Why, Little Brother
Disclaimer:Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to me. These characters do not belong to me. The computer does not belong to me. In fact, NOTHING belongs to me! *theatrical sobs* So put down the lawyers and step awaaaaaay from the copyright infringement laws.
Know what? This is a random angst piece I thought up. Jou(stage whisper):Well, that's new, I don't think. It's not in your POV, so stop griping. For once, I decided to do something weird, that I don't think anyone else has done! Which means....different character! This is Isis' POV, as she thinks about her brother. Oh, and I don't know which of them is older, but this title sounded better, 'kay? So this is the way it is now. Flames are used for Yami Malik's(and my) crusade against gym teachers. Donations accepted, but criticism and commentary preferred.
Why, little brother? Why did you do this? To me, to our parents, to all of us? It's killing them, you must know that. They left it up to me; I don't think they wanted to go up against their own son. And anyway, I was the only one who could control you when we were little.
Was it in you even then, little brother? This need for power that would drive you so far? I wish I could say it wasn't, that it was comething that happened when you grew older, but it wasn't. Remember the day a boy down the street lost his temper and attacked you? You let him hit you, waited until he left before you came to me. I bandaged you up, and you said, I remember it so clearly, you said,
"I let him. He'll get his in time."
That boy fell down a long flight of stairs one day, six months later. I didn't think of that at the time, but it was you, wasn't it? You pushed him down, so easy, so simple. He didn't die, but you were repaid for every bruise and cut in broken bones. He never bothered you again.
I started watching out for you when we were both so small, nobody else thought we could do anything. It was when I saw you cover a baby's mouth with a pillow to stop it crying. Mother and Father, they lectured you about how that was dangerous, you must never do it again, but I knew you weren't listening. You would have done it again, if you thought you had to. So I watched you, just to keep you from hurting someone I cared about. The rest of the world could burn, as far as I was concerned. I was selfish when I was seven, wasn't I? Aren't you?
Remember, little brother, how one day a bottle of hair spray vanished from my room? And I didn't say anything? I knew it was you, you see. But nobody else would have believed. So I kept an eye on you, didn't I? And took the bottle out from under your pillow one night, when I got scared. Someone had said something mean to you again, and I was scared. They lived in a wooden house.
Was I overreacting, little brother? All those times? When I fixed your cuts, covered your bruises, had you put people's pictures on a punching bag and hit it, so you wouldn't do anything to them? Or was I right about you, all the time? Was it you, when accidents happened? I thought I was overreacting then; do I still think that now? Speak to me, little brother, tell me this thing came from outside, it wasn't festering in you all these years!
Why didn't you tell me? When the darkness in you started to get stronger, until you shattered? You could always come to me, you knew that, right, little brother? Did you think it hadn't happened before? Our family's always had a streak of cold darkness, since the first Pharoah's time. Every few generations, someone pops up with too much. They either go mad...or become the greatest of the guardians. It seems our branch of the family was the unlucky ones. Father's side had more magic and perceptiveness, but kindness too, and for all their power, they weren't very smart. Mother, though, had less magic and more brains. They were the judges, once, long ago, the cold, hard executioners. Mother had less of that; such things often skip a generation. And their children? You and me?
You were very much Mother's child, always. The quick, silent boy who understood everything and remembered what he learned. But you had all Father's magic, and then some. And you saw deeper than most. But his kindness...you know yourself that was missing, as well as the reluctance to use your powers. We're like that, you and I, not gentle, vague people, but sharp, frozen ones, both of us.
Don't act so surprised, little brother! You may not have seen your elder sister's streak of ice, but it was there. You may not have known, but I did. How else do you think I knew what you might do? You were too young to remember, but when I was very young, a girl who lived nearby pulled my hair every afternoon. One day, I lost my temper. I almost bashed her head in, before our parents pulled me off her. Where did you think my control came from? I was careful not to let myself get angry again. It is too easy to kill.But you know that now.
