#gardenofthecherryblossom

[mustsleepzz]

Garden of the Cherry Blossom

Sakura is from a civilian family and unlike those from shinobi lines, she still gets flowers on her skin.  Chapter 2: Hyssops

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Repentance & Sacrifice

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Hyssops grow upon her chest next, under her left clavicle. She doesn’t notice them until they return to the bridge builder’s home that night. Her fingers run across them. The closer to one's heart, the more critical the role in her life. It's a foolish civilian superstition, but she will ponder it for years to come. As an adult in her thirties, she’ll realize that perhaps it has more to do with how closely their values align. Sacrifices are necessary. Dying for their village is expected, but dying for those you love, your team…It distinguishes the type of shinobi you end up becoming. However, the twelve-year-old spends far more time in front of the mirror than any shinobi should. Sakura watches the flowers move from a non-existent breeze. The heart beat a steady thrum of the man sleeping off his wounds in the room over.  Her fingers trail them over and over.  She takes too long, and Tsunami enters the room.  The older woman’s expression changes to confusion. “I didn’t think shinobi got them,” she mumbles and excuses herself, setting down a towel for Sakura to use.  Her hands drop, and she forces herself away from the mirror.  She hates them.  “They don’t. I’m the first of my line.” The woman looks away. “I see.”  The silence is thick, and Sakura pulls her shirt up to hide them. It's the woman who breaks the silence. “I always wondered why… but now it makes sense. I’m sorry for the loss, then.” “Loss?”  The woman rolls up her sleeve to reveal a thick batch of roses, black ink, no color. “My husband,” she murmurs more to herself than to Sakura. “They were red and orange, so beautiful. One death was enough for me. We all knew… when they killed him. All of our flowers lost their color. Inari… to experience it so young.”  Tsunami meets Sakura’s eyes in the mirror. “You comrades are at far more risk than my husband. You’ll… if it happens…” The woman looks lost and gone. Her hand rubs at her arm.  Sakura straightens her shoulders, and as fabric brushes her bone, she can feel the foreign heartbeat. “When it happens,” Sakura tells Tsuname as she turns to her, “I’ll deal with it like a shinobi.” And she means it.  Sakura leaves the room, and the woman stares blankly at the wall, lost in the past. 

[mustsleepzz]

Garden of the Cherry Blossom

Sakura is from a civilian family and unlike those from shinobi lines, she still gets flowers on her skin.  Chapter 1: Hydrangeas

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Pink for sincere emotions

Blue for gratitude 

Purple for understanding 

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Part of her is aware of their differences. It's not just her wide forehead. It’s the fact her mother runs the grocer and her father transports medical supplies. That the chakra running through her is tiny in comparison to the shinobi blood of her peers. 

She isn’t fully aware of what that entails until her genin teacher pulls her aside to explain. Only civilians get flowers. None of her peers will get them. None will feel the relationships that come and go. They won't feel heartbeats of life under their skin. They’ll only have one. Their own. 

Sakura though. In her life she’ll likely take on multiple. For each person of importance, she’ll feel them every day of her life… until she won't because they’ve passed on. 

“The life of a shinobi is one that has chosen death. That is the trade. It's why they don’t get them,” Iruka attempts to explain as kindly as possible.

He then unwraps his forearm. 

Her gaze is captured on the small carnation. 

It's the first time she’s seen a deadened mark. It's taboo to show one in public. Bad luck to those who see it. She wants to touch it, see if there really is no other pulse. Did they really no longer exist? What color had it been before the color had bled out? White - innocent childhood friend. Red - his one love? 

But how rude and cruel the question. 

Her mouth dries out as if the summer heat has shriveled it like the yellow grass outside. Her fingers feel frozen though, chilled as if by winter. She blinks away tears as her right hand clutches at her thigh. There, even beneath the fabric she can feel Ino’s hydrangea petals pulse under her fingers. It beats along with her own heart. She can close her eyes and see all the glorious blues, pinks and purples in her mind's eye. What if she woke up one day - and it was nothing but a stenciled outline?

She swallows. Shinobi don’t cry. She has to remember that. 

So she wears longer shorts to cover the flower. It marks her as unequal. It makes her different. She grits her teeth and trains harder. When she handles her chakra, she can feel the pulse of the pink and blue even more. 

Covered in dirt from practicing over and over she forces her chakra under her own control. Her own heart beat. Not Ino’s. She doesn’t allow it to make her different. 

They all think she’s a genius for it. But they don’t actually understand. No one except Iruka, because when they all applaud her control, he’s the only proctor that gives a nod of understanding.