Hello! This is my first ever Bakura fic, and let me tell you, I am excited. This one is going to be good I CAN FEEL IT! I wrote a plot sheet and everything, juust so the story doesn't die and I never finish it… like err.. a few in the past…Moving on! Please read this first new chapter woo and tell me what you think so far. I love reviews, but please keep the flames to a dull inferno. Now I'll turn this over to Bakura, who has been begging me to let him say something.
Bakura: Wha? What am I doing here, you finally let me out…?
Lyn: Bakura, you're on, don't screw this up! Er… say something about a disclaimer, I don't know.
Bakura: *Ahem* Alright, well, Yu-gi-oh obviously doesn't belong to Lyn, and I'm glad because if she was in charge I'd probably be naked every epis—
Lyn: OKAY BAKURA! THANK YOUU, that was beautiful, ok now read the story!
Bakura: Please, please read it or else she'll tie my hands and throw me in the closet for another week!
Lyn: Bakura, don't lie like that in front of our readers! It was two weeks!
Bakura: ^__^;;;
Lyn: ONWARDS!
Bakura rose to his feet, working out the prickly sensation that comes with sitting too long. He wound a steady path around each student's desk, careful not to tread on any feet. A fleeting glance assured him that the teacher would not notice, nor care, why he was walking out of the classroom. Bakura's heavy feet carried him to the school bathrooms, and he paused to inhale a deep breath before yanking open the door. Even the small task of opening a door took its toll on him, as he wearily stumbled into the restroom. Staggering over to the windowsill, he propped himself on two hands and leaned out over the ledge. He heard the faint victory cries from soccer practice in the distance, and watched the small blue uniforms run feverishly back and forth, defending their prized goal posts. A longing sigh escaped from between his thin lips, for he envied those athletes, full of life and bliss. A sharp pain seared from within his ribcage, and the all too familiar feeling of sadness overwhelmed him.
He shivered slightly, watching a tear splash on the window ledge. The pain crept from his chest into his head, forcing him to massage a temple. It wasn't a normal chest pain; it was more of a searing sensation, like a thousand needles were lining his insides. Heartburn, maybe? Bakura put a hand to his shirt before drawing it quickly away. Much to his surprise, the burning was not coming from inside of him. His Millennium Ring felt like someone had just left in a 350-degree oven. Now not only was his chest burning, but his eyes and his hands too. Bakura was too absorbed to notice the bathroom door creak open.
"Heyy Bakura, what're you doin' in here? Ms. Gillman sent me looking for you, you've been gone for like 15 minutes!" Tristan's voice shocked Bakura, and he hastily wiped his eyes and forehead before turning around.
"H-hi Tristan, sorry, I was just day-d-dreaming, I guess…"
"Whoa man, you don't look so good, how 'bout I take you down to the nurse?" A sharp cramp surged through Bakura's chest, and he automatically flung a hand up, clutching the golden item underneath his uniform.
"Unngh," he mumbled, eyes swelling with tears. "Tristan, no, I have to g-go, I have to l-leave right now."
"Alright bud, you—" but it was too late, as Bakura was already sprinting out the bathroom door. His newfound strength carried him out of school, past the soccer fields, past the entry gate, and into the deserted alleyway next to a rundown apartment complex. He fell forward onto the brick siding, eyes watering from the intense pain, and gasped for air. His lungs seemed to be closing in on him; the alley seemed to be getting darker and hotter. The brick walls grew closer together, their hard exterior twisting and flexing.
"Where… where am I? What's h-happening? Dark… so dark," gasped Bakura, his voice hardly audible. The walls were so close together now, the heat was unbearable, and tongues of flame were lashing at his bare ankles and wrists. "Pl..please someone.. hel—" but the last words of Bakura's sentenced were left unfinished as the hard pavement rushed up to meet him.
***
"Mwahahahah… HAHAHAH" The sinister laughter echoed through Bakura's head. With every step his fear grew, as he tried to concentrate on feeling his way through the clammy darkness. The air felt as thick as steam, moist and almost unbearably hot. But now the sun seemed to be rising, and it's first few rays pierced the shadowy night. His eyes scanned the scenery wildly, searching for any familiar object. Ah yes- a park bench, he knew exactly where he was… but not how he got there. He took one step forward, and tumbled to the ground, obviously tripping over some large unseen object. Rubbing a skinned knee, he turned around cautiously. Where he previously stood laid a long navy blue heap, resembling a pile of clothes. He crawled towards the object slowly, afraid of what he might find. He gave the heap a small poke, and to his horror it rolled onto its side. A body… it was a dead. Eyes glazed open… body rigor mortem… his eerie gaze fell right through Bakura.
"Oh my… oh my god, what happened?" He let out a small cry as he figured the answer for himself. Staring at the victim's blood-soaked collar, he searched for the strength to rise to his feet and run…. run as fast and far away as humanly possible. Bakura placed a hand out to prop himself up, and noticed he was clutching something. His trembling hand was holding the hilt of a golden blade firmly in its grasp. The only thing was, the blade wasn't golden anymore. It was covered with a shiny film of crimson. Horrified, Bakura dropped the blade with a clang, and started to run for all his life in the opposite direction.
"No.. NO, PLEASE… NO!" He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, far away from the body with it's penetrating glossy stare, far away from the scarlet blade, far away from everything.
"Mwahahah… HAHAHAHAHAH"
***
Bakura shot up in his bed, white hair clinging to his forehead, dripping with sweat. His pupils dilated wildly, scanning the darkness only to find that he was in his own bedroom. He mopped off his forehead with the arm of his pajamas, and then realized that he wasn't in his pajamas at all. He threw off the covers and saw that he was wearing his blue school uniform still, and fortunately, since his alarm clock read 7:15. Still slightly shaken, Bakura walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. Once the water reached a comfortable lukewarm temperature, he bent down and splashed it over his face. His skin was a sickly color, paler than usual and slightly translucent. The warm water felt pleasant, washing off the sweat and making him forget his recent nightmare. Bakura reached for the white towel hanging over the sink, and toweled his face off. He walked over to the hamper to throw the dirty towel in, and accidentally knocked his knee on the doorframe. A stinging sensation irritated his knee, and he bent down to roll up his pant leg and survey the damage. A strange look flashed over his face as he found himself staring not at a bruise, but a bright red patch on his knee...he had obviously skinned it recently.
"That's strange… I didn't run into the doorframe that hard." Bakura paused to think, and coming up with nothing, rolled down the pants leg and slung his backpack over his shoulder. It seemed extremely heavy, and it was just then that Bakura noticed how extremely worn out he felt. "I need to start getting to bed earlier," he mumbled to himself. Bakura turned, locked the door behind him, and started off in the direction of his high school.