Warnings: None really.
Ship: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
The sidewalk. I see my reflection in the stone. It is white. It reminds me of your skin. I remember touching your skin with my tan hands, but you were cold. Not like the stone. The stone is warm from the sun. You hated the sun, I remember. You said it mocked you. I teased you about it, but looking back you were right. It teases me now, too. It tells me that I am just as confined as it, maybe even more so. Don't laugh at me.
I run into you on the street. No, it was some other person. They give me a look because I am talking to myself and move on. I imagine how we first met. Before you were my voice. Before I couldn't remember. Or, at least, I think it was before that. I can't remember anything from then, but you have told me about it. But, then again, you do lie.
I see you as a pass by. I look back, but it was just a lamppost. It shines. You never shined, though; you shadowed. I think to myself, it's funny because your hair was white. But you were nothing but dark. I laugh when you tell me that one cannot 'shadow'.
I receive looks from those around me as I sit on a bench, still laughing. I invite them to laugh along with me, but they just look the other way and move on. They want me to have the humour all to myself. That's nice of them. I say thank you to them as they pass by. They don't say you're welcome, though. They are humble.
The clouds are puffy, I notice. It reminds me of your hair. Always so puffy. I liked to reach out and ruffle it. You would snap at my every time when I did. You were like a puppy. Or a wasp. Either way you did not like it when I tried to touch you. But you were soft and I liked that, so I did it anyway. You laughed in my face when I told you I thought you were soft. Now I can't touch you though. You say that is good.
I'm walking again, and the grass is blue. You liked the colour blue; you wore it a lot. Or maybe you didn't; maybe you liked green. You won't tell me. The grass is green now. Oh, I was looking at the sky when I saw blue. It thought it was the grass. The dirt is always brown, though, like your eyes. And both your eyes and the dirt leave their traces on me. But the dirt doesn't have eyes.
I look around me one more time. All is sand. I'm in Egypt now. I don't know where I was a second ago. Probably somewhere I imagined. I like the places I imagine better. Egypt is ugly. I keep walking until I come to the tomb I grew up in. the entrance is covered in purple sand, but I brush it away and go in. I don't remember why I came here, I think you told me to.
Around me I see names. They are like smoke on the wall, and they follow me. They are stuck to my skin, and I swat to get them off. They won't leave. I can't remember my name now. I ask you but you only chuckle. There are too many names clouding around me. They want me to remember them. I reach out and grab a name and put it in my pocket. I'll take that one until I can remember mine.
I'm crying- but Dammit! You said no tears! I slap them away but it makes my cry more. I scream and start to run. I don't know why I'm here. I'm here to remember. But I don't know what. I don't know why. I've forgotten my forgetings. I've lost my lostings.
I can't remember. I'll have to come back some other time. I leave from where I came. The sand is yellow like it should be, not purple anymore. I lay on the sand and try to remember. I don't know how long I lay but soon I am tired of resting. I get up and walk back the way I came; to the city. I have to go back to some people. I've forgotten them too. I have a feeling that I shouldn't have wandered out of the house like you said to. But I wanted to remember.
I enter the house I thought was mine. But it wasn't and I was told to leave. I got angry and stabbed the woman in the kitchen. You say it was good and she diserved it. I feel proud. Then I left to find my own house. You tell me to go this way, so I do. Soon I am at a house that you say is mine and I enter.
"Marik!" Cries a woman. She is tan like me, but has black hair. I think I have blonde hair, but sometimes it is other colours. I can't remember her name. A man enters the room with a smile and leads me to the couch.
"We've been worried about you, Marik," he said. The name means nothing to me so I don't respond. You tell me that it is my name but I don't believe you. You lie to me a lot.
"Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? Why did you leave the house? You know you're not healthy enough to leave yet," she said. I blink at the many words she used. I decide to answer simply because this woman seems to have difficulty with thought.
"To remember," I say slowly.
"To remember what?" she asks.
"I can't remember," I state. She sighs and looks at the other man. I look at him too.
"Who are you people?" I ask.
"We're your brother and sister, Marik," she replies calmly.
"Have you always been that?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Since you were born."
"When was that?"
"17 years ago."
"Who am I?"
She hesitates for a second, then says, "You're Marik Ishtar. It's okay you can't remember; the doctor says it's because of your illness. You'll be okay soon."
Is there something wrong with me? You say no, and I'm happy. I don't want there to be something wrong with me.
"Do you still hear him?" Askes my alleged brother.
"Hear who?"
"Bakura."
"Who's Bakura?"
"The voice you claim to hear."
"I hear a voice," I say. I your name Bakura? You don't answer. "He won't tell me his name."
My brother sighs, "Come with me, okay?"
Is it okay? You say yes. I nod and get up and go with him. He puts me to bed.
"Don't worry, Marik, you'll remember someday. Then you can be happy," He says, closing the door.
Am I not happy now? I can't remember what it's like to be happy.
Please review! I wanted to write a story from the point of view of a crazy person, and I thought Marik would be the best test subject.