And I give you my Christmas fic. Keep in mind, I hate Christmas.
There is slight yaoi.
About hating Christmas. I don't mind the give getting (or giving) at all. It's the family. Yes, I have some serious family issues *Shrugs* at least my uncle is coming down. That should make things better.
I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. The facts to back this up are [1] I'm not Japanese. [2] I'm not a male. [3] I name is not Kazuki Takahashi. [4] I can't write a single character IC =.=
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Thank you HarpyLady456 for beta reading this fic.
I can still see it clearly in my mind. Not only see it, actually. I can see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, feel it.
I don't know why I didn't see it coming earlier.
After all, I'm cursed. Everyone who touches that part of my heart, who can chisel through the ice and darkness, who can see me for who I truly am, and nurture the warmth until it encompasses my exterior, and allows me to care, however minuscule it may have been, for other people, always leaves me. They get to be wrapped in the gentle arms of Death, they get to be crooned to sleep by her gentle, caring voice, while I'm trapped in the realm of the living, of the pain and the sorrow.
I should hate you for leaving me to bare this pain, shouldn't I? I should hate you like I should hate the others.
But I can't. I can only love whose who had left me alone.
My mother. I never even knew her. My father had blamed me for her departure. He did. He said it was my fault. That if I were never born, she'd still be here. Because it was my fault. By giving me my life, she had breathed her final breath of air into me. I'm not sure if I should thank her, or curse her. If she hadn't, I wouldn't have to bare the pain of her departure.
My father. He's indescribable. Sometimes he cursed my very existence, other times he was the greatest father someone could have. I wasn't too thrilled that my life's path was chosen for me, but he couldn't help that I would never have a normal childhood. He had tried his best to ease me into my lives path. It came as a shock when he died. Ten is far too young an age to have the weight of a nation on my shoulders.
I had grown to love a servant. Not so much a servant. A friend. He was always there for me, to hear me out. He was my shoulder to cry on. And he never told a soul. After all, someone with my responsibility didn't have time to cry. So loyal. He died when I was sixteen.
And here I am. Standing here. Watching your casket being lowered to the soft, comforting abyss of Death. No more pain. You're being swallowed back into the earth. Thee gentle, caressing arms embracing you. Welcoming you back to the home you had left only seventeen years ago. I can't stand to see you go. I have no one left. No one. Yet, I'm not crying. I've forgotten how.
I don't know why I allowed you to go. Was my job not to protect you? Protect you with my life. When I saw that car come speeding around the corner, should I not have ran and pushed you away. Should I not have taken your place? Was that not my oath? My promise?
Instead of doing as I should've, I stood there, dumbfounded. I didn't move when I saw you standing in the middle of the road, watching the car with wide, frightened eyes.
I didn't move as I watched the car smash into you, with shattering impact. I saw glass fly everywhere, a chunk of it ripping into my cheek. I could almost see your bones shatter, collapse. I saw your blood splatter in ever which direction. Saw the car swerve, and you fly what seemed hundreds of feet in the air, time going slowly. And then you hit the ground, bouncing, then laying in what seemed an impossible position.
The smell of burning rubber, mixed with the warm, coppery scent of blood filled the air nearly immediately.
Oh Ra, the sounds. I can never escape the sounds. Not in sleep, not in my waking hours. But, it seems so much worse in sleep. That's why I stopped sleeping once you died. I haven't slept for a week. I can't sleep without you. I can't sleep with the noise! The sounds of screaming tires, twisting metal, shattering glass, bones collapsing into themselves. And worst of all was your scream. Your gut-wrenching scream that should've never escaped you lips. If only I had done my job.
I was at your side nearly before your body had stopped bouncing. Nearly before the crunching of your bones had ceased. Your face was completely coated in blood. The outfit I had chose for you was torn and ragged. But your eyes were still bright white, with the clear lavender staring sightlessly into the never-ending sky. I could taste the salty tears, though they never fell. I could taste the bile rising into my mouth.
