I am Dead, I am Dead, a beyblade fanfic

I am Dead, I am Dead

Gothic: Another wild and wacky idea. This is a song fic that came into my head whilst I was updating my profile. Should I change my name or not? Decisions, decisions. The song in this fic is tATu's 'Stars', which features a Russian rap. To help you out, I have provided both the English and the Russian words.

Kitty: (Microsoft Office Assistant that is a cat.) Two web pages are up to help Gothic in her quest to write this! The italic text is the song lyrics, and the main story is about Kai feelings after the World Beyblading Championships, which reflect on his life and main thoughts. And Gothic does not own Beyblade, nor does she own the song. The first Russian rap is in two halves, to spread things out a bit. The second rap is in one big chunk, wit the rest of the song, well, when you find it!

Kai: Don't kill me too much.

Tyson: Finally! I get a look in! Now to tell the whole world how great I am.

Rei: Why is Kai the main character then?

Kai: Because I am the greatest!

Kitty: Shut up, and on with the ficcie. Reviews please, as this is Gothic's first attempt at writing a song fic. Please note the language people.

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Kai's POV:

I can still feel the cold murky water around my legs, as I almost drowned in Lake Baikal. To think that I allowed myself to be helped by them, to allow the great power to do, to destroy everything to leave my hands.

And yet I gave it up. Gave up the greatest power on earth, to be normal. I still wonder whether I ever did the right thing, whether I should just run now. It would free me, give me wings, and I could run far away as I wanted. How did I ever get this far?

~ How did we ever go this far?

You touch my hand, and start the car.

And for the first time in my life,

I'm crying. Are we in space do we belong?

Someplace where no one calls it wrong.

And like the stars we burn away,

The miles. ~

But I still feel empty inside. Why do I feel this way? I have friends, for the first time in my life. But do I really deserve their friendship? Should I just flee this nightmare inside of me?

It's hard to forgive yourself, when you've done such terrible things to those who do actually care about you.

But why? That's what I want to know more than anything else in the world. Why didn't they just turn around and leave me there. After such terrible things, should they want to know me?

Well they're friends. I guess friends do that for one another, no matter what one does. Friendship is as complicated as love.

Love. Something else I'm not expecting anytime soon.

Could anyone really love me? It doesn't help that I'm gay. But then, I only have Voltaire to blame for that. He would lock me away with only male company. I think it was natural when we all began to develop feelings for one another. Nor does it help that I have no Grandfather.

But Voltaire is your grandfather, I hear you cry. So what? Does it matter? The only way we are related at all is through blood. If it weren't for that, I would be completely free from him. I don't really care what happens to the fucking bastard. He can go shove his head up his fucking ass and whistle Dixie backwards for all I care.

Now, now, calm down you say. He, and everything else to do with that is all in the past, - right?

I think not. Because I am Dead, I am Dead.

~ Ya zvezda, ty zvezda. (I'm a star, and you're a star.)

Nas prikazano szhech. (And we are meant to burn.)

Kto-to sdal I dostal. (Someone gave, and they repeat.)

Adresa nashikh vstrech. (Places where we meet)

Potolki po glazam. (With our eyes on the ceiling.)

I nikto ne naidet (No one's found this feeling.)

Soskol'znut golosa. (Voices wake, voices shake.)

I slomaetsya led. (And all this ice will break.)

I nich'ya bez klyucha. (There's no gain, without keys.)

I mogila postel. (So you sleep, and silence keep.)

I pora vyklychat, (We should stop and not find.)

I oni na khvoste. (And they're hanging behind.)

Uylbnis', razvyazhi. (But just smile, and unveil.)

Zanves' zerkala. (Cover mirrors away.)

Razorvi, I skazhi, (Rip apart, and then say,)

Umerla, umerla. ("I am dead, I am dead.")

I'm staring out the window, looking at the rain. It falls in steady drips, and runs down the window in rivets. A cat huddles under the roof of a balcony nearby, still getting wet, despite moving to a stacked away patio table. My mind is as if it's in another world, mist clouding the very edges of my sight, - and sanity.

I can see the world before me, the dead, dead world. My world. The world where my life is nothing more than a tool, an empty body, with no feelings or emotions.

Strangely enough, I don't want my life to be like that. I don't want to be an empty shell, don't want to be a cold heartless bastard. I had no chance in life, had no choice in what I wanted to do or be.

