A Twisted Paradise
AN: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or the lyrics to Paradise. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi and Coldplay respectively. I apologize for any YGO history I have gotten wrong, or any of the song lyrics. Rated T for violence. Reviews are appreciated!
A young man stands in the desert. He is undoubtedly beautiful; with flawless bronze skin, spikes of platinum blond hair and eyes of the deepest, purest violet. But his beauty is marred by the unmistakable grief and torment in his eyes. His shoulders shake with the effort to keep his sobs from escaping. He stands tall and straight, his face impassive despite the single tear now trickling down his face. Other tears come, clamouring to be let out, but the boy cannot cry. If he does not cry, he thinks, perhaps he can pretend for a little longer that he is okay.
But his eyes are fastened to the broken remains before him. Dust still lingers in the air around him, making it even harder to breath past the aching lump in his throat. As he looks on at the fallen building, he remembers. He remembers white hair, remembers fiery brown eyes and the rough cadence of a pained voice. They are no more. Everything he had, everything he had loved, is now trapped in an abyss, crushed by thousand-years old rubble. And that knowledge is more than he can take.
'When she was just a girl,
She expected the world.
But it flew away from her reach,
So she ran away in her sleep,
And dreamed of para, para, paradise. Para, para, paradise.
Every time she closed her eyes.'
A child is running. They have gleaming waves of white, almost silver hair, and deep brown eyes filled with delight. And, were it not for closer inspection, they would have been assumed a girl. But, no. He is a boy, blossoming in what are supposed to be the happiest, most carefree days of his life.
Those days end all too soon.
His eyes are caught by the shimmering, beckoning shadows on the wall, the shadows that lure him around the corner to the sight that awaits him.
Fire. Everywhere.
His village is in a panic, every building he can see burning before his eyes. The screams echo in his ears; screams that chill him to the core yet at the same time fill him with a white-hot rage. He wants to yell, to fight, to save his family and friends. But he is nothing more than a child, and his rage is overshadowed by crippling fear. So he watches. Watches homes become ashes and loved ones become blackened, bloody husks that no longer resemble people.
Later, he runs. Runs with only one thing in his mind, one thing that stops him from pulling out his dagger and ending his life. Revenge. His rage and hunger for revenge burn inside him, and, as he grows, they consume his heart. He becomes a twisted young man, the only emotion he has ever known for years being anger. He finds others, people willing to join his cause. Day after day, he steals from the man who destroyed his childhood. He steals and steals and steals, trying in vain to erase the ache inside him caused by losing so much.
'It's not fair.' He thinks. Why should he be forced to give up everything, to lose everything he held dear, when the man behind it all lives a life of luxury?
He becomes two people. One is the arrogant, confident man who is utterly fearless. The man who keeps morale high among his followers, and who laughs long and loud after every successful raid. The second is a child, hurting bitterly and wanting more than anything to be with his mother and father again.
Every night, the first man dreams of sitting on his enemy's throne, treasures scattered across the floor and mingling with the blood of all those who defied him. He has never been stronger, never had so much power. It is these dreams that give him hope.
All too quickly do those dreams become nightmares. Treasures turn into bodies, palaces become burning buildings. He sees his mother, pleading silently with her eyes for him to help her. Her eyes hold his for a seemingly endless age, until the fire finds his mother and he wakes, the scream raw in his throat as he fights to grab hold of his composure.
It is these nightmares that make it difficult to keep going on.
'When she was just a girl,
She expected the world.
But it flew away from her reach,
And the bullets catch in her teeth.
Life goes on, it gets so heavy.
The wheel breaks the butterfly.
And every tear a waterfall…
So in the night, the stormy night, she closed her eyes.
In the night, the stormy night, away she flied.'
A child is running. Their ash-blond hair sticks in all directions, bronze skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat, their startlingly violet eyes filled with fear. The angry yells of his father grow closer, and he cannot run forever in the cramped, limited space of the underground tombs. All too soon, he reaches a dead end, and his screams echo mockingly down the tunnels as the whip finds unmarked skin. Tears blur his vision and he is motionless, the sharp sting of broken skin paling in comparison to the desperate ache in his heart. He is unloved. Unwanted. The soft voice in the back of his head taunts him relentlessly, and all he can do is give into it.
