I'd also managed to get my first real glimpse of myself in a small, broken mirror. And I could now make sense of some of the strange looks I'd received sometimes back in that town.

My hair was a terra cotta color; the color was reminiscent of what you'd get if you mixed a little light brown with salmon pink, a dusky reddish pink. To top it off I had odd violet eyes and my teeth – good god, no wonder they really hurt coming in – were sharper than your average person's. Not that it was extremely noticeable, but if you got close enough you could tell.

"Mama," I adjusted myself in her arms, "Where going?"

It was my father who answered, his voice solid, tired, and relieved at the same time –

"Konohagakure. Where we'll be able to settle down safely; permanently."

Konohagakure. I mused, that sounds like a nice enough place.

`*/`*/`*

Kinkai, if I remember correctly, should mean something along the lines of 'Sea Harp' or 'Harp of the Sea' and Matsushita should roughly be 'under the pines'.

But, yes, they'll end up in Konoha. And, no, Kinkai doesn't know about Naruto. She hadn't seen or read it in her past life, and most of her past life knowledge/facts will fade away because Kinkai really has no need for those memories.

*COMPLETE - ALREADY BEEN GUESSED*Also, I'd like to post a challenge. The first two people who can correctly guess Kinkai's true heritage – AKA what clan/clans her birth parents hailed from – will get to pick one of the teammates Kinkai will have as a genin. Meaning they can pick the clan they're from (barring Uchiha) or if they're from a civilian clan.

I really don't think it'll be too hard. And there will be a couple of chapters before we get close to graduation.

Hope you enjoyed! ;D