"No."
Such a simple answer for such a complicated question. Bakura wasn't all that certain the poor kid knew what lay in the balance. He rephrased the question.
"Do you know what it's like to die?"
"I told you, no! And you don't either, so stop pretending you know so much about death!" The kid's hands were clenched at his sides, his face flushing a light red in anger. It seemed as though Bakura had touched a nerve.
"But I do," he responded smoothly. "In fact, I know quite a bit about why people die."
"Hearts stop pumping blood, bodies go cold, limbs no longer move," The kid said, his brown eyes flashing with anger. "I already know, you don't need to tell me."
The graveyard, lined with grey tombstones and uncut grass, suddenly seemed a lot colder. The breeze whistled through the drooping trees that were no doubt affected by the constant presence of mourning auras surrounding their overgrown roots and gnarled branches.
"So, who are you visiting?" Bakura finally asked.
"Why do you care?" The boy snapped.
"Because I come here often, and I've never seen you before," Bakura answered easily. There wasn't a funeral recently either, so it rules out the option of a new occupant buried under the ground in front of us."
"It's like you've forgotten that they were once alive, with friends and family..." He muttered bitterly. "That's my sister you're talking about."
Bakura nodded, taking another glance at the gravestone. "And who's under the other one beside it? Those flowers are from you too, right?"
"That's my mother."
"Oh, so you had one."
The boy blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
A beat, then, "... I didn't."
"Oh."
The boy grimaced, crossing his arms across his chest for warmth. His fleece sweater wasn't doing much to keep the wind from getting to him. He turned around to leave the unwanted and unenjoyable conversation, but something stopped him from leaving the man in front of him.
"Dammit..." He muttered, his feet not leaving their spot. He turned back around, sighing inwardly as he did. "What's your name?
He knew he'd probably regret asking, regret wanting to know him better, and regret being curious, but as much as he couldn't stand the man, he felt sorry for him in an odd way.
"I'm Bakura."
"That's my last name."
"What's your first name?"
"Ryo."
"... Nice to meet you, Ryo Bakura."
And with that, Bakura turned around and walked off, strangely alone in the barren field of gravestones and sparse trees, leaving Ryo to stare after him.
Hello readers! This is the prologue to a fic I'm starting. I hope you liked it!