This is a story I came up with all of a sudden. Really, I didn't expect it to come out at all like it did, but I like the way it did. Please read and review, it would make me happy. And you don't want me to be unhappy, do you?
Disclaimer: If I owned Yu-Gi-Oh I wouldn't have this disclaimer.
It was a cold summer day in the Japanese city of Domino. The playgrounds were full of children merrily swinging on the swing sets in a most unruly fashion. The slides were littered with sand, and from the monkey bars two children were hanging upside down, playing a game than involved trying to push each other off. Eventually, one child did fall off, but thankfully landed on his back instead of his head. Seconds later, the mother of the crying child rushed to help him, and scolded him for playing such a ridiculous game. The game resumed for round two as soon as the mother turned her back.
Along the streets, there was a certain white haired boy, about the age of eighteen. He lazily slung his bookbag about one shoulder, and went on with his business of walking wherever he was walking in a most un-incredible manner. He looked around occasionally, let out a sigh, and continued on his not-so-merry way. He walked past the bookstore, whose sign was burned out so now it read 'ooktor', and past the small diner that he sometimes stopped to have a bit to eat at, and he past the one out of place decorative rock that, he thought, looked like someone giving him the hook 'em horns sign.
The boy continued to walk. The last bit of swagger in his step was beaten out of him long ago by the whips of fate and the chains of time. That is, he supposed, if fate and time had a physical body. And they did; and that's precisely why the whitette was walking home instead of joining his so-called-friends in their fun card games, or partake in their friendship rituals. But it's not like they would ever let him if he wanted too. After all, was it not he who had endangered their lives so many times before?
Ah yes, memories. Memories he remembered all too well, and memories that he would not let himself forget. Memories of the happy times he had with the sworn enemy of his closest friends, and memories of the not so happy times he had. Sometimes he wondered if all that really happened. It all seemed so unreal; had he really been caught up in this destiny to harbor the spirit of an ancient Egyptian inside a golden piece of Egyptian jewelry? Had he really loved the spirit like more than a lover and then lost him? And if it did all happen, what would have happened if he would have one his war? He had promised to take the boy with him to become a god, too. And sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have been a god with the other. What was it like? And was it even possible? The other seemed to think so, so the boy, passive as he was, believed it too.
But, unfortunately, that was all over. He had once been told that first loves don't last, but he brushed that off as a silly saying. He supposed now that that's what all lovers do. Brush off the inevitable and then act surprised when it comes true. Then they cry for a couple days and move on. He wondered why he couldn't do that. Why couldn't he move on? It's been months now, and still his depression grew worse and his expression staid in its now-signature- frown. His grades had plummeted, and yet he still managed to pass school. And now, while all the others were planning their future, he was sitting in the corner of the room, lost in a daydream of a life.
With a sigh, he opened the door to his small flat. It was dark, but he liked it that way. He kept it dark both by want, and for the fact that he didn't feel compelled to pay the electric bill. In fact, he felt compelled to do very little things. Every month, he dragged himself to pay his rent so he would still have a place to live, and all the rest of the time he contented in reading books. All these popular books now simply bored him, so he read older, more literate stories. Hemmingway and Bradbury interested him the most, and so he read those books. Looking back, he wondered if it was such a good Idea to pick such depressing books in his already depressed state of mind. But he figured that the time for looking back was behind him, and so he continued reading his book.
Every few pages or so, he thought back to his lost love. He thought that he would have liked the book, and so he set the book in the sink, covered it in lighting fluid, and struck a match. He watched the match dance on the stick, and remembered that it could burn him if he waited too long, and dropped the match onto the wetted book. Immediately it caught fire, flames dancing all around until there was nothing but ashes where the book remained.
You see, the other had once told the boy that, back in his time, they burned items to give to the dead. Food, clothing, anything they might need. So he thought it made sense to burn the book that the other would like, so he could have it in his afterlife. Briefly he considered if he might be crazy and just wasted a perfectly good book, but he concluded that he was crazy and continued to sacrifice his belonging to his dead love.
One day, after burning a copy of 'Lord of the Flies', he got an idea that might solve his problems. Many times before he had considered death to solve his problem, but then decided against it. He wasn't sure if he would get to go to the afterlife for committing suicide, Ma'at might judge him as impure for that sin, and he would never see his love again. He knew for a fact that the other was pure enough to go to the afterlife, because he had been there to see. He witnessed the scaled weigh his love's heart, and he remembered the momentary joy that filled his heart when he saw him cross over to the afterlife. So naturally, he had to go to the afterlife, too.
But his idea was brilliant. If sacrificed things go to the afterlife, then he would go there too if he were to sacrifice himself. He would burn in the flames, and appear to his lover in the afterlife, and he would admit his love for them and live happily ever after. To the boy, it seemed like the loophole of the gods; the way to see his love right now, and Ma'at could do nothing about it.
And so, he grabbed the lighting fluid that was on the counter and proceeded to calmly cover his bedroom with it. He wrinkled his nose at the foul smell, but otherwise didn't mind it. He lit a match and calmly watched it burn until it was almost to his fingers. He discarded the match to the ground, but was disappointed when the match failed to light the carpet. He reached for the box of matches and took out all the rest of the little sticks. He lit one, then used it to catch the rest on fire. He carefully lowered the matches to the ground, and was quite pleased when the carpet caught fire, and was soon a blazing inferno.
"I wish," he said, "to be sacrificed to my beloved. I wish to be sacrificed to Bakura Touzokuo, king of thieves," And that is the last thing Ryou Bakura said before the blaze overtook him.