Desperate Memories
Disclaimer: I do not legally own the rights to Yu-Gi-Oh! or any other of its company or creators affiliates. I'm just a fanfiction writer that puts the FanFiction law to good use. Any trivia that I use, I use with the same law in mind.
PLEASE NOTE: I USE HEBREW TRANSLATIONS FROM A NOT-TO-BE-KNOWN-IF-RELIABLE WEBSITE SOURCE. PLEASE TAKE IT AS FICTIONALISED HEBREW.
He was pacing the maze again. Climbing up, climbing down; gripping ladders, walking stairs, edging along pushed-out bricks over endless dark pits. There was something dragging him on, the quest for his past, but that was also preventing his present self from discovering the truth: the traps his mind had set were ones that he could never decipher, or they would only warn him before it was too late and he made a fatal mistake, or, the worst of all, he would find the key and traipse a memory only to wake on the outside without any recollection, only the knowledge that he had witnessed a memory. He would have loved to scream with the frustration and rage, but he could not because of Yugi and the fragility of his innocent mind.
He stopped, leaning against a wall. The faint illumination from the bracketed torches were enough to cast light in small pools around them but left everything else in darkness. Like my mind. His back slowly slid down the wall, legs giving away. He dropped to the ground, his legs spread out in front of him, his arms at his sides, his head hanging down, almost touching his chest. His eyes wrinkled up in a losing effort to stop the tears from falling. He gritted his teeth against the emotions welling up, breathing hard. They wailed at him, hungry for the distress that was leaking out of the mind he kept so tightly locked against Yugi but not himself. He drew his knees to his chest ,resting his head on his knees and clutched his head tightly in his hands, pressing inwards at the pressure building. He could not scream, he would not scream.
"Tishtok! Tistom et a-pe! (!)((shut up! Shut the fuck up!))" he hissed through his teeth, not acknowledging that he was speaking in Hebrew. They raced through his mind, fed on by the rage that was building within him. He felt helpless in the maelstrom ,an insignificant speck in a sandstorm. A few tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He felt his resolve slipping from his ignorance of his past. He grabbed vainly at a shred of sanity to keep from getting sucked in completely as the form of his breathing thoughts crumbled underneath him, sending him tumbling over the edge. He experienced a shock through his soul as it gripped the ledge. He pulled himself over and up, bit by bit, the handholds being memories of his time of being awakened in Yugi; the good and bad he felt hit him like an electric shock through his fingertips and then shooting along all his nerves .Finally he was safely over the edge, and physically he lay there panting with the exertion, sweat running down his face. The corridors filled with a dusty breeze that he had no suspicion where it came from.
A battle of wills. I thought I was supposed to be the stable mind, he thought tiredly. He brought his shaking hands to his eyes and wiped away the dampness that was still falling. He braced himself against the wall and achingly got to his feet, the lethargy from the battle within himself having sapped all his energy. He panted, his breath mixing with the wind that still blew. He stretched out a hand and felt in which direction the breeze was coming from, curious. He began to follow it, keeping one hand against the wall to keep him standing. Stumbling sometimes along upturned tiles, he followed it as it strengthened its intensity. After what felt like hours, he finally reached a partially opened door from which the wind blew invitingly as well as glowing from within a gentle amber light. Forehead crinkling with curiosity, he pushed it open hesitantly.
He was immediately confronted with an unfamiliar scene. It was a huge room built with stone blocks, pillars placed as support in some places, covered in pictograms. The only illumination was from a steady flame inside of a bowel which stood on an intricately wired stand. He stepped through and the door swung shut silently behind him. He whirled around only to find that it had disappeared. His senses heightened, on alert for any danger that this could present. He cautiously stepped toward the flame, his steps making no sound on the floor. He then saw that behind the stand was a large bed occupied by a woman and a child. The woman was busy rocking the whimpering child, softly singing to him. The child's small hands clutched at her robe, seeking comfort. Her milk-coloured hand stroked his hair, the fingers absent of any rings. Gold bracelets clanked against one another softly as she lowered her arm. The child's sobs lessened. He curled up into the woman's lap, one hand still clutching her robe, the other held to his chest. His voice came out muffled.
"Is it gone, Mother?" he asked into her chest. She smiled.
"Of course it has gone. The nightmares have been gone for quite some time, what brought them back?" she said, one hand held against his head, against the tri-coloured hair of black, gold and burgundy. He sniffled. She waited patiently.
"The servants have been saying that you are dying. Is that true?" he asked sitting up in her lap, his voice trembling. Her hand stiffened for a moment then dropped to his shoulder, pulling him close in an embrace.
"What a lie, of course I am not dying! What made you believe I was?" she said in a concerned tone. He squeezed the fabric between his fingers.
"You have been sick, Mother, I have heard you coughing when no one was paying attention." She held him tighter to her, golden tresses falling to brush his face.
"Oh my silly son, I have not been feeling well, but that does not mean that I am dying! Get that foolish idea out of your head this instant, I will always be here, with you and with Father," she admonished him. He broke from her grip and looked into her indigo-violet eyes.
"You promise?" he asked her in his childish tone. She looked into his eyes, identical to hers, and nodded.
"I will always be here for you, my son. Now, will you try and go to sleep?" He nodded, allowing her to pick him up and tuck him under the blanket. She stood up and as she stroked his hair for the last time, he grabbed her wrist, his tiny fingers able to encircle her thin wrist.
"Please stay? For a little longer? Until I fall asleep?" he pleaded with her. She smiled down at him. He scooted over, a radiant smile on his face, relief evident as he held the blanket up for her to crawl under. She lay down under the covers and he nestled into the crook of her stomach, clutching the blanket tightly around him. She wrapped an arm around his small body, and began to sing softly into his ear.
Yami looked on, a lump in his throat at the mother and son lying on the bed. He felt hot tears run down his cheeks. He reached out a trembling hand towards the small woman, just as the vision began to fade into the mist of the empty room he was now standing in.
"Mother…" he choked out. It echoed around the room, bouncing back towards him. "Mother, come back to me, please! I need you!" he called out desperately. All that answered him was the soft caress of the breeze that had led him here across his wet cheeks.
THE END
Author's Apology: I just wanted to apologise for my crude and ignorant use of Hebrew. I found the translation on a website, and even if it isn't true Hebrew, please take it as true in context with the story; that is, please then think of it as fictionalised Hebrew.