Years pass. The voice becomes louder, and the boy turning into a man becomes twisted. He commits unspeakable acts, but his bruised and broken heart will not let him accept the blame. Instead he points the guilt at a man long dead, but the guilt is always there. In the back of his mind, gnawing at his heart until there is almost nothing left. Darkness has all but consumed him, and he welcomes it. If he welcomes it he is able, for a moment, to forget what has happened to him. But he'll never forget completely. Not with the nightmares.
He writhes in his bed, phantom fears invading his mind and giving him no respite. Here, in the dark and lonely space of his room, is where he feels least safe.
'And dreamed of para, para, paradise!
Para, para, paradise!
Every time she closed her eyes.'
When they first meet, they can barely believe it. Violet meets brown, the contrast between them clear. But pain is mirrored in their eyes, and in that instant, both boys know that their lives have been changed forever. Neither can be sure yet if that is a good or a bad thing. Every touch is electric; jolting and painful and amazing all at once. Every time their eyes meet lasts a second too long, and it is frightening and yet at the same time exhilarating. The violet-eyed boy begins to feel wanted. The spirit begins to feel alive.
They strike up a deal, but both know they share far more than a common enemy. They share an age-old agony, an ache of loss. And a blossoming hope. Looking at each other, they think, perhaps, not all is lost.
But that thought is a dangerous one. So fleeting touches, longing glances, are cast aside. And a hope- a wish- for companionship begins to falter.
Yet still they stand together, unwilling to let go for even a second. For them, happiness never lasts long. The need to be close aches far worse than the pain of losing so much, but the fear of losing each other is more than they can take. Getting close is the worst possible mistake, and their battered hearts know only too well the consequences of mistakes.
'So lying underneath those stormy skies,
She said 'I know the sun must set to rise.'
A golden ring falls to the floor, its clatter echoing the final pleas of two dying men. The white-haired spirit's guilt knows no bounds as he lies amidst the blood red shadows swirling around him. For he sees the evil in his heart, and sees the light bursting through the heart of the tan, naïve boy he has fallen in love with. The spirit had never believed he was capable of love, but now, recalling the utter goodness pouring out of the teen, the spirit cannot fight his feelings any longer.
The tan boy rises. And, alone in the realm of shadows, two pairs of eyes meet.
'This could be para, para, paradise!
Para, para, paradise!'
Unable to contain their feelings any longer, the two boys move. Slow at first, then faster, until finally they are kissing. It is fierce, and violent, and perfect. Any sense of restraint is lost, and limbs become tangled as laughs echo through the dismal environment. For the first time since either of the boys can remember, they feel true joy. It is a remarkable sensation, and they crave more. Laughs become gasps, groans that echo the need burning in their hearts.
The memory crumbles. Tears fall faster, until the boy can no longer make out the rubble before him. He sinks to his knees, a sharp stab of loss leaving him uncaring about the anxious people around him. All he can think about, all he can focus on is the pale young man he still refuses to let go of. He yearns for the love he lost far too soon, for the man who showed him in his own twisted way just how beautiful the world could be.
His hands claw at the dirt around him; still searching for the shape they know so well. The sharp, angular features, the velvet soft hair. The spirit he tried so hard to cling onto. He wavers, mind torn between the past and the present. His skin pales, hair fades to a snowy white. For a split second, there are no longer two boys.
They.
Are.
One.
He is plunged into another achingly bittersweet memory. His muscles are straining, hair limp and damp with sweat. His lover is kneeling in the grass, head thrown back as a wide smile graces his harsh features. The blond's thrusts are shaky and uneven, and it all ends far too soon. But for them, it is perfect. They know all too well that one day they will be torn apart. And as the white-haired boy pulls the blond to him, he struggles for a moment to hold back tears.
But the moment passes. And right here, right now, it seems impossible that something so perfect could ever end. And, for now, their twisted paradise is enough.
The End
AN: Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! I don't actually have a clue why Paradise inspired this, but it always makes me think of Thiefshipping whenever I hear it! Strange, huh?