This bit me one night and I knew I just had to write it, so I did. I'm not sure I like how it turned out, though...
I have ice water for blood. I've lost my ability to feel. Nothing penetrates this shell, not emotion, not pain.
I remember coming down here, last night, and the night before that, all stretching back until – that night.
Mokuba.
It still hurts with you gone, but the pain is beginning to numb, taking along with it the last traces of my humanity.
Every night I've come down here, I go to the same place, standing next to the kitchen table, staring without seeing anything. The half-hearted moonlight filters through the window. I don't need the blazing fluorescent lamps to show me where to step. My body has the floor plan memorized.
Silence eats away at the minutes. I have no concept of time while I stand here. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.
I didn't smile a whole lot to begin with, but with you gone, my face has begun to forget what a smile is. I look into the mirror every morning, but instead of my own reflection, all I see is a pair of dead eyes, looking at something too far in the distance for me to see.
I'm not exactly sure why this became my nightly ritual. There are better places to visit in the mansion, places that don't retain the metallic tang of blood. Perhaps my nightly vigil over the fine china and plastic Duel Monster-themed plates, the crystal glasses and old sippy cups, is the only reminder I can give myself.
At least the staff hasn't touched the kitchen. It still looks exactly the same as it did four years ago.
An hour now.
My hands rest on the table. I don't let the staff even dust in here, so it's no surprise a little puff of debris jumps up at the contact. I'm still not seeing anything. The ticking of the grandfather clock is staccato in my ears – it's run down but not quite stopped.
It's ominous clanging draws me back to myself.
Ten minutes.
Five.
One.
The clock bangs against itself, calling the midnight hour.
My hands scour the kitchen table top. I know what I want is here somewhere. There it is – just the way you left it, my little brother.
The handle is so cold it burns. The blade is sharp, though, and that's all I care about.
I close my eyes, holding on for the final ringing peal of the grandfather clock. It's midnight of what would have been…
I sink to my knees, shivering. My writs are both bleeding. I stare at them in fascination. I looked this up on the internet, just to make sure there wouldn't be any chance of a mistake.
Happy 18th birthday, kiddo.
I see the symmetry in an ending like this for me.
I watch the puddle of red blossom and feel myself growing faintly amused. It seems the critics were wrong. I don't have ice water in my veins after all. Too late now, though.
Hold on, Mokuba. I'm coming.
Author's Note: Yes, yes, I killed both Kaiba brothers. I'm nasty and evil like that sometimes. Blame the chickens. They made me do it.