A/N: Hoo, boy. This idea came to me during one of my depressing spells, and while I was listening to 'Missing' by Evanescence. Warning: this gets very depressing, pretty damn fast. Viewer discretion is heavily advised. No real pairings in this.
Run.
That's all he could ever do.
Tears blurred his vision, the bloodloss making him dizzy, but he would not stop.
He couldn't stop.
He couldn't understand why they left him.
Surely he would be the one they'd gravitate to. He was sweet, kindhearted. But they all turned to the dark.
A scowling face appeared in his mind's eye.
He tried his best to forget their arguments, the yelling. No matter how hard, though, they crept back over and over.
He let out a small yelp as his shoe caught a stone, causing him to pitch forward. Landing on the soaking ground with a pained grunt, his body screaming at him to lay there and rest, he struggled to his feet once more.
He could still hear their shouts, their angered expressions. Harsh words cut him like thousands of tiny knives, leaving him to sit there and cry.
And he did nothing to help. He just stood, laughing with the rest as he sat helplessly, a mere training dummy for their anger.
Sadness entered his blank mind, then anger. He clenched his teeth as he felt rain pelting his cuts, not willing to stop.
Not many people were out at this time of night, thankfully for him. He found it hard enough to endure their worried stares and sympathetic eyes during the day.
He couldn't bear the thought of running into them.
He could just see them, glaring angrily at him, scolding him for being so damned weak, so inferior to his other half.
He didn't bring himself to argue anymore; if they didn't want him, they wouldn't have to deal with him. At least, that was his reasoning.
He didn't even know where he was heading anymore; he just wanted to get away. Away from the pain. Away from the hurt. Away from the blind hate.
A voice scoffed in his mind. "Blind? We both know they hate you because you're pitiful. You're pathetic. Nobody will ever love you."
He knew. He wanted so badly for the voices to stop - but if he told anyone, they'd think he were crazy. The last thing he needed was sympathy.
The last things he needed...were them.
He finally stumbled to a stop in a nearby park. He felt the tears coming, and he tried to stifle a sob. A hand pushed to his mouth, he wept on the grassy clearing.
"Nobody's coming," the voice remarked snidely once more. "They all hate you. Your grandfather went to Egypt because he's ashamed of you."
Shut up...please, shut up. He nearly cried out, fishing out the knife from his belt. Fumbling with the handle for but a moment, he stabbed his arm, forcing himself to stay silent when the crimson liquid began to seep out of the sound, dripping onto the wet grass below him.
He heard the voice go silent, and he began to cut. Slicing shallowly up his right arm, he went deeper the farther down he put the blade.
He could hear them now...they had come looking.
A small, pained expression took over as he looked down. The blade had somehow been lodged where his heart would be...?
Overwhelming pain overrided his senses, as he fell to the ground, the knife standing up from where it stabbed through his shirt, the boy's eyes going blank as his tears intensified.
His mouth lolled open as he heard their panicked shouts, a blonde running up to him.
Who was he...?
The blonde boy was crying, clutching the bloodied wrist as if it were a lifeline. The knife had vanished from its position and was lying a few feet away from them.
Although his memories of him were hazy, he felt sadness ripple through his weakly-beating heart as he shouted to someone else.
There were more now.
A boy with white hair was crying hard, holding his head in his arms. Another, one who looked just like the silverette, frowned down at him with - was that anguish?
Another blonde came running, only to be held back by the white-haired one's lookalike. He yelled something angrily, but the lookalike wouldn't budge, saying something nasty in return.
His head was fuzzy now, his breathing slowing. He knew this may very well be the end.
The silverette cried out to him, slapping him lightly. Why was he hitting him...? All he wanted was to sleep.
He heard the shrieking of sirens and strange people came racing, shoving aside the two holding him. They picked him up, and put him in a strange bed.
Were they helping him? Why? All he wanted to do was sleep.
Now he would be stuck in never-ending insomnia, forced to awaken once again to the hatred that plagued everyone around him.
A/N: In case anybody's confused, here's the gist:
Yugi's friends hurt him badly, causing him to become depressed and suicidal. He runs away at night and plans to kill himself, but his attempt is thwarted by Malik, Ryou, and Bakura. Yes, that second blonde is Joey. I may make a sequel and/or a prequel, but for now, this stands as a oneshot.