Soul's Face
It's Phantom Friday! ^^ Meep-sah, what fun! We sang stuff from Phantom of the Opera today in Chorus. It even inspired a nice pic idea. . . . But it's something non-Ryou related for once! (gasps of shock) So . . . . if anybody cares to see the pic when it's done or hear more about Phantom Friday, send me an email or review or something ^^
Nice long chapter for you guys today! Aren't you glad? ^^
Disclaimer: I can't say I own Yu-Gi-Oh, because I will get sued. I can't say I don't own it, because I might be using reverse psychology. Let's just sit here in silence for a moment then. and all open up the review boxes so we can type stuff as we read ^^
Warnings: Use of a stupid annoying song. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE IF IT GETS STUCK IN YOUR HEAD!
Some use of chibi-speak later on, which means all r's have been changed to w's
Japanese:
Tenshi- angel
Oyasumi- good night
Quote for the chapter: "Never say good bye, instead say good night, for I will see you once again." (not sure who said it or if I changed it, but the original idea was not mine)
((+)~
But the truth is, you can't save someone from themselves
~~~~~~~~~~~
"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the day . . ."
Sunrise crept stealthily across the horizon, spreading its rays greedily to convert all else to its beauty. Glass barriers did not stay it, could not prevent it from dancing across the pale face in a pink flush, and tainting the white hair with a blood red. The blood red of sunrise, the sacrifice of a new beginning.
It melted the last of the dew sliding off the windows like rain, preparing to warm the land for the new day.
The bus moved ever onwards, blatantly oblivious to the world's dramas. This early in the morning found it occupied by only one person, a silvery-haired boy who was falling asleep in his seat, his gentle breaths frosting the window against the cool morning air rushing past outside. The constant vibrating lulled him to drift off, with his forehead pressed against the soothing coldness of the glass.
The wheels rolled onwards, continuing in their cycle as if nothing else mattered, until some outside force of commotion came to shake them drastically out of order. In their own way, they were as careless as the sleeping passenger, as careless as the driver who swore never to get involved in the lives of his rides ever again.
The child could have been homeless, a run away, a drug addict, a juvenile delinquent, or had some other problems, but the driver resolved to treat him like any other everyday normal person, if there really was such a thing. Yet, he couldn't help feeling a little pity - the boy looked so pathetic and harmless.
Appearances weren't everything.
He steeled his nerves, sternly telling himself it was none of his business.
The sunrise continued its domination, its interaction with the boy fulfilled and ceased.
And the wheels of the bus went round and round, round and round, round and round . . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~
Large doe-brown eyes blinked open, heavy from sleep. There was another world around him, with a few people occupying it, but it was irrelevant to the boy, so long as they were minding their own business.
He turned his attention out past the window, watching a more rural landscape present itself to him as it flickered past. He zoned out for a moment, still watching listlessly, everything forgotten as soon as it reached his eyes.
He would have to do this, every year. He would go this path, just because of the ending.
He smiled slightly to himself. This was _his_ journey, his trip to his mecca, his . . . pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage - yes, he was a pilgrim on a journey.
He'd learned about pilgrims once. They had broken away from the injustices to find freedom. Really, they'd been shunted from their homeland, but it felt better to pretend it was your own defiant decision.
But that didn't matter, for he could return to his home, if only for a brief period at least, even if he didn't belong there anymore. But a brief moment was long enough.
Only two important things were left in his homeland, and he could be reassured that they at least would never abandon him.
For they were already gone.
It's been said that you have to lose something in order to know its true value. He'd lost a lot, but only those two things seemed to have any real value to him.
It had been an awfully high cost to learn that.
He refocused his eyes, staring not out the window, but at it, at his reflection.
A face, pale and drawn, was presented to him, hiding and shadowed under a mane of white hair. A flush crept across the pale cheeks, adding the only color other than the pale pink lips and the brown eyes.
Said orbs were empty looking, showing a depth but hiding what was inside them, and graced by a slight haunted look, but that perhaps only came from his new-found fanatic obsession.
Closing his eyes, he began to wait again, with the patience of one who has no other options.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He jerked awake again, realizing the bus had stopped. He had arrived. He gave a silent nod of thanks to the driver as he left, grateful for the ride and the lack of disturbance. He had needed to be left alone.