We have our differences; in our choices more than anything. You never had my temper, nor I your desire for revenge. And that separates, us, little brother. In controlling my anger, I supressed my desire for blood. I could never kill in cold blood, as you do. Not never, no, not quite. But I will hide so much, even from you, even from me. You made yourself into someone who enjoyed taking life. I cannot do that. I may kill, I may cause death, when it is necessary, but I do not enjoy it. I am, I fancy, the more impartial judge, as you are the more effective executioner.
Yet, we are more alike than you suppose, you and I, brother and sister. Do you not remember, little brother? You, who remember everything? Isis had a brother too, long ago, in the Egypt which is forgotten, before the gods turned from us. Are you he, now, little brother? Little brother with pale hair so unlike mine, as Isis' brother had red hair unlike hers? Did the Isis of long ago mourn for her brother, who had betrayed her trust and attacked all she held dear? Did she cry as I am crying, when she learned all that her blood had done? Did she go forth as I now do, to redress those wrongs? Mighty Isis, admirable in the words of command, was she as sorry as I am for what must be done? I hope so.
Amon-Re, Lord of the Silent who hears their prayers, let it be as it once
was.
The End
Okay, some of you are probably totally lost here, so I'll explain. Isis was an Egyptian goddess, you know that, right? Her brother, Set, for reasons I can't recollect, killed Osiris, her husband, and tried to kill her son Horus. However, Isis brought Osiris back to life, and Horus defeated Set. Set, incidentally, was a red-headed god (Go redhead power!) Set, being a god, was shown mercy by Amon-Re (also known as Amon, Ra, etc.), and so on and so forth. Get the allegory now? Good. The 'Lord of the Silent' bit is from an Egyptian text, as well as the 'Mighty Isis...admirable in the words of command' passage. Remember, flames cause me to write more just to spite you. Mind, I will anyway. Mata ne!
Note(8/11/03): It has come to my attention that this story is completely belied by canon, but I'm leaving it up since I happen to think it's one of my best pieces, writing-wise. I would appreciate reviews telling me what you *really* think. Ja!
Disclaimer:Yu-Gi-Oh does not belong to me. These characters do not belong to me. The computer does not belong to me. In fact, NOTHING belongs to me! *theatrical sobs* So put down the lawyers and step awaaaaaay from the copyright infringement laws.
Know what? This is a random angst piece I thought up. Jou(stage whisper):Well, that's new, I don't think. It's not in your POV, so stop griping. For once, I decided to do something weird, that I don't think anyone else has done! Which means....different character! This is Isis' POV, as she thinks about her brother. Oh, and I don't know which of them is older, but this title sounded better, 'kay? So this is the way it is now. Flames are used for Yami Malik's(and my) crusade against gym teachers. Donations accepted, but criticism and commentary preferred.
Why, little brother? Why did you do this? To me, to our parents, to all of us? It's killing them, you must know that. They left it up to me; I don't think they wanted to go up against their own son. And anyway, I was the only one who could control you when we were little.
Was it in you even then, little brother? This need for power that would drive you so far? I wish I could say it wasn't, that it was comething that happened when you grew older, but it wasn't. Remember the day a boy down the street lost his temper and attacked you? You let him hit you, waited until he left before you came to me. I bandaged you up, and you said, I remember it so clearly, you said,
"I let him. He'll get his in time."
That boy fell down a long flight of stairs one day, six months later. I didn't think of that at the time, but it was you, wasn't it? You pushed him down, so easy, so simple. He didn't die, but you were repaid for every bruise and cut in broken bones. He never bothered you again.
I started watching out for you when we were both so small, nobody else thought we could do anything. It was when I saw you cover a baby's mouth with a pillow to stop it crying. Mother and Father, they lectured you about how that was dangerous, you must never do it again, but I knew you weren't listening. You would have done it again, if you thought you had to. So I watched you, just to keep you from hurting someone I cared about. The rest of the world could burn, as far as I was concerned. I was selfish when I was seven, wasn't I? Aren't you?
