I've done suicidal Ryou, I've done pyromaniac Ryou, and now I'm doing homicidal Ryou. Don't own Yugioh, and et cetera.
MASSACRE
Murder, murder, murder. It was all he could think, and he loved it. He could hardly contain himself as he watched the people he'd been acquainted with for so many years fall to the ground, screaming and drenched in blood. They all deserved it anyway; he had nothing to feel bad for. And all these people, the people he knew better than anyone else did, were crying because of him. As hard as it was to stop himself from completely going crazy with excitement, he had to smile every time he saw the panic and disbelief in the eyes of those he was killing. None of them had seen it coming, he could tell from the way they were all looking at him after he'd shot, stabbed or thrown a homemade bomb at them. Although, they should've seen it coming really. It had been building up for years; everything they ever did contributed to it. And it was so worth it.
It was every pair of eyes that really made his day. Each time he saw one more pair, he felt wonderful all over again. The blood was good too though; he couldn't have gone through with his plans if there would have been no blood. As it turned out, there was more blood than he had ever expected, and it just made the day that much better. But it was the eyes, and what he could see in them, that made all the time he had consumed with the careful planning worthwhile. The expression of the first person he killed, who happened to be someone he had been looking forward to shooting for some time, was going to be his most treasured memory for the rest of his short life. She had seemed to go into some sort of shock when he had opened the classroom door with a rifle under one arm, as had everyone else in the class actually. He had quickly sought out his target, aimed, and shot. The second that bullet hit her, her eyes had widened to an almost unbelievable extreme. It had seemed that she had been caught between a few barrels; she looked as if she had been trying to figure out whether to continue being shocked, or to change to being frightened, in pain, angry or in a state of panic. After a few moments her head had fallen and hit the desk in front of her, and he had left the room in search of his next target. It was only after a good five delayed seconds that the screaming and chaos began.
The other pairs of eyes had been much the same, although many of them had clearly been primarily in fear. Others had had no prior warning of their demise, so there had been little reaction from them as they were shot through the head. He had just enjoyed watching the blood seep through the bullet holes in these ignorant people. At this moment, he was standing in a class of about thirteen people. It was a small class, and every last one of the kids in this classroom was someone that he was going to murder. He had shot them all, but not so they died; he'd finish them off in a minute. These people, the ones crawling towards him, screaming, crying, getting blood all over themselves and the classroom, were supposed to be his best friends. As far as he was concerned, they hadn't been best friends at all. Perhaps to each other, but not to him. He wouldn't have anyone treating him like that, and now they couldn't treat anyone else like that either. He wanted them to cry and beg for mercy, even though there was absolutely nothing he could, or wanted to, do to help them. He wanted them gone from the world forever, and the second he took the few last shots, they would be.
He shut his eyes and revelled in the sound. Screaming, crying, people dying. He didn't care that blood was soaking through his shoes, or drying on his jeans, or sticking his hair together; it was proof of his superiority. He didn't care that parents would want to murder him, or that the police would be looking for him, or that a judge would make him rot in prison; he wouldn't be around for much longer. He didn't care that his teachers were gone, that his acquaintances were lifeless, or that his friends were lying dead on the floor; they had all wished the same on him at one time or another. They had all wanted him dead, so he'd grant them that; the catch being that they'd all go down with him. It must have been the last thing they expected. He opened his eyes when a blonde boy grabbed his leg. A trail of blood across the floor told him that this boy wouldn't last much longer, and when his eyes met those of the blonde he felt that brilliance again. He saw fear, and he saw sadness. The boy clearly hadn't wanted to die. He smirked down at him, and after kicking him away from his leg, he shot him in the chest.
Lowering his gun, he examined the bloody handprint on his jeans and smiled. He had achieved what he had aimed to achieve – now, people wanted him to help them. Ironic, really, seeing as he'd just killed so many, but his point had been made. They knew he was better than them. Thinking better of his former plan, he left the twelve remaining students to bleed to death and left the room. The person he had left to kill was the most important; it was what all his planning had revolved around. After numerous stairs and an encounter with a particularly nasty teacher he had been taught by a few years ago, he found himself on the roof admiring the view and remembering the eyes. He smiled to himself and laughed quietly; this was what it was all about.
His last living moment was standing on the edge of the roof, looking down towards the ground, pointing his gun at his head, smiling. Police cars and ambulances parked outside; some guy yelling up at him in a megaphone. He didn't know what he was saying, and nor did he care. No one could get to him fast enough to stop him; all he wanted to do was join them in Hell, and he'd be damned if that didn't happen. Mustering every ounce of willpower he had in him, he muttered his last words and pulled the trigger:
"Who's in control now?"
Not as proud of this as I am of the other two I've done so far, but review and tell me what you think. Please.