Title: What Hurts The Most

this is my first fanfic so i expect reviews! dont really care if they're flames just review! the prologues really short but if it were any longer it would ruin the effect...so on with he story! ...oh yeah...

disclaimer: I do not own beyblade but I do own my plot and Regan Voltaire and Ria Yamagato, Kaylin Katrick belongs to Kay, Amber Flair to Dusty, Chloe Catherine to Chlo and Sora Skyler to Sorr.

Prologue

It was, yet again, a cold and dreary morning in the vengeful Russia. It was here that it had happened. Here the reason for her sleepless nights took place and she hated it. She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling above with a blank look curtaining her feelings. Her jet-black hair poked into gray eyes but she hadn't bothered to move it away; it had been that way since she had woken up from yet another nightmare at three in the morning. Deciding it was time to get up she threw back the covers and went to take a long, hot bath. Today was the funeral. After a whole week of searching for the body, her family had given up; it wasn't as if they hadn't warned them about that fact, to put it simply there was no body to give a farewell to. They probably think I killed her or something. She sighed quietly into the night. Checking her watch she figured she could get there by noon Tokyo time; the funeral was at one.

Five is the number of fingers that come together to make a fist, it's the number of working days before the weekend, five is also the number of people that were left remaining under the pouring rain. The funeral was over, the girls had stood on the sidelines while the others said their final farewell, now they were gone because of a couple of measley raindrops? Her grave consisted of a marble plate inserted into the ground, decorated with white roses, she had hated them, didn't they know? The five figures came forward, their tears dissolved in the rain, and each put a flower on the grave. The one with flaming hair came first, deposited a single yellow tigerlily flecked with orange and red. The brunette came next and followed suit with a bouquet of pink and red carnations, the blue-haired girl left a light blue gladyolis. The blonde put a bunch of red roses at the side. The flowers even were grieving, dewdrops deposited on them by the crushing rain; they were drooping already, yet contrasting heavily with the white roses, smiling, the raven-haired girl took out a black rose from her jacket and laid it on the plaque next to the words,

Ria Yamato Khuzaniya

1992-2005

Life is a battle, some win it and some do not survive while there are some who are left hanging in between. Neither dead nor fully living, the ones that have seen loved ones perish in front of their very eyes and averted the disaster of giving up but not yet learned hope.