Life is but a Dream, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!

Drip.

I hear the same rhythm of the waterdrops day after day.

Drip.

It's soothing, but not much. It cannot tame my wild nature, my tortured soul, and it CANNOT return to me the sanity I have lost.

I open my exotic amethyst eyes and stare. I stare at the brick wall in front of me and find all the cracks and knicks quite amusing.

Can you tell I'm bored? Who wouldn't be? I'm in a cell with nothing but a crapper and musty old blankets taking up space with me.

I quit playing staring games with the wall and lay on my back, ignoring the bitter chill crawling up my spine. I listen carefully for the voices, the voices that talk to me.

Slowly their presence enters my mind, telling me things I'd rather not know or hear.

"Kill yourself! Kill yourself," they crow, "you're no good. Everyone is the enemy. No one loves you." I flinch from these words being uttered in my mind. They are hard to dismiss, these negative thoughts. I've heard the negative remarks so many times that I've grown to hate myself.

I WANT to kill myself.

This is because I feel that I have no purpose in life, like I'm a piece of crap being kicked away.

Only the one who has kicked me is MYSELF.

I want to die.

And I want to kill.

What is that? Are you saying I'm mad? Stark raving mad?

Yes. I admit it. I am nuts, or getting there.

Since I could remember there have been two 'cats' (let's call them that, shall we?) fighting over my mind. The first cat is calm and well balanced; this cat can see the light even when the dark night blocks it.

And then there's the second cat, a violent tom that hisses at even the smallest particle of dust. In this cat's eyes there is no heavenly light. Only deep dark pools of black are what it sees.

These two forces fight over my mind like two toms quarreling over a queen in heat.

Or maybe they aren't fighting for a queen, perhaps they're bickering over territory.

Whatever the reason, there has been a fight between these forces. A tug of war, if you want to call it that.

It's been so long since I've heard the positive voices inside of me. I only hear Hell's negativity ringing in my ears.

Don't tell me you understand. You understand nothing; you have never felt pain such as I have.

Have you ever heard voices?

Have you ever turned on your own blood?

Have you ever killed?

And desired to kill so much that you've even gone to the extremes of trying to take you're own life?

Tell me! Tell me you've never felt this way. Because YOU don't understand.

You don't KNOW me.

I hear a soft patter of footsteps coming towards my 'room.' I don't bother looking up to see who it is, I snuggles up into my moldy and torn covers. They haven't been washed since I've arrived in this HellHole.

"Little brother," I hear my sister Isis call me. I don't bother to lift my head up and answer.

"Get up, I know you're awake," she scolds me, I ignore her again and she yells at the top of her lungs.

"Damn it . . ." I reluctantly pull the cover off me, revealing my nude body. I was more comfortable without any clothing on.

Isis made a face. "Cover yourself up. I don't want to look at that."

I do as told and wait for more nagging. Instead she says in a comforting tone.

"Tonight is your execution so I though I'd read this to you before . . ." She lets the sentence trail off, but I don't need to hear the whole to know I'm going to die.

My sister sits outside my room with the speaker on and starts to read from 'The Book of the Dead.' It's a sacred book that has lasted many years, even longer than the Bible.

"Don't read that crap to me, bitch," I hiss at her.

She ignores my demand and keeps reciting ancient blessings from the damn text.

After an hour of hearing that stuff I grow anxious. I want her to stop. No matter how much or how long I beg though she, WILL not listen. She's intent on delivering me.

"Come closer," I say. "I want to touch your hand one last time."

She glares at me; she must remember when I bit her last time.

"Your sister hates you," the voices say. They repeat this ten times in my head, all in unison.

"She is only here so she can watch you die," a soft voice says, when I hear the words they cut my heart.

Soon their words crowd my head, I can no longer hear my sister reading aloud. All I hear are the voices pounding in my head. They are so loud that I'm beginning to have a major headache.

Now I can't even distinguish what they're saying. I know it's not good though.

Louder.

Harsher

And harsher.

I put my hand against my forehead. I'm begging to feel lightheaded. I could collapse any second . . .

I wake up when I feel someone moving my body around. Before opening my eyes I listen.

"So this is the guy who murdered that one kid."

"Yeah, this guy is smart but he's also crazy I hear. It says on the sheet he could kill."

"Heh, I'm scared. Come on and help me put him in the straitjacket."

I opened my eyes ad watched them. "So these are the farmers sending me to the slaughter . . ." I grin. I'm happy that my life will end soon.

I'm convinced that I'm useless, and I'm also convinced that I don't deserve to live.

I murdered. I have done one of the ultimate crimes. I've taken the life of a fellow human . . .and you know, I'm damn proud of myself.

He didn't deserve to die. My victim was actually an innocent sixteen year old, (Same age as me) and when I said he was innocent I meant it. The kid has never NEVER stared at a woman's ass. Nor would he ever curse.

No, I did not murder him for these reasons. In fact my actions were for my own twisted pleasure. It was my pleasure to kill.

One day I invited my 'friend' to my place. We chatted about video games, nothing much.

Then when I felt the time was right, I pushed him against the floor and stripped him. He did nothing. He knew there was nothing he could do. We were all alone and the curtains were dangling freely infront o the windows. My murder would NOT be interrupted.

"Stay put. Don't move," I ordered, I pulled a knife from under my bed and run my tongue along the blade. I gazed into his eyes and saw terror. His eyes were wide, the pupils almost dilated. And he dared not move, his fear had completely paralyzed him.

I griped the knife firmly in hand and crawled towards him. Then I lay on his chest and tilted his chin upward, revealing his jugular vein.

"Can you feel it yet?" I whispered. "Can you feel the blade rip your flesh yet?"

He was silent.

Slowly and steadily I sliced through his flesh. I heard him scream in pain. This makes me smirk.

I watched his blood flow like a waterfall. I had this desire to lap at it. So I leaned down and licked the 'juice' from his neck like a dog lapping water from it's bowl.

He was dead; I knew this because his chest has stopped movement.

Afterwards I fell asleep and woke to find the police looking down at me. How they found out about my murder, I shall never know. But because of this 'act' I ended up here.

The guard led me out of my room and down the hall. To me, this hallway went for miles. Neverending almost. However it does end. We stop at a fork in the hall. One door is the doctor's office and the other the Silence Room. I don't NEED to explain why it's named that.

One of the guards knocks on the door and someone opens it from the side. I'm pushed inside and they strap me to a slab. It is now that I notice my sister outside the glass. She's fighting her tears back.

"Malik Ishtar." The doctor takes out a syringe and fills it with a drug. "Do you hold any regrets?"

"I have no regrets."

The doctor raises a brow. "None at all? As I recall, you took a human life . . .how can you say you hold no regrets?"

"Because what price a human life . . ." I say flatly, "to me, a fellow mortal's life holds no importance. I do not feel guilty for any of my actions. Come now, doctor, aren't you supposed to let the young boy have his revenge?"

"You talk too much," he mutters and sticks the syringe in me.

As soon as it penetrates my skin and the drug flows through me I feel my body go limp. I'm completely paralyzed.

The passing of air through my lungs is becoming a harder task to follow the beat of my heart slowly fading. My mind grows lethargic and dull. I can barely hear my sister screaming and shouting at me for being a dumb ass.

To sum things up, I don't care about life. It's just there, and as I separate from this world to the next I can only say:

Life . . . what is it but a dream . . .?