Training for the Bakuton Element

I woke up that morning feeling sore in the neck. I crashed through my door and headed down to the floor below, waking my parents and starting an immense fight (which I lost, by the way). After eating a breakfast of soggy cereal and small insects (good for the protein, they said) I headed outdoors to check up on a few things. I wanted to develop my bakuton, or explosive element really, really fast because I needed to defeat some random ninja who had dared to challenge me to a sparring session over in Kumogakure. “The nerve”, I thought, “of that kid ought to be punished and controlled.” I walked through the extensive yet familiar maze of skyscrapers to the training ground. I stopped at the gate and looked at the statue of the Akatsuki member, Deidara. I admired him as one of the best bakuton users in the world who considered his jutsu a great art. The fact that he had mastered the explosive element at such a young age (merely nineteen, imagine that) showed that he had great determination. Right then and there, I vowed that I would train harder than ever before to master his, no our clan’s art. “Deidara-san”, I said out loud, “your competition nears.” I walked through the steel gates of the compound (nice steel, that. Just the right amount of carbon) and went to a loamy area in the far back of the grounds. Here, plants grew from the highly nutritious soil, their growth augmented by the chemicals that poured out daily from the pipes that came from the factories near the center of the village (or town, or city, if you will.) I put the mouths in my hands on the ground and tried to make them move. I had some trouble, because I generally didn’t use the hand/mouth much except to freak people out. I remembered how difficult it was for a baby to start talking; for him to manipulate his “first mouth” to form words. I wondered if the same concept could indeed be applied here. I made the mouth on my right hand ingest some earth and began to chew, and chew, and masticate in a specific pattern. Chew, chomp, chomp, chew, etc. on and on ad nauseam. I quickly found out that that was the wrong pattern. In frustration, I spit the dirt out of my hand and tried again. I tried the pattern that I had used to eat my breakfast that morning: crush, crush, etc. ad infinitum. I felt the earthy soil soften and then…. Nothing. “AARRGGH!” I yelled. Why couldn’t I get this right? Surely it must have taken others much, much shorter to master this technique. It was simple, “mere child’s play” (as my father put it), “elementary” (as my uncle said), and it was something that “any idiot with bakuton” could use (according to my mother). Did that mean that I was worse than an idiot? That was the lowest on the IQ scale; an ignominy that I simply could not bear. “How did you do it, Deidara-san?” I asked the statue. I thought about him for a minute and how he would always say “katsu” before he blew everything up. Then, I sat bolt upright. Maybe that was it! Maybe the strange trigger, the word “katsu” was the key to bakuton! It was the most crazy, insane idea (okay, maybe not) that I had come up with yet. I ingested more soil and made my hands “say” “katsu” over and over again. I felt the earth begin to soften and become much more dense. It turned white and then oozed out of my palms. I had done it; I had created the explosive clay of my clan. Exhausted, I sat back and relaxed for a little bit. I realized that this was only the first milestone. I had to shape the clay next. This would require a little more intricacy than the first step. I decided I would begin with simple insects, since that was what the clan normally used as the “basic bomb, nya.” I focused on the simple shape of the simplest insect I could think of. I thought of the head, the thorax, and the abdomen along with the six legs. I thought a little deeper this time, remembering that the articulation of the mouth was the most important thing. I made it bite ever so intricately in the right places, and created my first insect. Using my chakra, I could make it scuttle around and jump. I made a couple more then played around with them a little, enjoying my newfound power. I looked at the statue of Deidara and silently thought “so, the next step is to blow stuff up, eh? Well, that shouldn’t be too hard.” I yelled “Katsu!” Of course, nothing happened at all. I tried a few more times, with absolutely no success. How could I possibly attain the pinnacle of my art, when the famous keyword wouldn’t even work? I looked hopelessly at the statue of the great Deidara. I remembered the great stories my parents would tell me, about the time when Deidara captured the fifth Kazekage himself! That was quite a feat indeed! I soiled my hands and tried again. I ran the steps through my head as I did them: masticate, shape, and explode. I tried the last step over and over again, but nothing seemed to work! Would this never end? Would I be worse than the “idiot with bakuton”? I fell to my knees and almost cried with shame. How do I achieve my art? Hold on…… my art. I suddenly realized what it was. Art, just like DNA, differs from individual to individual. If I could discover my own keyword, I could very well learn bakuton a lot faster than I had been. I whooped, then realized that the sun was just going down on the horizon. I had spent all freaking day out at the training