He walked along the sidewalks, head hanging and staring at the ground. His feet automatically walked a memorized path, though now it felt foreign to him. Even, unwanted. Sure, the society around him tolerated him, but they didn't accept him anymore either, if they ever did before.
'A prophet will always be rejected in his hometown.' He wasn't a prophet, but . . . .
He shook his head to clear it, having reached his destination.
His feet made no sound on the grass, the vibrant blades springing back up in his wake. He counted the steps in his mind, the harsh but sacred cadence taking complete control of his conscious. He had never seen any part of the journey, save the entrance and heart of the graveyard.
Bakura Ryou knelt down before the twin graves resting under the shade of a weeping willow. Pale and slender fingers traced the lines of the names engraved on the headstones, gently wiping the dirt from the crevices. Bakura Angeline [1], Bakura Amane.
The sun, now high, shone brightly over the little glade, the sky a perfect blue, just the way they would have wanted it to be, rejoicing, not mourning. A gentle breeze tugged at his white hair and swept the willow branches over the stones.
Yes, just the way they would have wanted it to be.
He reached into the school bag he'd brought with him, pulling out a few objects.
He took first a profuse mess of roses, wild looking ones, leaves and all, and set them on Angeline's grave.
"From your garden, okaa-san," he explained. "I saved a clipping when we moved, and planted it there, though I can't make them grow as well as you did." He quickly gave one of the flowers a delicate kiss, inhaling for a brief moment the scent of the perfume his mother liked to wear.
He then drew forth an envelope with reverence, stuffed thick with letters, and ran a finger gently over the plain name. To his dismay, it left a red smear over the kanji - he must have pricked his finger on a thorn. It felt like a bad omen, but the name still shown through, making him feel slightly more relieved.
"I came back, 'Mane-chan, like I promised I would. A lot has happened this past year. Father sends his love." He laid a small rose blossom at the bottom of her gravestone, at the feet of the stone tenshi adorning it.
"Oyasumi, sister . . . . sleep well . . . ."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Ryou sat with his head resting on his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, unmoving on the curb of a sidewalk somewhere between the cemetery and the bus stop, where his feverish body had decided to collapse. He shivered violently for a few moments, but it didn't cause him to regret coming - nothing would have stopped him.
All he could do now was to wait for it to pass. He didn't have any other choice - all he had brought was the flowers, a letter, and enough bus fare for a round trip, and no one knew he was out here. Besides, his father was halfway around the world and his friends would still be at school.
Someone pertly tapped him on the shoulder.
"Why awe you cwying?"
Ryou made the effort to raise his head, and stared weakly into the face of a little girl. Her blue eyes sparkled, blond hair braided in pigtails, but despite her childish appearance, she was quick enough to notice something was wrong.
"You should come home with me, it's not faw. My mommy always knows how to make me feel bettew, maybe you should bowwow hew fow now."
He stared at her in confusion for a few more moments before struggling to push himself to his feet. The five-year-old grabbed his hand, unknowingly lending him strength to continue down the block to her home.
The child pushed open the front door, excitedly yelling. "Mommy, I made a new fwiend! You should see him, he doesn't look vewy good wight now." Ryou leaned against the doorframe, letting his head droop again, unsure of his welcome.
There was a sound of hurried footsteps, and a young woman appeared, wiping her hands on a flowery apron.
"I'm so sorry, my daughter is perhaps a little too friendly, you see, and I hope you aren't offended. She didn't bother you terribly, did she?" She paused, seeing that she had gotten no response.
"Sir . . . .?" she tried again cautiously.
She lifted his chin in a gentle hand, and stared into his eyes, deep brown and glittering feverishly.
"Oh, you poor dear!" she exclaimed, hurrying to help him inside, maternal instincts taking over when she saw he was naught but a child, and an ill one at that.
She sat him carefully on the sofa, resting a cool hand over his forehead. Too tired to protest, he let her fret over him, for her peace of mind. Upon coming to the conclusion that it was just a fever and nothing more, the woman became a scolding mother.
"Tut tut, what were you thinking, wandering around sick like that! You're lucky someone found you and took pity on you." She checked his pulse, efficient and admonishing at the same time.
