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31_days2005-12-28 02:39 pm
go-hifreann-lea.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-12-28 02:39 pm
[Dec. 28] [Naruto] Girl That Was a Boy
Title: Girl That Was a Boy
Day/Theme: December 28th / Furnished by the dusty wind
Series: Naruto
Character: Temari
Rating: PG
Girl That Was a Boy
Temari used to be a small girl, delicate and weak. She’d been born three weeks in advance and had almost died as a result. Her mother had coddled her and fed her endlessly, hoping to push her low weight up. The girl had been such a tiny thing, like breathing too harshly might have caused her to fall to pieces. Her thin blonde hair curled gently around her scalp and those grey eyes hinted at contentment reached only when pressed right against death.
She grew up healthier, her limbs long and her muscles strong. She played with the other boys, tossing the balls and kicking at each other. She kept her hair so short she was often mistaken for a boy, and she never corrected them. Any sort of feature that might have been seen as cute or pretty was hidden craftily behind the layers grime on her skin. Kankurou followed her around like a rowdy shadow, always teasing and bothering her until she pushed him down.
She bothered the girls, just like all the other boys did. Whenever they came never she’d screech Cooties! and inch away. If anyone asked her, she wasn’t a girl, but a boy. Like a twisted version of Pinocchio, she wanted nothing more than to be a real boy.
Then it came on like a wave, as sudden and unwanted as a sand storm. She began to notice curves where she’d never seen them before, hips jutting out, and out of place bumped growing on her chest. She laid ice on them, thinking they were bruises. They never went down. She simply ended up binding them and heading back outside to throw rocks into the river.
She’d realized painfully she was indeed a girl by this time, but if any of the boys brought it up she punched them, so they never did. They didn’t really care; she was one of them in their eyes.
Despite her loose clothing and bound breasts, she kept growing, her body changed, willfully ignoring her angry protests. She bled, and cried, thinking that she was being punished for something. For being weak enough to be born a girl. This was her sentence, this and these features, these curves she never wanted or needed.
So she let her governess dress her fine cloth and dress up for face like a clown.
None of the boys recognized her. They gaped and wondered how they’d managed to ignore this beauty in their midst. They blushed and grinned playfully and, if they were brave, flirted. This scared her more than all the blood, more than bottle upon bottle of perfume. A few changes here and there and she was no longer who she’d always been. She was no longer the girl that felt like a boy, but a girl that boys wanted to feel.
Back at home she picked up the fan her governess had given her and studied it. This was a symbol of her place, of her feminine body. A symbol of all those of her kind that allowed themselves to be used and then throw aside, like an object. A symbol of those that were looked down upon because they allowed themselves to be weak when they could be strong. She squared her shoulders and vowed to change it. She’d make it a symbol of herself, a girl that had been a boy.
She wouldn’t prove herself to be stronger than a male, no, she’d already done that. Temari would prove herself to be stronger than anyone. Let anyone try and change her then.
Day/Theme: December 28th / Furnished by the dusty wind
Series: Naruto
Character: Temari
Rating: PG
Girl That Was a Boy
Temari used to be a small girl, delicate and weak. She’d been born three weeks in advance and had almost died as a result. Her mother had coddled her and fed her endlessly, hoping to push her low weight up. The girl had been such a tiny thing, like breathing too harshly might have caused her to fall to pieces. Her thin blonde hair curled gently around her scalp and those grey eyes hinted at contentment reached only when pressed right against death.
She grew up healthier, her limbs long and her muscles strong. She played with the other boys, tossing the balls and kicking at each other. She kept her hair so short she was often mistaken for a boy, and she never corrected them. Any sort of feature that might have been seen as cute or pretty was hidden craftily behind the layers grime on her skin. Kankurou followed her around like a rowdy shadow, always teasing and bothering her until she pushed him down.
She bothered the girls, just like all the other boys did. Whenever they came never she’d screech Cooties! and inch away. If anyone asked her, she wasn’t a girl, but a boy. Like a twisted version of Pinocchio, she wanted nothing more than to be a real boy.
Then it came on like a wave, as sudden and unwanted as a sand storm. She began to notice curves where she’d never seen them before, hips jutting out, and out of place bumped growing on her chest. She laid ice on them, thinking they were bruises. They never went down. She simply ended up binding them and heading back outside to throw rocks into the river.
She’d realized painfully she was indeed a girl by this time, but if any of the boys brought it up she punched them, so they never did. They didn’t really care; she was one of them in their eyes.
Despite her loose clothing and bound breasts, she kept growing, her body changed, willfully ignoring her angry protests. She bled, and cried, thinking that she was being punished for something. For being weak enough to be born a girl. This was her sentence, this and these features, these curves she never wanted or needed.
So she let her governess dress her fine cloth and dress up for face like a clown.
None of the boys recognized her. They gaped and wondered how they’d managed to ignore this beauty in their midst. They blushed and grinned playfully and, if they were brave, flirted. This scared her more than all the blood, more than bottle upon bottle of perfume. A few changes here and there and she was no longer who she’d always been. She was no longer the girl that felt like a boy, but a girl that boys wanted to feel.
Back at home she picked up the fan her governess had given her and studied it. This was a symbol of her place, of her feminine body. A symbol of all those of her kind that allowed themselves to be used and then throw aside, like an object. A symbol of those that were looked down upon because they allowed themselves to be weak when they could be strong. She squared her shoulders and vowed to change it. She’d make it a symbol of herself, a girl that had been a boy.
She wouldn’t prove herself to be stronger than a male, no, she’d already done that. Temari would prove herself to be stronger than anyone. Let anyone try and change her then.