Chapter 1
...
Do you know why religion was created?
It's a source of comfort; it gives you an invisible pillar to lean on.
It gives you a reason for your life suddenly falling into a deep black abyss; they all say it's a test of faith.
And when you die, they always say that another world, another dimension, is awaiting you; but that's only because they're all just scared of death.
...
Smiling always came as an instinctive trait to him. He wore one every minute of the day where people could see him. But what happens to the mask,- that I see through, I might add,- when he's alone? Before his subconscious takes over at night? When he's in the shower? During those rare moments of serenity he comes across when hes not surrounded by friends and and admirers?
What happens to him?
...
I always notice him.
Ugh.
Really, I blame it on his hair. With his short stature, there's no way I'd notice him without those spiky, colorful bundle of locks.
A lot like mine.
He probably thinks I'm some creepy fanboy of his trying to copy him. That's not true. Not the 'trying to copy him' part anyway.
He smiled at me, once. He saw me through the little hole between the arms of his much taller friends and smiled at me. He could've not smiled, but he did! That counts for something, right?
And his smile was dazzling. His teeth the brightest color of white, his purplish eyes glistening under the fluorescent lights of the school hallways.
I don't mean to brag, but I know almost every fact about him. Like how he used to always eat lunch alone by the east building until he entered high school. Like how everyone used to tease him for his unique looks until they grew out of their childishness and saw the true beauty of him. Like how half the girls at school started following him around and all the gay boys started to hope that the words 'I have no interest in women' to slip out of his mouth.
I saw him before everyone did, though. I saw him first. And that's why I was the first one forced to see the thick veil of his mask.
...
"Mom? Are you awa-"
"Yami? Come, we must pray before you go to school!"
It's a ritual we've gone through since I started school.
"Mom, I'll be late if I don't leave n-"
"Nonsense! You'll have a horrid day if you don't pray before you leave. Now come."
What other choice do I have, than to walk over to where she stands in front of the piano and pray with her?
On top of our Samick piano rests a miniature figure of a grown Jesus, herding little porcelain sheep with his wooden staff. It's stood there for as long as I've been here, longer maybe. She prays to it three times a day,- sunrise, noon, sunset,- everyday. And I'm always praying next to her, excluding noons when I'm at school, forced to sit for ten minutes everytime with her muttering incoherent words to the mini Jesus.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against religion. I just don't think it should be forced upon me.
"There," she tells me with a smile, "Now God will protect you for the day."
"Yeah, Mom," I mumble back. "I'm going."
She says nothing back, and I turn to see that she's dusting the already spotless Jesus figure. Of course.
...
I'm eating lunch under the big tree in the school yard alone.
Why, you ask?
Nobody comes under this tree.
Oh, why?
Because I'm always sitting here.
And why does that matter?
Nobody wants to come near the kid with the crazy religious Mom.
I used to have good friends... up until sixth grade.
One of them went to church with his mom, for the first time to the adult sermon, the week he turned twelve.
Indeed, to see my mother standing up in the midst of a hymn, and running up and down the aisles, hands raised, shouting, "Praise the Lord, salvation has come!"
And also see her get led out by church security yet again.
Then the 'friend' spread a rumor- a partially true rumor, in a practical sense,- that my mother is a religious freak and that I, too, take after her, since I'm her blood and flesh.
Bullshit.
There's another reason why I'm always down here for lunch.
This place has a very nice view of the wooden lunch table by the notice bulletin.
...Which is where, most of the time, Yuugi and his closest friends spend lunch break.
I'm not a stalker. I swear.
Just because I know all his classes, all his gang's hangouts, and his GPA totally does not make me a pervert.
And I certainly did not dye my hair and style it like his.
He has such a nice, rare pair of eyes, wide with the colors of morning glory flowers.
He's so blessed; God must have spent extra time creating him.
...
My mother, when I was born, wanted to give me up.
She thought I was the devil's child, my mahogany eyes inherited from Lucifer himself.
Reasonable to an extent, since I take after neither of my parent's image.
She had expected a child with fair hair, blue eyes, taking after herself, an angel...
But instead, she had me, with my dark hair tinted with bloody red at the tips, the front colored in bleach blonde. It's as if the Lord used me as his own, private coloring book.
After I've noticed Yuugi, I started to think of myself as a failed experimentation of him, like somehow I blew up in the Human Creation's Center or something.
Anyway, she ended up not throwing me into an orphanage, because she realized that it's probably a big no-no in Jesus' big goddamn book.
...
That's my new story. :D I wanted to write this, because a part of it is what I'm going through right now. I kinda felt like, hey, I should write my pains and blood and sufferings and make it into a fanfic so other people can feel better about their own lives. :D
I made him sound all stalkerish. I love stalker Yami. XD Oh, I'm so cruel...
:) Please review it. I know it's really short, and it's not worth reviewing, but I need help writing with deeper depth. DEEPER DEPTH. Do I have your attention? ;) So, if you know how to, please help me. :(
REVIEW IT. If you don't, then make sure you lock all your doors tonight. ;)