The little girl came back with a damp, cool washcloth. "You'd bettew listen to Mommy so you get bettew, owr I won't be youw fwiend anymore, Mistew."
Ryou managed to chuckle weakly at the comment. "Yes, ma'am."
~~~~~~~~~~~
The door opened quietly, the woman's head appearing in the crevice of light. Seeing the occupant was asleep, she gracefully slipped through the opening with the practiced ease of a mother. Smiling gently, she sat down at the end of the bed, gazing at the figure in it.
The boy's breath came slow and peacefully in sleep, the moonlight from the window coloring his face and hair shades of silver.
She ran a gentle hand through the soft, pale locks. He seemed so much younger now.
After he'd been sick the day before, he'd spent all of this day helping her with chores and errands, insisting that he should pay her back for her hospitality. He was also wonderful with her daughter. Any mother would be truly blessed to have him as a son.
Her face formed a small frown, and her fingers moved now to stroke his cheek.
Apparently, this one didn't have a mother. Her heart felt for the woman, and for him. Though he hadn't said anything, she could tell he was all alone. She didn't know his name, nor where he came from, but for a while at least, she had alleviated his pain, physical and spiritual.
She got up, closing the door gently behind her.
The boy's lips moved silently in sleep.
"Oyasumi, 'Mane-chan. . . ."
~~~~~~~~~~~
[1] I don't think anyone knows her real name, but I like this one best, and I needed to use one. I got it from Wingleader Sora Jade, so give credit where credit is due, and that means not to me.
((+)~
Wow, that was long, for me at least. Well, review, onegai! ^^ The arrival of new chapters depends upon it! I'm withholding updates until I feel I've gotten enough reviews! Mwahahaha, the Chapter Nazi strikes!!!
Oh yeah, for anyone who cares, all the Phantom Friday stuff was because my teacher was telling us about it, and it reminded me of Yu-gi-oh stuff. Christine is all possessed by the Phantom, and yeah. . . . . (sees no one is listening) oh well, Sadiera will want to hear the Phantom rant ^^ just a warning, Sadiera-chan!
-Windswift Shinju ((+)~
It's Phantom Friday! ^^ Meep-sah, what fun! We sang stuff from Phantom of the Opera today in Chorus. It even inspired a nice pic idea. . . . But it's something non-Ryou related for once! (gasps of shock) So . . . . if anybody cares to see the pic when it's done or hear more about Phantom Friday, send me an email or review or something ^^
Nice long chapter for you guys today! Aren't you glad? ^^
Disclaimer: I can't say I own Yu-Gi-Oh, because I will get sued. I can't say I don't own it, because I might be using reverse psychology. Let's just sit here in silence for a moment then. and all open up the review boxes so we can type stuff as we read ^^
Warnings: Use of a stupid annoying song. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE IF IT GETS STUCK IN YOUR HEAD!
Some use of chibi-speak later on, which means all r's have been changed to w's
Japanese:
Tenshi- angel
Oyasumi- good night
Quote for the chapter: "Never say good bye, instead say good night, for I will see you once again." (not sure who said it or if I changed it, but the original idea was not mine)
((+)~
But the truth is, you can't save someone from themselves
~~~~~~~~~~~
"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the day . . ."
Sunrise crept stealthily across the horizon, spreading its rays greedily to convert all else to its beauty. Glass barriers did not stay it, could not prevent it from dancing across the pale face in a pink flush, and tainting the white hair with a blood red. The blood red of sunrise, the sacrifice of a new beginning.
It melted the last of the dew sliding off the windows like rain, preparing to warm the land for the new day.
The bus moved ever onwards, blatantly oblivious to the world's dramas. This early in the morning found it occupied by only one person, a silvery-haired boy who was falling asleep in his seat, his gentle breaths frosting the window against the cool morning air rushing past outside. The constant vibrating lulled him to drift off, with his forehead pressed against the soothing coldness of the glass.
The wheels rolled onwards, continuing in their cycle as if nothing else mattered, until some outside force of commotion came to shake them drastically out of order. In their own way, they were as careless as the sleeping passenger, as careless as the driver who swore never to get involved in the lives of his rides ever again.