Remember, little brother, how one day a bottle of hair spray vanished from my room? And I didn't say anything? I knew it was you, you see. But nobody else would have believed. So I kept an eye on you, didn't I? And took the bottle out from under your pillow one night, when I got scared. Someone had said something mean to you again, and I was scared. They lived in a wooden house.
Was I overreacting, little brother? All those times? When I fixed your cuts, covered your bruises, had you put people's pictures on a punching bag and hit it, so you wouldn't do anything to them? Or was I right about you, all the time? Was it you, when accidents happened? I thought I was overreacting then; do I still think that now? Speak to me, little brother, tell me this thing came from outside, it wasn't festering in you all these years!
Why didn't you tell me? When the darkness in you started to get stronger, until you shattered? You could always come to me, you knew that, right, little brother? Did you think it hadn't happened before? Our family's always had a streak of cold darkness, since the first Pharoah's time. Every few generations, someone pops up with too much. They either go mad...or become the greatest of the guardians. It seems our branch of the family was the unlucky ones. Father's side had more magic and perceptiveness, but kindness too, and for all their power, they weren't very smart. Mother, though, had less magic and more brains. They were the judges, once, long ago, the cold, hard executioners. Mother had less of that; such things often skip a generation. And their children? You and me?
You were very much Mother's child, always. The quick, silent boy who understood everything and remembered what he learned. But you had all Father's magic, and then some. And you saw deeper than most. But his kindness...you know yourself that was missing, as well as the reluctance to use your powers. We're like that, you and I, not gentle, vague people, but sharp, frozen ones, both of us.
Don't act so surprised, little brother! You may not have seen your elder sister's streak of ice, but it was there. You may not have known, but I did. How else do you think I knew what you might do? You were too young to remember, but when I was very young, a girl who lived nearby pulled my hair every afternoon. One day, I lost my temper. I almost bashed her head in, before our parents pulled me off her. Where did you think my control came from? I was careful not to let myself get angry again. It is too easy to kill.But you know that now.
We have our differences; in our choices more than anything. You never had my temper, nor I your desire for revenge. And that separates, us, little brother. In controlling my anger, I supressed my desire for blood. I could never kill in cold blood, as you do. Not never, no, not quite. But I will hide so much, even from you, even from me. You made yourself into someone who enjoyed taking life. I cannot do that. I may kill, I may cause death, when it is necessary, but I do not enjoy it. I am, I fancy, the more impartial judge, as you are the more effective executioner.
Yet, we are more alike than you suppose, you and I, brother and sister. Do you not remember, little brother? You, who remember everything? Isis had a brother too, long ago, in the Egypt which is forgotten, before the gods turned from us. Are you he, now, little brother? Little brother with pale hair so unlike mine, as Isis' brother had red hair unlike hers? Did the Isis of long ago mourn for her brother, who had betrayed her trust and attacked all she held dear? Did she cry as I am crying, when she learned all that her blood had done? Did she go forth as I now do, to redress those wrongs? Mighty Isis, admirable in the words of command, was she as sorry as I am for what must be done? I hope so.
Amon-Re, Lord of the Silent who hears their prayers, let it be as it once
was.
The End
Okay, some of you are probably totally lost here, so I'll explain. Isis was an Egyptian goddess, you know that, right? Her brother, Set, for reasons I can't recollect, killed Osiris, her husband, and tried to kill her son Horus. However, Isis brought Osiris back to life, and Horus defeated Set. Set, incidentally, was a red-headed god (Go redhead power!) Set, being a god, was shown mercy by Amon-Re (also known as Amon, Ra, etc.), and so on and so forth. Get the allegory now? Good. The 'Lord of the Silent' bit is from an Egyptian text, as well as the 'Mighty Isis...admirable in the words of command' passage. Remember, flames cause me to write more just to spite you. Mind, I will anyway. Mata ne!
Note(8/11/03): It has come to my attention that this story is completely belied by canon, but I'm leaving it up since I happen to think it's one of my best pieces, writing-wise. I would appreciate reviews telling me what you *really* think. Ja!