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Please read my note at the bottom, Merry Christmas/other festival.
Dead
The calendar was lying on the floor- it had been ripped from the wall long ago, and now it lay there. A page was ripped from it, too, December. On side of the page had been torn from the other, and shredded to little bits. However, on the side that was still intact, the twenty-second was circled in red, a line through it running across the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth,- until the twenty-sixth, if that side of the page were still intact.. Underneath: "Dad comes home for Christmas".
Dad hadn't come home- he hadn't come home.
He was lying on the sofa in his lounge- had been lying there for hours-, staring at the white ceiling. It was still white- he had been staring at it for hours, and it was still white. White, but in his eyes it appeared grey. Grey, because white was a holy colour, and couldn't be tainted. It had to be grey to be tainted.
Around him, nothing had changed, it was inside him. Inside him where, despite the calm outward appearance, everything was roiling and he felt like he was going to be sick.
He felt like a ship going under, sinking. Slowly but surely he was sinking and he wasn't sure if he was going to come up this time.
The ceiling was still white- grey to him- but it was changing, ever-changing, like he sometimes wished his life would. Change.
It was moving-
Spots danced before his eyes, forming into a picture- a pretty picture that he knew so well, oh so well. A little white haired girl, her brother- happy!- and behind them two parents. A mother and a father, with their arms around the two little children, all smiles and smiling.
So long ago.
Laughter- in his head; it was normal- he could hear it. No one else could; they thought- thought- he was mad, he could hear voices and laughter in his head. He knew he wasn't. But sometimes he could feel it- feel something- that told him he was right on the edge, ready to fall. Fall into insanity.
The laughter was still there. It was laughter at the picture he could see, dancing in front of his eyes. The picture with the two little children.
Where only one of them was still alive. Why? Why- it could have been him, should have been, and he couldn't protect her. But no- he mustn't think about that, not now. Don't remember, remembering was bad. He had learnt that the hard way.
The dots were moving again, forming a new picture. This one different, sad. No more happiness for you. Not allowed anymore.
Not allowed.
It was a pretty picture, painted of the dots on the ceiling, but it revealed a sad story- one that he didn't want to remember. But suddenly he found he had to.
A car, speeding fast, skidding on ice- Amane no!- getting dragged out of the car- no! No, no, no!- pulled away, to realise. She was dead. Dead, dead, dead, and not coming back.
He groaned, crying because of the sad memories that he was forced to relive. It was the same every time.
"Sorry I couldn't protect you Amane."
The laughter was back, and he cried out at the horror. Couldn't believe it. Stupid laughter, always there, at the back of his head, taunting, laughing.
There was glass lying on the floor, reminiscing of a mug he had dropped. Not very glamorous, but it would do- enough! He reached for it, then pulled away. He couldn't, but it wasn't fair. Why not? Why him?
Suddenly, the glass was in his hand. He had skipped time again, he knew, realised. He always realised, even though he always said- always told the others he didn't know. But he did. The glass was cutting into his hand, drawing blood, but the grip was his own. Not controlled.
Stay in control. Must... stay... in control...
He threw the glass down violently, springing up from the sofa and running to the mirror. Bakura Ryou stared back at him, normal it was him, the albino he knew, but still himself.
At least.
Maybe he would call Yugi up. Spending Christmas alone was never a good idea.
Never mind that he was not alone.
Why did this have to happen every year? He shook his head and left the mirror, picking up the phone with his right hand, forgetting that it was bloody from Bakura's little exploit.
Oh well.
"Merry Christmas, Dad," he whispered as he lifted the phone, staring at the picture his mind had cast onto the white ceiling- a picture of a happy family with two little white haired kids.
Okay, that went off track. A lot.
Note: (PLEASE READ!!) I am soooooooooo sorry about my long break from writing! This is my massive appology, and also my Christmas present. Anyway, as promised, I am going to write one multi-chaptered story starting some time in January, now that my exams are over. Please visit my profile and vote for which one you want me to write!
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!