The child could have been homeless, a run away, a drug addict, a juvenile delinquent, or had some other problems, but the driver resolved to treat him like any other everyday normal person, if there really was such a thing. Yet, he couldn't help feeling a little pity - the boy looked so pathetic and harmless.
Appearances weren't everything.
He steeled his nerves, sternly telling himself it was none of his business.
The sunrise continued its domination, its interaction with the boy fulfilled and ceased.
And the wheels of the bus went round and round, round and round, round and round . . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~
Large doe-brown eyes blinked open, heavy from sleep. There was another world around him, with a few people occupying it, but it was irrelevant to the boy, so long as they were minding their own business.
He turned his attention out past the window, watching a more rural landscape present itself to him as it flickered past. He zoned out for a moment, still watching listlessly, everything forgotten as soon as it reached his eyes.
He would have to do this, every year. He would go this path, just because of the ending.
He smiled slightly to himself. This was _his_ journey, his trip to his mecca, his . . . pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage - yes, he was a pilgrim on a journey.
He'd learned about pilgrims once. They had broken away from the injustices to find freedom. Really, they'd been shunted from their homeland, but it felt better to pretend it was your own defiant decision.
But that didn't matter, for he could return to his home, if only for a brief period at least, even if he didn't belong there anymore. But a brief moment was long enough.
Only two important things were left in his homeland, and he could be reassured that they at least would never abandon him.
For they were already gone.
It's been said that you have to lose something in order to know its true value. He'd lost a lot, but only those two things seemed to have any real value to him.
It had been an awfully high cost to learn that.
He refocused his eyes, staring not out the window, but at it, at his reflection.
A face, pale and drawn, was presented to him, hiding and shadowed under a mane of white hair. A flush crept across the pale cheeks, adding the only color other than the pale pink lips and the brown eyes.
Said orbs were empty looking, showing a depth but hiding what was inside them, and graced by a slight haunted look, but that perhaps only came from his new-found fanatic obsession.
Closing his eyes, he began to wait again, with the patience of one who has no other options.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He jerked awake again, realizing the bus had stopped. He had arrived. He gave a silent nod of thanks to the driver as he left, grateful for the ride and the lack of disturbance. He had needed to be left alone.
He walked along the sidewalks, head hanging and staring at the ground. His feet automatically walked a memorized path, though now it felt foreign to him. Even, unwanted. Sure, the society around him tolerated him, but they didn't accept him anymore either, if they ever did before.
'A prophet will always be rejected in his hometown.' He wasn't a prophet, but . . . .
He shook his head to clear it, having reached his destination.
His feet made no sound on the grass, the vibrant blades springing back up in his wake. He counted the steps in his mind, the harsh but sacred cadence taking complete control of his conscious. He had never seen any part of the journey, save the entrance and heart of the graveyard.
Bakura Ryou knelt down before the twin graves resting under the shade of a weeping willow. Pale and slender fingers traced the lines of the names engraved on the headstones, gently wiping the dirt from the crevices. Bakura Angeline [1], Bakura Amane.
The sun, now high, shone brightly over the little glade, the sky a perfect blue, just the way they would have wanted it to be, rejoicing, not mourning. A gentle breeze tugged at his white hair and swept the willow branches over the stones.
Yes, just the way they would have wanted it to be.
He reached into the school bag he'd brought with him, pulling out a few objects.
He took first a profuse mess of roses, wild looking ones, leaves and all, and set them on Angeline's grave.
"From your garden, okaa-san," he explained. "I saved a clipping when we moved, and planted it there, though I can't make them grow as well as you did." He quickly gave one of the flowers a delicate kiss, inhaling for a brief moment the scent of the perfume his mother liked to wear.
He then drew forth an envelope with reverence, stuffed thick with letters, and ran a finger gently over the plain name. To his dismay, it left a red smear over the kanji - he must have pricked his finger on a thorn. It felt like a bad omen, but the name still shown through, making him feel slightly more relieved.
"I came back, 'Mane-chan, like I promised I would. A lot has happened this past year. Father sends his love." He laid a small rose blossom at the bottom of her gravestone, at the feet of the stone tenshi adorning it.
