Title: Out Cold

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Nah, I don't own Naruto. If I did, there would be a shitload less of dead people.

Always look before both ways before crossing the road.

Also, never assume that you have the right of way when you can plainly see the person is going to turn anyway.

Why, might you ask, are you telling me pointless road safety information?

Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure to start, so I decided to go from the beginning. The beginning of my end, if you will.

To put it simply, dear reader, I died. For the morbidly curious person out there, I'll give a general description of what happened.

I had been out biking. Like most people my age, I'd been hoping to get lunch at the commercial mall across the street and meet up with friends, because—to put it simply—there was no way I was eating the cardboard they passed as 'food' from the cafeteria.

So skip to me biking away from the school. With a quick glimpse of the flashing red hand symbol on pedestrian light, I sped on to the crosswalk without a second thought.

As much as I'd like to say I hadn't noticed the dull red SUV ready to turn, I did. At the time, I was sure that if I stopped, I would have come to a less than graceful stop and probably crashed somewhere. To add to that, I had the right of way, so she ought to stop. Alas, I continued speeding across the asphalt, trying to keep my eyes on the curb that was quickly approaching. From the corner of my eye, I saw the car—surely it wasn't that close to me, right?—but with a quiet certainty, I knew I was going to be hit.

At that point in time, I had only two choices. If I tried stopping, I would likely be hit from the front of the bike. If I sped forward, I would be hit from the back. In an attempt of sheer desperation, I piled on speed, straining to be a few feet away—oh, just a few precious feet—but I was hit anyway.

There was no slow motion. There was only gray in my vision. I saw nothing, save for that forsaken dark gray.

My first thought as I felt myself tumble, still blinded by the gray? My parents are going to kill me if they figure out I was riding without a helmet.

I didn't feel the majority of the fall. It went by in a blur. The first thing I felt was mild burning in my right wrist and my elbow; it reminded me of all the times I skinned my knees. Was that it? Was that all of the injuries I had sustained—

As if to spite me for being so naïve, my leg suddenly felt as though it was being burned from the inside out, with white hot flames licking at the bone. Hot pain flowed through the rest of my body in waves, originating from my thigh.

The gray that had blinded me flicked back to normal, and I could hear shaky, distressed noises. Dimly, I realized that it was me who was making them. I couldn't seem to stop it. It sounded a bit like a distressed goat, if I had to be honest.

Standing a little ahead of me, to my left, was a girl who couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with moderate make up coating her light brown skin, and long black hair. Her mascara-lined eyes were wide, and she was asking me if I was okay. I could barely hear her over my own noises and the ringing in my ears.

I glanced behind me. I was on the concrete island in the middle of the intersection, and my bike was leaning against the traffic light pole. My back was resting on the bike, providing an odd parody of a recliner.

Looking down, I found a jagged structure poking through the fabric of my trousers, with crimson redredred staining the once beige material.

I'm going to go on a limb here and assume that was the source of my pain. I felt a wave of nausea roll over me at the sight. I was so not sitting here in a pool of vomit with a broken bone in the middle of the intersection.

Thank God I had landed on the island. Maybe I'll actually survive this, I thought dimly. After all, my worst injury was a broken thigh bone, right?

Well, the blood was pooling at an alarming rate, but I'd totally be fine, right? A couple of blood infusions here and there, and I could make it to the graduation ceremony inside of a few weeks while wearing a cast. Maybe they'd even let me skip exams! I let a weary grin spread on my face. I'd be fine.

I was going to be fine.

"I'm going to be fine," I murmured again, only now half realizing that I had been speaking out loud this entire time. With grim humor, I recalled all of the times I had joked with my friends when walking, always proclaiming on the streets, "Hit me! Pay for my tuition!" I gave a weak, shaky laugh at the mild irony. Blackness creeped at the edges of my vision, accompanied by a drowsiness and sheer exhaustion I had only known after several all-nighters combined.

"I'm fine," I whispered before I went quiet, and then the blackness rushed in.

ヾ(o◕ω ◕)ﾉ

The operation took two hours.

Even then, they never brought me back.

I watched from above. Out of body experiences are fucking weird. You don't feel warmth, or cold, or anything. It took a while for me to adjust, but I ended up finding myself in the hospital, hovering above my own form.

