Elf: *bounces up and down* YAY!!! first fic, first fic, first fic!
Imp: -.- is not.
Elf: O.O but it could be!!!
Imp: nope.
Elf: awhh . . . T.T
. . . Its snowing.
Christmas time was a cheerful time. All flashing multi-colored lights, candycanes, brightly colored wrapping paper, and laughter.
But for me?
Christmas isn't anything for me, nothing but painful reminders of unloving people.
Snowflakes fall, glittering, reflecting sparks or light from the window of my house.
Its so cold out here. Inside . . . inside looks so very warm and welcoming.
But I know the truth, for looks can be deceiving.
It is but a house, not a home. A home is something you have with someone who you love and they love you. A home is not a physical thing.
My yami waits for my within that building. Even on the dark, frigid night, I stand outside my house in the streets, in the cold, snow gathering in my silvery hair, because out here is warmer than in that house.
My house is always empty.
No matter if I am in it, and Bakura, too, its very empty. There is no warmth in there even as the fire burns; and there is no happiness in the even as the Christmas tree gleams and the lights sing little Christmas carols.
If I go inside, perhaps my body would be warm, but my soul? My spirit?
They would continue to freeze faster than before.
I love him.
I know it sounds sick to say I love someone who looks so very much like me. Humph. I don't expect others to understand.
To almost everyone, we are exact replicas of each other.
No one sees him the way I do.
I'll agree that we might have some physical resemblance to each other, but when I look at him?
I don't see that sharp sneering face.
I Don't see those crimson eyes. I don't see that silvery hair.
I see . . .
Nothing.
He is very empty.
No heart, nor soul, nor spirit to talk of.
But he is my yami, my other, the missing half of me.
Perhaps that is why.
Perhaps he is empty because I am always full.
Full of happiness, or energy, or patience . . .
Or Pain.
I am so full of pain right now.
Every time I look at him, something within me catches, and tightens, and twists.
Every time he glares at me, I can't breathe through the pain.
Every time I say something that he ignores, it jerks in my chest and threatens to break completely, all at once.
Every time.
And Every time he hits me?
Every time he hits me I am at peace. Because that shows me that he knows that I am there, I'm being acknowledged, I am receiving physical contact from him.
That doesn't mean I enjoy it.
That thing in my chest twists again.
My fingers twitch with pain.
A snowflake lands on my nose, and it wrinkles just before I sneeze.
Now that I am shaken from my thoughts, I shake my head, knocking loose the snow that had gathered in my hair. I walk to my house, open the front door and step inside.
I freeze again.
I freeze inside as I take off all the snow dampened clothing and set it aside. I head for the kitchen and stop in my tracks.
Bakura was waiting. He stood, glaring at me.
"Its about time you got here, weakling." he snarls. He walks by, a fist catching me in my stomach, and he continues out the door.
I slowly slid down to the floor, clutching my abdomen.
That something within me breaks a little more.
After a moment, I stand, barely aware of the tears falling down my face.
I head to the stove, and grab a pot, setting in on a burner. I walk to the refrigerator and grab the milk and chocolate.
Making hot chocolate always made me feel better, always relaxed me.
It won't stop the tears, thought.
When I was in my house, the tears rarely stopped.
I wish I had a home.
Imp: -.- is not.
Elf: O.O but it could be!!!
Imp: nope.
Elf: awhh . . . T.T
. . . Its snowing.
Christmas time was a cheerful time. All flashing multi-colored lights, candycanes, brightly colored wrapping paper, and laughter.
But for me?
Christmas isn't anything for me, nothing but painful reminders of unloving people.
Snowflakes fall, glittering, reflecting sparks or light from the window of my house.
Its so cold out here. Inside . . . inside looks so very warm and welcoming.
But I know the truth, for looks can be deceiving.
It is but a house, not a home. A home is something you have with someone who you love and they love you. A home is not a physical thing.
My yami waits for my within that building. Even on the dark, frigid night, I stand outside my house in the streets, in the cold, snow gathering in my silvery hair, because out here is warmer than in that house.
My house is always empty.
No matter if I am in it, and Bakura, too, its very empty. There is no warmth in there even as the fire burns; and there is no happiness in the even as the Christmas tree gleams and the lights sing little Christmas carols.
If I go inside, perhaps my body would be warm, but my soul? My spirit?
They would continue to freeze faster than before.
I love him.
I know it sounds sick to say I love someone who looks so very much like me. Humph. I don't expect others to understand.
To almost everyone, we are exact replicas of each other.
No one sees him the way I do.
I'll agree that we might have some physical resemblance to each other, but when I look at him?
I don't see that sharp sneering face.
I Don't see those crimson eyes. I don't see that silvery hair.
I see . . .
Nothing.
He is very empty.
No heart, nor soul, nor spirit to talk of.
But he is my yami, my other, the missing half of me.
Perhaps that is why.
Perhaps he is empty because I am always full.
Full of happiness, or energy, or patience . . .
Or Pain.
I am so full of pain right now.
Every time I look at him, something within me catches, and tightens, and twists.
Every time he glares at me, I can't breathe through the pain.
Every time I say something that he ignores, it jerks in my chest and threatens to break completely, all at once.
Every time.
And Every time he hits me?
Every time he hits me I am at peace. Because that shows me that he knows that I am there, I'm being acknowledged, I am receiving physical contact from him.
That doesn't mean I enjoy it.
That thing in my chest twists again.
My fingers twitch with pain.
A snowflake lands on my nose, and it wrinkles just before I sneeze.
Now that I am shaken from my thoughts, I shake my head, knocking loose the snow that had gathered in my hair. I walk to my house, open the front door and step inside.
I freeze again.
I freeze inside as I take off all the snow dampened clothing and set it aside. I head for the kitchen and stop in my tracks.
Bakura was waiting. He stood, glaring at me.
"Its about time you got here, weakling." he snarls. He walks by, a fist catching me in my stomach, and he continues out the door.
I slowly slid down to the floor, clutching my abdomen.
That something within me breaks a little more.
After a moment, I stand, barely aware of the tears falling down my face.
I head to the stove, and grab a pot, setting in on a burner. I walk to the refrigerator and grab the milk and chocolate.
Making hot chocolate always made me feel better, always relaxed me.
It won't stop the tears, thought.
When I was in my house, the tears rarely stopped.
I wish I had a home.