In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
- 'In the desert',
By Stephen Crane.
I.I.I
"What is it that you want?"
The dark side of Marik stares back at Bakura, his hand lazily swinging back and forth, the tip of the Millennium rod just barely grazing his leg, and he looks away from Bakura dismissively.
"You know of my plans."
Bakura looks angry then, as he always does, and he crosses his arms over his chest before prying them apart, smirking confidently.
"That is what you plan to do. I asked you what you want."
The thing created from torture and pain chuckles, and if Bakura wasn't used to the deep, reverberating sound he knows he'd be disturbed.
"Come now, Bakura…what's the fun in telling you?"
Something in Bakura feels distant at the question, and he scowls at the creature in front of him, suddenly disgusted by its very presence, and it takes his utmost concentration to turn away with merely a scowl gracing his features.
"What do you mean by that? Telling me?"
He smiles, and it's such an odd expression for him to wear that Bakura flinches- then he recognizes the intent behind the smile, the almost lulling quality of it, and he stares at the Millennium rod as it reaches up to graze his cheek.
"If I told you what I wanted," the thing begins, "In utmost detail…you wouldn't be able to hear beyond your own wretched screams the things that I want…"
Bakura finally removes himself slowly, his cheek cold from where the rod had pressed into his cheek, and he glares at the pseudo-human as he laughs into the sky.
Beyond all logical reasoning, Bakura finds himself yearning.
I.I
He wonders, suddenly, what the (spirit? memory? manifestation?) eats.
He thinks to ask him, but the opportunity doesn't present itself until they're seated across one another and Bakura's host's body makes its hunger known.
Marik's dark side laughs.
"What do you eat?" Bakura asks, cocking his head slightly and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
The wild eyes turn to him, and he finds himself enamoured.
"What do I eat…?" the taller repeats, moving closer in a way that makes Bakura think of a predator- a memory that isn't his stands out, of a hyena circling an already dead animal- and he distantly registers that the wall is against his back.
"What I eat, Bakura…" he chuckles, looming over him, and his hand comes up to cup the other's ear in a eerily intimate way.
"I eat your heart," he laughs, sudden and abrupt against his skin, and Bakura pushes him away angrily, feeling a sudden loss of control.
"Stop talking nonsense," he snarls, glaring at the ground and rubbing his ear to rid himself of the sensation of breath there.
He looks at Bakura like he knows what he's thinking, and he lets silence blanket them again.
I.
"What do you feel, Bakura?"
Bakura opens his eyes against the unforgiving sunlight and squints against it.
"Annoyed. Frustrated. Like our entire plan is falling to bits all thanks to-"
A hand slaps over his mouth, and Bakura's eyes widen in anger and indignation.
"No," the manthing says, expression indifferent and bored- Bakura thinks that if there was something malicious in his eyes, that would be his true face.
"I'll ask again…what do you feel?"
His other hand is rested at Bakura's chest, right above his heart, and he knows MarikMalikYamiMarik could easily pierce it with his rod, and finds a mild disappointment in the fact that he doesn't.
"I feel…" he says, and his mouth dries up.
Expectation rises in its eyes.
"I feel nothing," he answers, and panic rises in him as he realizes his host's body has no pulse, no heartbeat, as if it was stolen-
-and he finally realizes what the awful creature was doing all along.
"I told you, Bakura," he whispers softly.
"I eat your heart."
Fin.