God, I even looked dead. I wasn't a pale person to begin with, but something just seemed so off, like there wasn't anything vibrant. My skin was a dull tan that reminded me of all the times I (rather badly) mixed white and brown paint together trying to make a decent flesh color, without adding red or anything. It looked like the same color of the dollar store acrylic paint. Not even the wisps of the blue-dyed hair held any life to it, wilting as if it knew exactly how little life I had left.

Looking at your own corpse is disconcerting, to say the least. I remember reading a study that said that if one were to see themselves as a third person, they wouldn't recognise it. It's true. First you think it's someone else entirely, and then you slowly begin to notice the similar traits you have.

Hey, that girl has some wicked blue hair. Looks like mine, actually.

Huh, she even has the same zit on her cheek. I know your pain, kid.

… Shit, isn't that the same birthmark that I have on her chin.

… Fuck, is that me?

And yet, seeing my own corpse wasn't even the worst part. No, after having been mildly—okay, I admit, extremely—freaked out, I attempted to open the door.

No dice. When I tried turning the steel handle, my hand phased through, as if it was about as substantial as smoke. Experimentally, using every other cheesy ghost movie I'd ever seen, I tried sticking my arm through the door. And it worked. Fast forward to me getting over my own reservations of walking through a fucking door, I closed my eyes and advanced.

What I found was a dull gray waiting room that reminded my somewhat of an airport. Seated in the blue and black chairs were a small gathering of family and friends; my mum and dad, the six people who I hung out with every day. And they just sat there, whispering among themselves. I joined them, murmuring things I knew they couldn't hear, but said anyway. No, I will not tell you exactly what I said. It's a little bit personal.

The glowing sign that read "In Operation" died down. Like school kids who were waiting for the clock to strike three so they could go home, each person bolted from their seats. The doctor who came out to meet this rush had a grim, but resigned expression, as if he had done this one too many times.

In a quiet voice, he began the process of breaking the news to them. I died.

I sat in a shock like the rest of them, a little bit away. Yes, I had seen my body (corpse, my mind whispered treacherously), but I had still believed I could have survived…

According to the doctor, I had died of exsanguination. Luckily, I had passed out from losing so much blood at the scene, so I hadn't had to deal with the pain between then and the surgery. However, it seemed I had lost too much blood before I was brought to the operating room. I was essentially gone before they even had the chance to give me the transfusion.

Well, fuck. I know I had wanted to skip exams somehow, but I didn't mean like this…

I glanced at the other occupants in the room.

My mum was not a woman who cried, a trait which regretfully had not passed on to me. She didn't even cry at her father's funeral, nor at her grandmother's. But even now, I could see her burying her face in my father's shoulder, quiet sobs racking her frame. My dad was crying, too. There was something odd about seeing the man whom I'd always seen as invincible and infallible crying. It was wrong.

My friends, on the other hand—my dear, dear friends whom I'd been intending on meeting earlier for lunch—they made no attempt of hiding it. Anna, the girl who I'd always buy coffee with in unhealthy amounts, she clung to Adam, who always made a habit of staying close to her. I used to always tease him about that. He didn't cry, but he looked close to it.

Bianca, she was sobbing. The girl who more or less adopted me into her family (against my will, mind you), she would have been shocked. Devastated. A year my junior, she had always been on the sensitive side. I'd always had to look out for this oblivious idiot… I really hoped she'd be able to find someone else to watch over her, and didn't get herself in the future.

Then there was Alejandra, Juan, and Kim. Alejandra and Juan were siblings, with Juan being the only one who was a year older. I would walk with them to school in the mornings, and we'd rave about anime plots, and make really bad puns and meme references. Juan, who had never been as close to me as Alejandra, but a good friend anyway, was quietly trying to console his sister and Kim.

Ah, Kim… this girl had been my best friend for six years at this point. A quirky idiot who would always be willing to put up with my bullshit despite not holding the same eccentric interests Alejandra and I had, she was always just there. I couldn't imagine being without her.

Bitterly, I smiled, wondering how Mackenzie, my dear frenemy (friend/enemy, for those of you who are fortunate enough to not have to deal with these dumbasses), in a whole other country would get news of my death. The stupid idiot who'd always insist on killing me with her assassins or by her own hands, she was probably going to be pissed when she found out I went ahead and died without some grandiose shounen-style adventure story to go with it.