ground! My parents wouldn’t mind, they enjoyed my absence from the house. I took a walk back through the labyrinth of dark, tall skyscrapers. I stopped, remembering something, and turned back to the training ground. I dispersed my clay bugs and then walked toward the entrance to downtown. As I entered the darkness, I wondered what great discoveries would await me the next day. I walked down an alley and into the “food court” section of the city. After buying myself and eating a nice, hot meal, I went home and slept like a rock. My parents were glad that I had trained so hard but shocked that I was able to begin mastering the bakuton so quickly. As I slept, I dreamed of a bell, like the one in the ancient clocktower. It kept going (or so it seemed to me at the time) “baka, baka, baka.” I shuddered at the sound. It meant “stupid”, and I was most definitely not stupid. I swore that I would master the explosive element the next day, no matter if I had to skip breakfast. I woke up at about 5:30 in the morning and set off, invigorated by my resolve, to the old training ground. I passed through the iron gate and saw the empty area. I laughed; it was good that the training ground was empty. I could blow things up in peace. I sat down and concentrated my chakra. I went to another part of the training ground, one with slightly less nutritious dirt, and created some clay. I shaped it into a small beetle and sent it scurrying across the ground toward a distant dummy. The beetle climbed into the small, round head of my straw victim and rested there, waiting for my command. I formed my hand seal, concentrated more chakra, and said, “Baka!” There was a flash, a bang, and flying straw as the beetle inside the dummy exploded. I sat down, panting hard even though I had expended only a little chakra. I tried again, this time making a small grasshopper. It jumped over to a nearby mud-pie “bakery” that some kid had make yesterday. I maliciously said, “Baka!” The mudpies exploded, sending dirt everywhere. I laughed out loud again. Finally! I had achieved great power! I then proceeded to blow holes in the training ground with small insects that crawled here and there until committing suicide by the ultimate art: my art. I took a short water and sandwich break, and then headed out to a dirt lot behind the suburban area outside of town. This was a wild place, full of unused scarecrows that I could use for my own training purposes. After doing the same old thing of blowing up dummies, I decided to change things up a little. I created a swarm of white clay spiders that covered a scarecrow wearing a felt hat. I wondered at that, why would someone waste a good felt hat on a scarecrow? How peculiar. Anyways, I couldn’t be bothered with such anomalies. I yelled “Baka” and the bugs exploded, immolating the poor scarecrow. I went back to shaping exercises. I wanted to create something small that could fly, maybe a small sparrow or the like. I tried shaping one, but all I got was a bird-shaped mass with misshapen wings. Although I had finally gotten the explosive release, I had yet to begin applying it extensively. I went to the library to look up the anatomy of birds. After some research, I found that birds had a very light, very well-formed breastbone, as well as wings that were designed for lightweight flight. I also found that small bats might be suitable for my explosive jutsu. I rushed back to the deserted lot as quickly as I could. I shaped a bird and a bat and compared their aerodynamics by flying them around in fixed patterns for a few minutes. I discovered that the bat was not very stealthy but was much more agile than the bird, which flew without a noise. I then flew them into the surrounding wilderness and detonated them, killing a few members of the forest wildlife. I then went back into the city, whistling the tune to “Do you Believe in Magic” as I went. My euphoria was so great, that I decided to head to the food court to get a nice, hot bowl of ramen. I then crossed over to the subway and headed home. On the way home, I saw a dude getting mugged, so I used what little clay I had left to blow the criminal to pieces. Feeling even better after this, I walked over the threshold to my house and met my parents. When they asked about my exploits of the day, I told them how I had gone out of the house at an extremely early time to use my clay to try and blow things up. At this, I saw them glance at each other, then at me. In their eyes was sort of a surprised pride, like “Wow, I can’t believe my kid was able to accomplish this! Great Job!” Of course, they didn’t say anything. I kept going, telling them about what I did at the empty lot and at the library, and what I did to the mugger as I came home. My parents looked suddenly at the television, and saw a police car stopping near the exploded remains of the dead criminal. The retarded cop scratched his head and drove on. My parents (actually) smiled at me. They congratulated me on actually being able to prove myself by applying my great art. They also gave me a break from garden work that week, for which I was very, very glad. I went to the backyard and blew up my neighbors’ annoying birdbath and then headed up to my room. As the screams of the next-door family drifted up to me, I fell asleep into the peaceful oblivion of a dreamless slumber.

(Word Count: 2003)

Approved.