LukeSkywalkersLady: ^sounding REAL Southern, even though she doesn't live
in the South, OR the US, for that matter, but has been there on many
occasions, and currently resides somewhere on a different continent that
North America^ Hey y'all! This is a little something that came to me in the
wee small hours of the morning y'he-uh? It's about Bah-Kur-Rah and his Yah-
Me, from his Yah-Mi's point uh vuh-ew. It's kind-uh uh-bout how Yah-Mi Bah-
Kur-Rah sees what he's-uh doin' wrong, yah he-uh? And Rhy-You, uh, dunno,
fuh-gives him, I think.
(Translation: Hey y'all! This is a little something that came to me in the wee small hours of the morning you hear? It's about Bakura and his Yami, from his Yami's point of view. It's kinda about how Yami Bakura sees what he's doing wrong, you hear? And Ryou, uh, dunno, fuh-gives him, I think.)
[DISCLAIMER] I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, and even if I did, my name ain't Kazuki Takahashi, is it? NO!!! Bah humbug . . . Anyway . . . ONWARDS!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I see him lying on the floor.
Pools of blood around him.
His own blood.
The blood that I took from him.
Crimson cells, reflecting the light that gives them their dark colour.
How . . . pretty, I suppose.
But then, I look up into his eyes.
His eyes that have seen a rage unlike anything before.
My own rage.
The rage that I inflicted upon him.
Anger beyond all imaginings, just like my father showed me when I was a child.
How . . . paradoxical, I suppose.
He is like I was once.
Weak and naive.
I am him.
And then I understand.
I understand why I do this, inflict this torture upon him.
How . . . sickening, I suppose.
I lower my knife.
He begins to cry.
Cry his tears of fear.
Fear that I gave him.
He is so terrified that I may substitute my knife for something more lethal.
How . . . heartbreaking, I suppose.
I kneel on the floor.
I kneel in the pools of blood around him.
His own blood - my own blood.
I fall to my knees, head in my hands.
He comes to me, and embraces me as if I were a brother even after all I've done.
How . . . sweet, I suppose.
We both start to cry.
He cries for thanks.
I cry for forgiveness.
Forgiveness is all I ask from him.
We sit there, on the bloodstained floor, embracing and weeping.
How . . . pretty, I suppose.
(Translation: Hey y'all! This is a little something that came to me in the wee small hours of the morning you hear? It's about Bakura and his Yami, from his Yami's point of view. It's kinda about how Yami Bakura sees what he's doing wrong, you hear? And Ryou, uh, dunno, fuh-gives him, I think.)
[DISCLAIMER] I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, and even if I did, my name ain't Kazuki Takahashi, is it? NO!!! Bah humbug . . . Anyway . . . ONWARDS!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I see him lying on the floor.
Pools of blood around him.
His own blood.
The blood that I took from him.
Crimson cells, reflecting the light that gives them their dark colour.
How . . . pretty, I suppose.
But then, I look up into his eyes.
His eyes that have seen a rage unlike anything before.
My own rage.
The rage that I inflicted upon him.
Anger beyond all imaginings, just like my father showed me when I was a child.
How . . . paradoxical, I suppose.
He is like I was once.
Weak and naive.
I am him.
And then I understand.
I understand why I do this, inflict this torture upon him.
How . . . sickening, I suppose.
I lower my knife.
He begins to cry.
Cry his tears of fear.
Fear that I gave him.
He is so terrified that I may substitute my knife for something more lethal.
How . . . heartbreaking, I suppose.
I kneel on the floor.
I kneel in the pools of blood around him.
His own blood - my own blood.
I fall to my knees, head in my hands.
He comes to me, and embraces me as if I were a brother even after all I've done.
How . . . sweet, I suppose.
We both start to cry.
He cries for thanks.
I cry for forgiveness.
Forgiveness is all I ask from him.
We sit there, on the bloodstained floor, embracing and weeping.
How . . . pretty, I suppose.