I was almost glad no one else had been there. I don't think I could have withstood any more scenes of people crying. I futilely tried consoling them; my parents, Anna, Adam, Bianca, Alejandra, Juan, Kim… but none of them, of course, could hear me.

I closed my eyes, praying that this was all just a dream, because this was just bullshit. I wasn't supposed to die. I wasn't even eighteen yet… I was supposed to have all the time in the world to procrastinate. I blinked back tears, wishing this all away…..

ヾ(o◕ω ◕)ﾉ

Around me was nothing more than emptiness, more black that stretched on for God knows how far. I could feel a certain pull upwards. I was drifting away from everything, despite my best efforts to stay put. And yet, like a leaf in a current, I found myself being pulled upwards, where there was a pinprick of light. A voice called to me.

Most people would say that a voice calling to them in the dark was really fucking creepy, but this sounded like an old crone, singing a soft song to a child. It was soothing. I was getting closer and closer to the light. There was, oddly enough, a wind that came, my only indication otherwise that I was moving fast to the light. I stopped fighting, I stopped the struggle that humans are tasked with since birth, and at that moment, felt overcome with a glorious sensation of peace and stillness. The light grew brighter and brighter…

And suddenly, I was in a well-lit library. I blinked. It was like one of those really bad video game respawns where you get put into the most questionable location on the map.

Poised on the blue antique-looking sofa sat an elderly woman. She looked barely familiar, as if I had seen her in a history book once. Her smile was warm and wistful, as if she was looking at her own grand-daughter. She wore traditional robes, a rich red color, but embroidered with rich black designs of dragons and phoenixes, the Asian motif I had seen all the time.

She moved to caress the side of my face, the way a mother would when her child had woken from a frightful nightmare.

"You poor, poor child," she said softly, her eyes dark and sad. "You died before you were ready to stay here."

I blinked again. "Er, what?" was my ever-intelligent response.

"Tell me, my dear girl, what is your name?"

"I-it's Maya. Maya Zhang."

The woman's eyes twinkled, and she gave me a small smile. "You can't stay here yet. You need to go back."

At her cryptic words, I perked up. "So I can live? Hell yeah—er, I mean, uh, heaven yes…? I'm not going to send myself to the abyss by cursing, right? I just wanna go back and hug my people." Her smile became slightly more amused.

"No, you won't be sent to hell for such a trifling thing. However—"

"Look, I'm sorry for saying hell, but—"

"It's not about that," she reassured. "I did not get to tell you that you'll not be returning to live in your old world." At this, I deflated.

"I'm not?" I was so disappointed I didn't even register the 'old world' bit of her sentence.

"I'm sorry, dear Maya. You'll be sent to somewhere else to start new. Because of your unfortunate death, you will have a bit of an advantage in this new world. With this, you likely won't die so early, and you'll have a chance at being properly judged. Don't fret, I have confidence that you'll be fine." She dropped an eye in a wink, seeming somewhat mischievous.

My brow furrowed. "What advantage? And did you say new world? What exactly does that entail?"

"Oh, don't worry. You'll find out about that when you get there. You'll know it when you see it." Her smile dimmed, and it became solemn again. "You don't have long here, my child. Before you leave, I want to say that no matter what happens, no matter what you do, I will be proud of you."

Those words… they sounded like what a family member would say. The familiarity prickled, but I couldn't place it. Hesitantly, feeling bad that I had no idea who she was, I asked her. She gave a hearty laugh.

"Why, I'm your mama's grandmother! I held you when you were no more than a baby. I passed away a little after you were born. I was judged, and made it here. I'm simply waiting for the rest of my family, you see."

Oh. Oh. That's why she seemed familiar. My mum had shown me a few pictures over the years, and we would visit her grave once every year. This was the woman my mother spoke of with reverence, the woman she referred to as taī-poh.

Not knowing what to say, I leaned over and gave her a tight hug. "I'll be back soon. Wait for me, taī-poh." Her smile widened, and it was the last thing I saw before the annoying blackness took me again.

ヾ(o◕ω ◕)ﾉ

Regaining motor skills is the biggest bitch of a task ever. I highly advise against it.

