Disclaimer: Yadda yadda yadda dont own YGO
Ok really going to try and go off the rails here, feel like writing an influential piece, going to be using Bakura and Malik as a vague template.
Trying my best.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was easy for Bakura to deny it all, to face each and every day as if nothing had happened. To the naked eye, and maybe even the trained, it would seem that Bakura was just his usual miserable self. Even those close to him would fail to blink if he held a frown, or shut himself away. He was strong in the way that he managed to keep the torment from the world, after all, wasn't it much harder to keep the pain inside and deal with it yourself than let those surrounding you shower you with consolation? Many a time however, he would sit alone at home, letting himself become swallowed in the dark. His eyes burned with sorrow, he could feel the acidic tears, the kind that lingers in our eyes, turning everything to grey before falling away into nothingness. It wasn't even anything substantial that left him in a state of despair at the end of the day anymore.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was the bitterness of being alone all the time that left him numb. It was just so, this cold December eve, that the sorrow dragged him back down, the time dragged on, somewhere in the background the murmuring of a television seemed to drum through the walls, and then the music would come back into his head. He couldn't make out where he'd heard it before, it just rolled around inside his dumbfounded head. His eyelids were heavy with tears, woe, sleep deprivation. Whenever he got the call, the message, the mail, it wound him back up, adrenaline pumped through his veins, black as coal, electrical sparks dancing before his eyes and the song played and replayed in his head. Not knowing what was worse, silence, or the constant reminder of something forgotten, felt increasingly isolating. Who was there to ask to understand when you couldn't talk? Couldn't ask? Couldn't feel because you had grown so cold, so numb, so fake. That was the only way to drown out the music, and to end the silence, to remind himself of who he was, who he had tried to be, how comparatively weak he was from the façade he so casually threw around for the public to see. The one's he'd looked to with such compassion before seemed invisible, he couldn't acknowledge them any longer. Even beloved, sweet, Malik, who he once vowed to be anything for, the one he used to lie with, breathe in like a sweet nectar, an ether, was no longer his. He was a ghost to his memory, an empty void he silently begged to once more be fulfilled. Thinking of that name, how gently it rolled off his tongue, brought the tears welling back. It was uncontrollable, a tedious, gradual descent into isolation. He couldn't care now. He choked back the pain and rubbed his sore eyes, reddened and swollen.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nausea had started to intensify, he lay back and lead his head drape over the side of his bed, his operating table. There was no- one left to protect him from the only thing left for him to pine for so dearly. He longed for the day when he could build the strength to end his suffering. Nothing could ever happen for him, or to him now that he had shut himself away. All that was left to do was drift with the tide of life, waiting for the tide to draw itself out and leave him with his bracken debris, to dribble out his meager existence as the people he loved and dreamed of let him die. All he needed was for someone to reach out, to see him here, to pick him up and take him away from the sickening depths of his life in which he'd fallen. As he lay there for the last night, he couldn't even remember a name to wish goodbye.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Review, complain of the ramblings, blah, blah..blah.
Ok really going to try and go off the rails here, feel like writing an influential piece, going to be using Bakura and Malik as a vague template.
Trying my best.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was easy for Bakura to deny it all, to face each and every day as if nothing had happened. To the naked eye, and maybe even the trained, it would seem that Bakura was just his usual miserable self. Even those close to him would fail to blink if he held a frown, or shut himself away. He was strong in the way that he managed to keep the torment from the world, after all, wasn't it much harder to keep the pain inside and deal with it yourself than let those surrounding you shower you with consolation? Many a time however, he would sit alone at home, letting himself become swallowed in the dark. His eyes burned with sorrow, he could feel the acidic tears, the kind that lingers in our eyes, turning everything to grey before falling away into nothingness. It wasn't even anything substantial that left him in a state of despair at the end of the day anymore.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was the bitterness of being alone all the time that left him numb. It was just so, this cold December eve, that the sorrow dragged him back down, the time dragged on, somewhere in the background the murmuring of a television seemed to drum through the walls, and then the music would come back into his head. He couldn't make out where he'd heard it before, it just rolled around inside his dumbfounded head. His eyelids were heavy with tears, woe, sleep deprivation. Whenever he got the call, the message, the mail, it wound him back up, adrenaline pumped through his veins, black as coal, electrical sparks dancing before his eyes and the song played and replayed in his head. Not knowing what was worse, silence, or the constant reminder of something forgotten, felt increasingly isolating. Who was there to ask to understand when you couldn't talk? Couldn't ask? Couldn't feel because you had grown so cold, so numb, so fake. That was the only way to drown out the music, and to end the silence, to remind himself of who he was, who he had tried to be, how comparatively weak he was from the façade he so casually threw around for the public to see. The one's he'd looked to with such compassion before seemed invisible, he couldn't acknowledge them any longer. Even beloved, sweet, Malik, who he once vowed to be anything for, the one he used to lie with, breathe in like a sweet nectar, an ether, was no longer his. He was a ghost to his memory, an empty void he silently begged to once more be fulfilled. Thinking of that name, how gently it rolled off his tongue, brought the tears welling back. It was uncontrollable, a tedious, gradual descent into isolation. He couldn't care now. He choked back the pain and rubbed his sore eyes, reddened and swollen.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nausea had started to intensify, he lay back and lead his head drape over the side of his bed, his operating table. There was no- one left to protect him from the only thing left for him to pine for so dearly. He longed for the day when he could build the strength to end his suffering. Nothing could ever happen for him, or to him now that he had shut himself away. All that was left to do was drift with the tide of life, waiting for the tide to draw itself out and leave him with his bracken debris, to dribble out his meager existence as the people he loved and dreamed of let him die. All he needed was for someone to reach out, to see him here, to pick him up and take him away from the sickening depths of his life in which he'd fallen. As he lay there for the last night, he couldn't even remember a name to wish goodbye.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Review, complain of the ramblings, blah, blah..blah.