by Matt Morwell
A/N: Usual disclaimer here (neither YGO! nor Batman is mine). After listening to the soundtrack of the original Batman movie (songwriter/Danny Elfman), I recalled that the track called "Childhood Remembered" was a particular favorite of mine, because one can "see" what the main character is really thinking by listening to the song, even though it is without lyrics; the consistent, low-pitched strings in the background and despairing strains of the high strings in the fore equal the perfect theme song for a character to take pity on. Three hours of writing and listening (nonstop) to that 2 minute 42 second track brought me this.
Ankhutenshi, Penny, and all you moonlight hikari lovers, this is for you.
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He kept his head bowed as the holy man spoke of his sister. He didn't want anyone to see him crying. He wanted to be strong for once in his life.
By all rights, he ought to be used to this by now. It had happened once before. It had hurt so terribly the first time... he had never been the same after that.
He hadn't wanted to live to see it once.
He never thought he would have had to see it twice.
By all rights, it should hurt less.
But it doesn't. It hurts more.
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky from the east. A gathering of storm clouds had appeared on that horizon earlier this afternoon, but his father had refused to postpone the funeral. The grave had already been dug, and a tent had been pitched over the site where her final resting place would be.
A tear trickled down his cheek.
It shouldn't have been this way. She wasn't supposed to get sick. None of this was supposed to happen.
I shouldn't be standing here.
I can't watch this.
I can't watch them... bury...
He was standing just under the left edge of the tent. Drops of rain fell onto his shoulder, seeped into his perpetually unkempt hair. It was only a few drops at first, but the holy man did not quicken his pace for the benefit of the boy's shirt or his hair. The boy kept his head bowed to hide his tears, but soon, that wasn't much of a worry anymore; the rain pelted through his hair and trickled down his face, disguising the tears that were now given free rein.
He looked up at the ever-darkening sky, his tears and the rain mingling even further, and he silently cursed what being or beings lay beyond that would take her away from him.
- - -
In bedraggled dress clothes, he climbed up the rusty ladder of the fire escape and paid little attention to the orange residue that rubbed off on his hands. It took all of his strength to climb; he had spent a great deal of that strength trying to rein himself in. His tie flapped about in the rain-soaked breeze, and his collar provided his neck poor protection from the icy wind.
When he reached the top, he slumped over the concrete ledge and let momentum carry him onto the roof. For a while, he lay there on the sparse, tar-covered gravel, facing the dark clouds that had – doubtless – been responsible for spiriting her away. Abducting her. Stealing her from him.
The knuckles on his right hand throbbed painfully, covered in blood from being split open after crashing repeatedly against the grandfather clock and smashing the face to pieces. Right in front of the man, no less... and he'd simply stood there and watched as his son destroyed the relic.
He idly wondered if, were a similar tragedy to befall any future he had, he would allow his own son to ravage a valuable household item like that.
But he found – not surprisingly – that he really didn't want to consider the issue at all.
Slowly, inexorably, he pushed himself up off the gravel and onto his feet. Tiny rocks stuck to his clothes from the tar on them. He didn't even bother to brush them off; he trudged across the roof, toward the bulky air conditioning unit. He stood behind the unit and used it to protect him from the bitter, chilly cross breezes commonly found atop buildings of this height.
For a few minutes, he huddled there; his arms were crossed stubbornly over his chest, his neck telescoped between his collarbones. His head was down and his teeth chattered quietly. The rapid clicking barely noticeable even to him.
Instead he thought of her.
Always of her.
His mind couldn't escape her. His heart couldn't let go of her.
And he desired neither escape nor release.
The roiling winds seemed to d – recede a little, and he glanced up. It was quite dark now. The rain had engulfed everything save the light; the clouds were even now breathing the light in and expelling it back at its caster. Ungrateful clouds. If it weren't for the heat the light provided, there would be no clouds.
Yet they stole the light.
Just as they had stolen his light.
Light. My light, mine. What right did they have...?
He stepped around the corner and slowly moved towards the opposite ledge. There was no ladder on that side.
He raised his leg, put one foot on the ledge.
Pushed up. Raised his body.
Settled his other foot onto the ledge.
Looked down.
...It was a long way.
He shook his head. No... I won't jump. There's no sense in my leaving him, too... he's been through enough. He and I, we need each other, now more than ever. Without them... we're alone. And without each other...
Where would we be?
He bowed his head once more.
He had been doing that a lot, lately.
- - -
"Come, big brother! Stop being so slow! You can run faster!"
"Slow down, Amane! You'll trip yourself on that untied shoelace!"
"No, I won't! Stop being so silly! ... Ahh! A trick! I don't even have an untied shoelace – ack!"
"Gotcha!"
"Not for long! Grr... mmf... grk..."
"Ow! No biting!"
"Haha! I'm free, I'm free!"
"Hmph! Fine, no strawberries for you tonight!"
"...strawberries?"
"They're in the fridge. I'll show you. ... See? Fresh-picked, too!"
"Ooh! Gimme!"
"None for you until suppertime!"
"Grr..."
"Ouch! I said no biting!"
- - -
"Big brother... tell me a story."
"What?"
"A story! I wanna hear a bedtime story."
"But... I don't know any."
"Father never told you any?"
"Father? You must be joking... I always go to bed before he gets home, you know that."
"Hmm. Okay, then I'll tell you one."
"Since when do you know any?"
"I know lots! You gotta read a lot first! See? Books? You have to read more, big brother... you have to be better. Always try to be more than you are. Be better than you are."
"Is it not enough for me to just be me?"
"...You're more than 'just you' to me."
"...Okay. Tell me your story."
- - -
"I made this picture for you, big brother! Framed it and everything! Isn't it pretty?"
"It sure is! Let's go hang it up."
"Hang it nice and high! I don't want burglars to get to it so easy!"
"Heh... okay... how about right here?"
"Perfect! Eee! Father will love it!"
"Yes, he will."
- - -
"Oniichan... I love you..."
- - -
He opened his eyes, slowly, cautiously, pulling back his eyelids almost against his will. They'd been clenched shut. His knuckles hurt even worse than before, and he had a shallow cut in his forehead, as well. He reached up and touched it, then hissed and recoiled.
A glass cut...
He looked around the room.
And sighed.
Father will kill me...
He'd broken the glass. Again.
The glass on every frame of every picture within easy reach was shattered to pieces. The pieces lay in messes either in their broken frames or on the floor.
Him again... does he suffer as I do?
It didn't matter. His father was still going to kill him.
He sighed and resigned himself to both cleanup duty and a firm whipping from his father, who tried to be a good father but was really not much of one at all.
He didn't blame the man. The man had been through a lot more than he had.
So he forgave his father in advance, did the job, and slumped into the couch to await his whipping. He could just hear the belt loops now – thwuppuppuppupp.
I forgive you, Father.
I cannot forgive the clouds... I might not be able to forgive him... but I can forgive you.
He bowed his head and uttered a prayer.
And even as he prayed...
He wondered if there was anyone up there listening to him.
[End]
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