Disclaimer: I don't own YuYuHakusho. I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I did.
The rating is for Yusuke's potty-mouth, and for violence in later chapters.
Chapter 1
My name is Yusuke Urameshi, and I think I'm dead meat.
Why do I think that? Well, it's probably because I'm staring down this ugly Terminator wannabe as he stomps towards me from across the remains of the massive stadium. Oh, but you don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you? I guess I should start from the beginning. Get comfy, this is going to take a while.
It all started the day I died. No no, don't roll your eyes at me—I'm telling the truth. I've always known I wasn't normal, but this is the day everything, including me, went to Hell.
The day I died started out like any other day; I got up, got dressed, and went in search of breakfast. Lucky for me, some punk with a burger wanted to fight, which meant I got to eat and he didn't. If I was any one else, I'd probably feel bad for taking his meal. Good thing I couldn't care less about some Kasanegafuchi punk wannabe. But back to my story.
It was late summer, the hottest part of the season if you ask me. Of course, with the school's air conditioning on the fritz, there was no way I'd be caught dead in a classroom. Not even for Keiko, my best friend, would I sit in there with a bunch of sweaty teens and an evil teacher breathing down my neck. So I decided to skip.
But where to go? Home? No, that would mean watching my mom get up, get sober, and then get plastered all over again. I've seen enough of that to last me the next few lifetimes, thanks. The arcade? I checked my pockets for money. There wasn't enough for a burger, much less a game. So that option was out. Well, crap. Now what was I supposed to do for the rest of the day?
Looking up, something caught my eye. There was easily a dozen people on the sidewalk, but the one that caught my eye was the little boy with a toy ball. He was surrounded in a thin gold haze.
Now, I know what you're thinking--that I'm crazy. But I'm not. Really. For as long as I could remember, I could see colors around people. And I've learned, through experience, what the most of the colors meant. White was something everyone had-it meant you were alive. Blue meant you were a fighter. I've seen several martial artists with this color, and a few street thugs as well. Orange was for people who were psychics; they could do stuff like moving objects with their mind, or find lost items, or talk to ghosts. My personal punching bag, Kuwabara, has both blue and orange. Though he's never beaten me yet, he's come the closest to sneaking up on me, but I've never seen him do anything weird. I've seen a few people wandering around with red, but I don't actually know what that means.
And then there's the trouble makers. The people with gold or yellow clouds hanging around them. People like them usually do something wild, and wind up changing everything. After seeing a politician with yellow work a trade agreement which boosted the economy and made things better for the country, I would have to guess that yellow means that the person has a part in changing the world.
Which is why I hesitated going in the kid's direction. Someone that young, with that kind of potential… no, I think I'll cross the street before continuing. So I went back to the stoplight, which was a ways back, crossed the street, and continued my walk. I could still see the kid, no matter how much I tried to ignore him. He was kicking his ball back and forth, until it got away from him, and landed in the street.
I stopped walking and stared at him. That kid wasn't going to- fuck, he did. He just wandered right out into the road, not even looking both ways to make sure the coast was clear, going straight for his toy. Where the Hell was his mother? Shouldn't she be here to drag his ass back to safety and yell at him for being stupid? And why the Hell wasn't anyone telling the kid to get out of the road? Why was everyone ignoring him?
I could hear the car before I saw it. The tires squealing as the car tore around the corner, nearly hitting some pedestrians crossing the road. It was a convertible, red, and it didn't look like the driver was paying too much attention to the road. And wouldn't you fucking know it; the kid was just standing there, staring at the car like a deer in the headlights.
At this point, things get a little blurry. I don't know what possessed me to move, but the next thing I know, I've just shoved the kid out of the way. Then the impact of my body hitting the car, no pain surprisingly, followed by the sensation of flying through the air.
How the fuck did my day go so bad so fast?