(Newsflash: I still don't own YGO... Go read the story, you hate A/Ns don't you?)
& THE CASKET WAS BLUE.
The casket was custom-made blue with silver trim. The flowers put together would have filled an endless field. The tears, a bottomless well.
The hall was his own, inherited by a homicide 5 years ago. No other place seemed fit. His brother had already resolved not to stay there afterwards anyway. That little brother had been the one to report it had finally happened. He had finally really did it.
And the casket was blue. His blue. It showed him as best as any symbol could. But the casket would not be opened. It couldn't. Not even the morticians could hide the damage. Even if they had tried, all the lifeless body would have shown would be the guilt on every nearby soul.
There were those who had always hid their secret of knowing him for what he was, nothing more nothing less. They saw his soul, when it was once there. They knew he was good. And that was the problem. They kept it secret, even from him. In his eyes, they saw him as a villain. Now they truly did fear a ghostly villain in those ghostly eyes, as if had the body been displayed his eyes would have been open. Why wouldn't they be open? They were always open. His eyes were always there, accusing them. Those people would be the ones to always know where he was. He was still there, just over their shoulder, glaring daggers into their back as always.
He never caught himself. No one ever caught him. But he would've fought them if they did. When they had. But no one could catch him the day before. Did he want to be caught? 40 floors seemed a lunatic's wish.
Who was in control? Who cut his wrists? His throat? Who jumped?
The corpse inside was attired in his best business suit, his favorite blue business suit. What he wore everyday to the business that killed him. The sharp slate pants,shirt half unbuttoned, collar open, the midnight blue trenchcoat.
Yesterday he shattered tomorrow withhis yell of thirst. Yet still they came and stayed. He had predicted no mourners, was even undecided if he wanted any. He thought they would even forget his name. His feet creeping closer to the edge, the surrounding buildings changing perspective, his mind crying out loud, traffic becoming louder. Wind ruffled his chestnut hair. His most cerulean blue eyes peered over the ledge. His jaw gaped in awe at the height, fist clenched the knife tighter in both instinctal fear and resolute determination. He fought his nature. Why did it always fight for his life? He was neither human nor animal. He wasn't there. Not even worthy of traditional suicide. Ready? ...One... two... three cuts. Three cards- safely in the protection of their new owner. Dear beloved brother-- gugh His body convulsing forward sliced through his instantaneous thoughts. His eyes threw themselves wide, horrified at the realness of the amountof pain. His mouth gasped and gagged on itself. The knife was on the ground, dropped from bloody blue cuffs. The steady stream of blood pumped onto his bloody blue collar, all down him. Involuntary reactions doubled him over- over what,they should have known too. To him the pain was nowecstatic. Then what a sensation of air rushing past him! –or him rushing past air? All feeling was lost, he was flying backward. His eyes could not fully register staring up to the magnificent front of his sparkling blue building. Look at that. Yes, this was at last contentment, not an attempt.
His life was heaven and hell. What yet awaited his immortal soul? Anything? Limbo? Could that tiny creature forced to carry on alone even squeak out a word of eulogy? The company and all its woes fell on his shoulders now. A girl friend's arms are no mother's. A boy friend's hand is no father's- no real brother's.
He was going to die and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. He is dead now, he's gone, it's over. It's all over. It's in the papers, everywhere, everyone cares– but nobody will ever give a damn. He finally succeeded- SETO KAIBA IS DEAD.
The blood was red, the mourners were black, the flowers were white- & the casket was BLUE.
A/N: If anyone cares, I wrote this the day my English teacher had us read "An Occurance at Owl Creek Bridge." It's a pretty cool story. This Civil War guy's about to get hung and it's all his thoughts. Interesting, huh? I actually recommend it, especially if you liked this fic. It's got a similar style, I think. I liked the style of Owl Creek so I guess that's why this popped out of my head the way it did. I was gettin fed up cuz Seto is so suicidal, but everything always turns out fine! I mean, c'mon. He's smart. If he tries to kill himself so much, he's bound to do it sometime. Not thatit wouldn't be the greatest tragedy ever & the end of YGO as we love it. poor seto... sniff Ok, go cry- I mean review!