Warm blood flowed from the jagged rip on the side of my face. But, strangely, the tear didn't hurt. It was almost numb. Instead, I could feel the sharp rocks and glass digging into my hands and knees as I fell to them at your side. I could feel my heart shattering as I looked into your wide, blind eyes. I felt the smooth, now bloody leather as I searched for the air that had to still reside in your body somewhere. As I searched for the familiar rhythm of your heart. It didn't even have to be steady, just there. I could feel none. And, I attempted to start it. I felt your blood all over me. I knew I had lost you, but I never stopped trying to force the air into your lungs, and pump the heartbeat into starting for you. I could never stop.
It should've been raining. That would've fit everything much better than this. The bright sunshine in the cloudless sky, the chickadee's still singing merrily. I wished everything that wasn't feeling my pain would start, or face the consequences.
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My pain is constant and sharp. And I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape.
~Children of Bodom
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So, here I am. Kneeling on your fresh grave, a thin layer of snow already coating it.
"Ano," I hear the girl say, walking up to my side. Her usually neat, brown hair is messed and greasy. Her sapphire eyes are rimmed in red, new tears already forming in them.
"Um?"
"You should go home. It's going to be freezing tonight. Not that it isn't already," a nervous, shaky chuckle. Both of us can hear the phoniness in them. Why does she bother?
"I'll be fine. I'll leave soon."
She nods, accepting it, then leaves. I draw my pocketknife. It's the thief's. He gave it to me. He seemed awfully sympathetic for "my loss" as so many have put it.
I hold the blade in my fist, then pull it away quickly, leaving a clean cut in my hand.
I hold my hand out in front of me, clenching it in a tight fist.
I watch in morbid fascination as it pools to the bottom of my hand. It seeps through my fingers, warming my numb, glove-less hand.
Drip. Drip.
As it gathers at the bottom of my hand, it drips down to the sparkling, white snow, directly above your body.
The snow melts under the warm liquid. Melts, or is painted a beautiful red. Almost pink.
My fascination increases as the red spots spider outwards, growing, consuming the innocent white.
Can you taste my blood, koi? Can you taste the delicious copper? Can you feel the warmth? I can. It's wonderful. Can you see the beautiful crimson spider its way outwards?
Can you hear it? I can. It's as loud as thunder up here.
Drip. Drip. Splatter. Drop
What's it like down there?
Can you smell it love? Can you? It blots out the fresh, scent-less smell of the snow. Of the winter.
She was right. It is cold out. So cold. I can't stop from shivering. But I promised I'd never leave you alone. I don't plan to.
I've stopped bleeding. MY blood's frozen on my hand now.
Shiny sheets of crimson ice on the ground. More snow has fallen. My thin, leather jacket stopped keeping out the cold. But it doesn't matter any more. I can't feel the cold anymore.
Look at my breath, koi. Isn't the cold great? I can witness myself breath! Amazing.
I'm cold. So cold. No, not cold. Numb. I've even stopped hurting inside. But I'm tired. I'll sleep here. Over you. Protecting you.
Everything's black now. Well, nearly everything. I see you. You're just a little blurry. Edges blended together.
Good night love. Sweet dreams.
You disappear.
Merry Christmas.
Boy Found Dead.
In the grave, a young boy was lying over the grave of a seventeen year old boy who had died the previous weekend.
He was nineteen years old. Officials are reluctant to give out any information concerning the....
... have not ruled out suicide....
....identity still to be released....
She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. She looked at the next article over.
Merry Christmas!
Old lady Parkenson is currently baking cookies for the orphanage. She hopes to break a record....
...Great Christmas...
...Seasons Greetings!
~~OWARI~~
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Yes, I meant to leave out all names. Everyone mentioned in this fic is canon ('sides the driver). So =P ^_^.
I hope you liked.
I also hope it didn't ruin your Christmas too much.
I finally hope that you review!!
(Yes, it's a one-shot and shall not be continued)