A shinobi must know much of science in order to be effective. It is possible to regulate these things to instinct, but best to also have them fully known. The weight of a kunai effecting the balance and the distance it would travel when thrown. Geometry and physics and math.
I do not have all such things memorized, I learned enough to past tests in the academy, but I am not Sakura.
Some things stick in my mind though, density and mass, and things useful to know for weapons. And other things that have no baring on Shinobi life.
The world spins like my sharingan eye. And should it stop, it would mean I am dead. Should the world stop eternal day would burn us all and eternal night would freeze us all. And I would still be dead. But at least Itachi would be too, I think.
The world spins like my sharingan eye and no matter how gently warm the day is nor how sweet the night they are dangerous.
Nights, even with the full moon, hid secretes and blood. Nights with the hidden terrors. Night of the silent stalkers.
Days, with the sun in the pure sky, blinded ones eyes and decived with contrast. Day of the loud happiness I no longer had.
Too long and you would broil, too long and you would freeze. Only by the constant spinning of the two giants was there balance so grass could grow and flowers could bloom. Where the weak could florish.
He wondered if the pale moon could move fast enough to sheild both sides, to make the tides ebb and flow to save them. If in its orbit could the moon pull the unturning world back to spinning? Would it spin out of control?
Bodies beneath the cherry trees, white turned pink by the kalidoscope's turn.
He remembered the cherry trees, young ones perished yet the old ones survived storm and fire that killed shinobi.
If the world did not spin all would die. Except on that thin band of dawn with the moon high above. Where Night met day the sky was replisent with gold and pink, and things lived beneath his feet. So many colors so many options written in dawn and dusk.
The world was spinning, like the shringan eye. And such times were transient and gone, banished away by the cold void, the finite heat of the sun loosing to the infinite cold. In the cold even trees of the dead withered. In the night the sun could not be seen. And he put the moon at his back. His life, day into night into light and now back to night again, the same night.
The world was spinning like the sharingan eye, and life was in the dawn, in the sun, and the dusk. But it was past twilight now, past that magical time.
He ran east under darkness. Out running life and light.
This night, ever night, the same as that night.
The world was spinning like the sharingan eye, but for him it was holding still.
Spinning
I do not have all such things memorized, I learned enough to past tests in the academy, but I am not Sakura.
Some things stick in my mind though, density and mass, and things useful to know for weapons. And other things that have no baring on Shinobi life.
The world spins like my sharingan eye. And should it stop, it would mean I am dead. Should the world stop eternal day would burn us all and eternal night would freeze us all. And I would still be dead. But at least Itachi would be too, I think.
The world spins like my sharingan eye and no matter how gently warm the day is nor how sweet the night they are dangerous.
Nights, even with the full moon, hid secretes and blood. Nights with the hidden terrors. Night of the silent stalkers.
Days, with the sun in the pure sky, blinded ones eyes and decived with contrast. Day of the loud happiness I no longer had.
Too long and you would broil, too long and you would freeze. Only by the constant spinning of the two giants was there balance so grass could grow and flowers could bloom. Where the weak could florish.
He wondered if the pale moon could move fast enough to sheild both sides, to make the tides ebb and flow to save them. If in its orbit could the moon pull the unturning world back to spinning? Would it spin out of control?
Bodies beneath the cherry trees, white turned pink by the kalidoscope's turn.
He remembered the cherry trees, young ones perished yet the old ones survived storm and fire that killed shinobi.
If the world did not spin all would die. Except on that thin band of dawn with the moon high above. Where Night met day the sky was replisent with gold and pink, and things lived beneath his feet. So many colors so many options written in dawn and dusk.
The world was spinning, like the shringan eye. And such times were transient and gone, banished away by the cold void, the finite heat of the sun loosing to the infinite cold. In the cold even trees of the dead withered. In the night the sun could not be seen. And he put the moon at his back. His life, day into night into light and now back to night again, the same night.
The world was spinning like the sharingan eye, and life was in the dawn, in the sun, and the dusk. But it was past twilight now, past that magical time.
He ran east under darkness. Out running life and light.
This night, ever night, the same as that night.
The world was spinning like the sharingan eye, but for him it was holding still.
(suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!)