But my team, my friends, my family almost, gave me the second chance I really deserved. But still, there is something missing in my life. Why do I feel so sorry for myself? I am normally so strong and nerveless. I stand proud and tall, with a strong-willed attitude.

Then again, I have been through a lot. Isn't it normal to feel sorry for oneself after such traumatising events? Well I have been through such events before. Not another single soul in the entire world knows what actually happened on that night when I first tried out Black Dranzer. Except for me of course. Nobody knows the terror I went through, watching half the Abbey crumble to pieces. Nobody knows the feelings I felt, my scared, shaky voice trying to control this monstrosity of a bit beast. I believe it was afterwards, with my traumatised self wandering away, that it all started. I couldn't remember anything. I forgot the life I knew, forgot who I was, where I was, who all the people were around me.

I spent months in that mental health centre. Here, they attempted to teach me everything I'd forgot. They said I forgot everything through the trauma of the incident. I couldn't, wouldn't take in anything. The most they got me to know was my name. Even then, I could only say my name was Kai. I would repeat the word, over and over again, like a mental patient on a mad word streak.

Only, I never said anything but my name for almost two years.

After that, I can just remember back to that time. Before, I have forgot, and I am glad to forget. But after, it seemed that I 'woke up'. I began paying attention to the world around me. I listened to the people around me, who would talk to me. And, eventually, two weeks later. I spoke a word other than my name.

"Okay."

Simple, yet the second step towards my recovery.

It took another year to fully recover. Even then, I remembered nothing. However, the ability to blade came back to me. My skills were as good as they were before. To prevent anymore trauma, I lived in Japan for just over six years.

Little did I know, that my past would one day come back to haunt me.

~ Zamakai I lizhi. (Now connect, and then lick.)

Stanovis' nikakoi. (Become no one and sick.)

I ruka ne drozhit. (Now, the hand does not shake.)

Vse v poradke s rukoi… (Yes, my hand is okay…)

Mozhno mstit', dvajdi dav. (To fight back, to avenge.)

Na taski I sosi. (It's like two times two.)

A prostit' nikogda (Take a cab, and then blow.)

Nikogda ne prosi (Never beg, never go.)

Khorosho, khorosho (All is good, all is right.)

Ya pridumala mest' (Now I know how to fight.)

Poroshok vse chto est' (Here are things how to fix)

Umnozhayu na shest (All of that is times six.)

Ne zvoni, ne zvoni. (But don't call, and don't fall.)

Ya ustala, ya ustala (I am tired, I am tired.)

Ya tebla ne khochu. (I don't want you at all.)

Ty menya zae**la… (You f*cked me off the wall.) ~

So my life sucked. I lived life in Japan, my attitude reflecting my past. Voltaire knew this all along. His plan was to wait until I was old enough to cope with the emotional side of my Russian past. Oh I knew I was Russian. I only spoke Russian during my first few years in Japan. When I had regained freedom and speech after the incident, I was taught Japanese, and they increased on my Slovakian, as Slovakian is my second language. (A/N: I don't know if Slovakian is the national second language of Russia, like French is in England, but it goes with the story well!) I learnt fast, and Japanese is now my main language, surprisingly enough.

Then, Voltaire's big moment came along, - I joined the Bladebreakers. Sounds weird that he would be happy about it, - doesn't it? Well, he knew we would end up in Russia. Boris was organising the World Championships for fucks sake. All Voltaire had to do was sit on the end of a phone, and wait for reports to come back.

But things didn't go to plan. The bond between us Bladebreakers was so great, that the others were able to teach and show me that I was destined to be a Bladebreaker, - not a member of the Demolition Boys. But did I ever accept their friendship in the first place, or did I reject them?

~ How did we ever get this far?

It shouldn't have to be this hard.

Now for the first time in my life,

I'm flying.

Are we in love do we deserve?

To bear the shame of this whole world.

And like the night we camouflage

Denial. ~

So maybe this is a good idea, this whole 'friendship' thing. But I did lose my round in the World Championships. Was I too weak without Black Dranzer? Without my great power, was I worthless, and no more than everyone else?

They tell me the bond between Dranzer and me is at its strongest now. They tell me how powerful and grand-looking Dranzer was, as he shone with greatness and strength in that dish. That's a good thing. Nothing can break the bond between us ever again.

I wish I could say the same about my friendship with Tyson.

