Cosmos

The picture's edges are folded and broken; on one side, it splits into two layers. The backing of it is soft and crumpled, and the date has faded beyond recognition. Scrawled in the bottom, at the center, is the word "family", written in loopy penmanship and red ink.

It's a photo of Konoha, with leaves on the trees; soft sprays of lilacs, and cherry blossoms bursting open like drifts of foam and fire against the emerald hills. In the sky the sun looks white instead of yellow, and because of the camera's flash, molten-hot ashes appear to rain from it.

Nestled underneath a curtain of blooming buds is a small group of people. There is a mother, a father, a little boy, and a little girl. The children are dressed in overalls and the girl's hair, blonde like lemons, hangs in thick braids.

They sit atop a picnic blanket—baby blue, with orange threaded throughout. There is a basket between the two parents, and sandwiches in the mother's hands. She's smiling as the father reaches for a cluster of grapes. –Purple.

The air, Hinata imagines, is warm. Blades of grass dance in the breeze and the boy flies a rainbow kite. The wind lifts through his hair and the trees shiver pleasurably.

This has always been her favorite picture. It's how she learned the colors when she younger. It's how she learned about family, the title on the back. It's how she learned about nature, and how to appreciate her village.

Sometimes Hinata lies in the grass behind her house. Her hands stretch upward, spreading open into misshapen stars. When she closes them around the clouds—around the vastness of her own world—everything is hers. Everything is as it should be.

Konoha belongs to Naruto, who has always longed to lead it. It belongs to Kakashi, who has always served it. It belongs to Sasuke, whose last little fading secrets sleep there at night. It belongs to Neji, who is destined to hold a place there someday.

Most of all though...most of all, Konoha belongs to Hinata.

Fin.