"Oyasumi, sister . . . . sleep well . . . ."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Ryou sat with his head resting on his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, unmoving on the curb of a sidewalk somewhere between the cemetery and the bus stop, where his feverish body had decided to collapse. He shivered violently for a few moments, but it didn't cause him to regret coming - nothing would have stopped him.
All he could do now was to wait for it to pass. He didn't have any other choice - all he had brought was the flowers, a letter, and enough bus fare for a round trip, and no one knew he was out here. Besides, his father was halfway around the world and his friends would still be at school.
Someone pertly tapped him on the shoulder.
"Why awe you cwying?"
Ryou made the effort to raise his head, and stared weakly into the face of a little girl. Her blue eyes sparkled, blond hair braided in pigtails, but despite her childish appearance, she was quick enough to notice something was wrong.
"You should come home with me, it's not faw. My mommy always knows how to make me feel bettew, maybe you should bowwow hew fow now."
He stared at her in confusion for a few more moments before struggling to push himself to his feet. The five-year-old grabbed his hand, unknowingly lending him strength to continue down the block to her home.
The child pushed open the front door, excitedly yelling. "Mommy, I made a new fwiend! You should see him, he doesn't look vewy good wight now." Ryou leaned against the doorframe, letting his head droop again, unsure of his welcome.
There was a sound of hurried footsteps, and a young woman appeared, wiping her hands on a flowery apron.
"I'm so sorry, my daughter is perhaps a little too friendly, you see, and I hope you aren't offended. She didn't bother you terribly, did she?" She paused, seeing that she had gotten no response.
"Sir . . . .?" she tried again cautiously.
She lifted his chin in a gentle hand, and stared into his eyes, deep brown and glittering feverishly.
"Oh, you poor dear!" she exclaimed, hurrying to help him inside, maternal instincts taking over when she saw he was naught but a child, and an ill one at that.
She sat him carefully on the sofa, resting a cool hand over his forehead. Too tired to protest, he let her fret over him, for her peace of mind. Upon coming to the conclusion that it was just a fever and nothing more, the woman became a scolding mother.
"Tut tut, what were you thinking, wandering around sick like that! You're lucky someone found you and took pity on you." She checked his pulse, efficient and admonishing at the same time.
The little girl came back with a damp, cool washcloth. "You'd bettew listen to Mommy so you get bettew, owr I won't be youw fwiend anymore, Mistew."
Ryou managed to chuckle weakly at the comment. "Yes, ma'am."
~~~~~~~~~~~
The door opened quietly, the woman's head appearing in the crevice of light. Seeing the occupant was asleep, she gracefully slipped through the opening with the practiced ease of a mother. Smiling gently, she sat down at the end of the bed, gazing at the figure in it.
The boy's breath came slow and peacefully in sleep, the moonlight from the window coloring his face and hair shades of silver.
She ran a gentle hand through the soft, pale locks. He seemed so much younger now.
After he'd been sick the day before, he'd spent all of this day helping her with chores and errands, insisting that he should pay her back for her hospitality. He was also wonderful with her daughter. Any mother would be truly blessed to have him as a son.
Her face formed a small frown, and her fingers moved now to stroke his cheek.
Apparently, this one didn't have a mother. Her heart felt for the woman, and for him. Though he hadn't said anything, she could tell he was all alone. She didn't know his name, nor where he came from, but for a while at least, she had alleviated his pain, physical and spiritual.
She got up, closing the door gently behind her.
The boy's lips moved silently in sleep.
"Oyasumi, 'Mane-chan. . . ."
~~~~~~~~~~~
[1] I don't think anyone knows her real name, but I like this one best, and I needed to use one. I got it from Wingleader Sora Jade, so give credit where credit is due, and that means not to me.
((+)~
Wow, that was long, for me at least. Well, review, onegai! ^^ The arrival of new chapters depends upon it! I'm withholding updates until I feel I've gotten enough reviews! Mwahahaha, the Chapter Nazi strikes!!!
Oh yeah, for anyone who cares, all the Phantom Friday stuff was because my teacher was telling us about it, and it reminded me of Yu-gi-oh stuff. Christine is all possessed by the Phantom, and yeah. . . . . (sees no one is listening) oh well, Sadiera will want to hear the Phantom rant ^^ just a warning, Sadiera-chan!
-Windswift Shinju ((+)~