However much I feel a part of their lives, I could never feel a part of Tyson's life. Tyson still aggravates me, annoys me, and his megaphone voice still grates on my nerves. But for everyone else, I find myself actually feeling as if I'm someone in their lives sometimes. If I had never betrayed them, never hurt them, never caused them so much pain, then these actual emotions of friendship and compassion would never of found their way home to me.

It's weird sometimes, when I think of how all that training in the Abbey caused me to forget my emotions and feelings. If I cut myself, I did not cry. If I saw someone upset and in tears, I did not feel sorry for them. If I was beaten and abused by Boris, or my own Grandfather, then I did not feel sorry for myself.

All of those emotions were crushed beneath the sole of Voltaire's foot. But it took 4 determined, immature (well not Rei and Max really..) boys to push past the solid walls I built around me. How strong willed can you get? Very, as far as Tyson is concerned. They would not give up on me, no matter what l said or did.

I guess life isn't so bad when you have friends around you. Friends who care about you, and support you, and do not anger over your mistakes. I remember how I used to get rather shitty with them when they lost a battle. Yet, when I lost the first round in the World Championships, they didn't say anything negative at all. They told me that it was okay, that we would win the next two rounds, that it was unfairly adjusted so that Spencer would win. Quite a difference, huh?

If l feel anything at all at the moment, it's definitely guilt. But I can't really blame anyone but myself, - can I?

~ Nikogda nichego, (Nevermore, nothing there.)

Nichego ne nachat. (Nothing there is to start.)

Nikogda nichego, (No one's here, ever there.)

Umirat, l mochat . (They're to die with their hearts.)

Ne iskat', ne lyubit, (Not to search, not to care.)

Ne zhalet', l ne spat. (No regret, and no sleep.)

Nikogda nikuda. (Nevermore, and nowhere,)

Nikogo ne puskat'. (None shall ever be freed.)

Ne vdvoem. I ub'em. (Not to gather, but to kill.)

Im prisnit'sya voda. (Water dreams they do share.)

Ne tvoe. Ne moe. (But not mine, and not yours.)

Provoda, provoda. (Wires here, wires there.)

Geroin, pulsa net. (Heroin, pulse is gone.)

Tol'ko ty ne pri chem. (But you're not to blame.) ~

But still, I shouldn't mope around feeling sorry for myself. That will get me nowhere. I think I will go to S.T Petersburg. At least there I will find Aunt Urma. Mum will be there too. And Kuris, my little brother, he will be 11 now. I am 16 as it is.

But my mother, she is blind. Disabled, she can only go by touch. My father, he is dead. Gunned down attempting to retrieve me from the Abbey. Oh yes I was born there. But my parents, they were kicked out of the Abbey as soon as Voltaire could. My dad, he tried to get me and my sister out of there. He was gunned down at the age of 48. I never knew him at all. The only memories I have of him are the pictures my older sister Celina showed me. Siseki, the younger one was brought in later on. She was kidnapped from my mother, who was in S.T Petersburg. They sprayed her eyes with something, and she went blind. Still, she was brave, and found herself another man, and even had another son.

Strangely enough, Voltaire made no attempt to kidnap my step-brother. Why he didn't still haunts my dreams.

~ (Telephone Operator)

Abonent Otkyluchen…. (Just the phone that is off….) ~

I guess I'm not planning on running away from my problems yet. I'm gonna go to S.T Petersburg, see what's left of my family, and then I'll see what's left of my old friends. Tala abandoned the Abbey as well, regardless of whether they kicked him out because of losing his round in the World Championships to Tyson. That's good, because it means we'll both be free from the Abbey for as long as we stay away.

So I'll stay away, I'll be free. Eventually.

I'll accept the friendship and compassion that my friends give me. There's no need to change, - I've already done that. Going to S.T Petersburg will help to clear my head. But still, however different I am, one thing remains clear. I am who I am.

And nothing can ever change that.

~ How did we ever go this far?

You touch my hand and start the car.

And for the first time in my life,

I'm crying.

Are we in love, do we deserve?

To bear the shame of this whole world.

And like the night we camouflage,

Denial. ~

Lyrics courtesy of frontiernet.net, and letssingit.com.

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Gothic: So what do you think? If you read the English versions of the raps, you'll probably understand just how meaningful and tragic the song is. Now all you have to do is click on that blue button down in the left hand corner, and leave me a review. If I get enough positive results back, I may write another song fic.

Kai: I'm not as compassionate as that. Leave a review, tell Gothic it's good, and more torture and pain for me. Oh goody.

Kitty: Enough! Reviews please!