Seriously. I spent months, if not years(though I highly doubted it, and it probably just felt like years) at getting back the skills of properly walking and speaking. I'll spare you the gory details. Luckily, I didn't gain much consciousness within the first few months, so at least I didn't have to deal with that. Those few months merely felt like a restless sleep, perforated with only a few bouts of consciousness.

Well, it didn't help at all that my body required like, sixteen hours of sleep per day. Whatever, at least it lessened the vast amounts of time where there was nothing more than sheer boredom.

At least the excess time allowed me to learn the language here. Japanese, it seemed. Was I born into Japan? Maybe I was in the same world… and could somehow acquire plane tickets to see my mum and dad again…

I pushed the thought away. It was too soon to start plotting stuff like that…. Not yet.

This new world taī-poh had mentioned smelled weird. Like herbal, but dry. It sounds nice, sure, but dear God, they smelled awful when they were brewed. It reminded me of scents in my old life, but I couldn't quite place it.

Damn you, rubbish baby memory.

Another crap thing? When I first saw the people here, I admit I wasn't quite aware of my, ah, condition. So naturally, when I saw giant-ass smiling people towering above me, I started screaming and crying.

I wasn't in fucking Attack on Titan, right? Right?

If that was the case, I was so fucking dead. Done. I couldn't even survive a car hitting me. How the shit was I supposed to survive this bullshit?

It took me a while to realise that there people were, in fact, my parents in this world, and more importantly, had no intention of devouring me alive. Or dead, for that matter.

The woman—my mother, I corrected myself—had waves of light brown hair trailing down to her mid back that caught the light whenever she moved. She had brown eyes, a pointed chin and generally soft features. Her most noticeable feature, however, were the purple markings at her cheeks. At first I had thought they were really vibrant bandages or tattoos, but turns out they were birth marks. It was a hereditary thing, if I wasn't mistaken. She was sometimes at home, sometimes at work for days at a time and came back filthy and bore the occasional bloodstain. She was often reserved, but not when it came to family.

Her name was Moriko.

And the man—my father—was plain as well, with dark brown, almost black hair kept in a short ponytail. Like, founding father style. Like, Hohenheim Elric style. Unlike my mother, he had bright gray eyes, and sharp features—a blunt chin, a crooked nose. I often saw him at the front of the house, in the business bit of the house. He was constantly fiddling with the herbs, weighing them out for clients on an odd balance scale. He was also always speaking to his most frequent client, a young blonde woman in a green haori who seemed to come in almost every day for herbs.

His name was Hiro.

And then there was me. Tiny little me, who only figured out why my name was familiar when I saw my chubby form in front of a long mirror in the parlor, when father and the blonde lady were chatting.

Emblazoned on my cheeks, impossible to miss, were purple markings identical to my mother's own birth marks. My eyes, when I stared at them for long enough, were a strange brown-gray, a mix of my mother and father's eyes. My hair had grown since the day I was born (I was a bald baby), and it was a light brown that barely managed to reach my jawline—er, what I presumed to be my jawline. All this baby fat was in the way.

I wasn't that remarkable in appearance. Everything except for the birth marks, I would have brushed off as completely and utterly average. I had no weird hair or eye colors (much to my disappointment), so I didn't think anything of it.

But yet, with so much free time to think, I would wonder why mother was always out, and always returned exhausted and covered in blood, hands shaking. Like, my first mum had an office job, and she never came home covered in blood.

But taī-poh had said that I would have some advantage of this world, some knowledge. So I thought.

And not long after, it became excruciatingly clear.

Because the woman who was in the very same room as me was none other than Tsunade Senju.

And my name, dear reader, was Rin Nohara.

And I was fated to die.

Dear God, I'm so cheesy.

The reason for the name Out Cold was just this thing I wanted to do, since Rin means cold, apparently.

The thing with taī-poh (太婆) is Cantonese for great grandmother.

As for how she died... yeah, long story short, I got hit by a car recently. It more or less happened the same way, but minus the broken femur and the bleeding to death. In reality I just got a wicked abrasion on the left side of my face, and this huge bruise on my leg.

Question for you guys, have you gotten a scar or a really bad injury?

Reviews are love, reviews are life.