It's dark out, now.
The last of the streetlamps have flickered on, and all the good little children are running home to sleep and dream of hope and laughter.
Their parents are watching from windows, hiding behind fake smiles and affections.
Behind closed doors, harsh words are traded, hurting, harmful, pained words go with expressions to match.
In the aftermath of some, a person or two might get hurt beyond words. They'll take that razor in their bathroom drawer, or that gun they keep in their nightstand "just in case".
It's stupid, how you think that ridding the world of your pitiful existence will make everything okay, but then what do you know? You're dead. Gone. Poof.
Shame, really. I'm sure you had so much going for you, too.
It's dark out, now. And I'm watching.
I see it, all this turning around in the world. I see all of it.
And I've always been watching, really. You people don't notice me hiding in the shadows, feeding off of all your pain and twisted dementias.
In the end, nobody really cares what happens at 2:00 A.M.
"Come back inside, Bakura. It's dark out."
At least, not anybody worth mentioning.