Denial is a precious thing, and ignorance is bliss. To walk through life,
oblivious to pain and poverty, is a blessing that I used to never count.
To be able to attend school with nothing to worry about but the upcoming
test, to be able to wear short-sleeved shirts on sweaty summer days, with
no scars or bruises drawing on people's curiosity and suspicion, that is
fortune. I once had all this, once, when my life was easy, and I was just
another face in the crowd. Once, when I didn't dwell in depression and
sorrow, or cry softly into the pillow at night. Once, when I still had my
childhood.
Yugi never had to go through what I go through. He was lucky, he was blessed, and yet instead of counting the stars that smile down upon him, he yearns for more blessings, for more stars to twinkle at night. He wants to save the world. He wants to be the savior for every human being that's alive. He doesn't want to work on his own life first, only theirs. He doesn't even want to help his friends unless they help him first. He doesn't want to help me gain a few of my own stars; he only wants them all for him. He wants to be a hero. I want to be an average Joe. That's all I want, and yet it seems that what Yugi was born with has escaped me, just like ignorance and oblivion. It's not fair, it's really not fair at all, but no body cares about what's fair. They only care about Yugi, the one that has it easy.
Sometimes I feel bad about being so desolate, as if I don't have a right to be. There could be so many people out there who have it far worse than me, who are not only trapped within their bodies, but within their minds. I pity those people and pray for them with all my might, even as my body is manipulated and used, and my life is falling apart at my feet, I pray for others to have happiness in life, as I will never have. I pray it as he hits me, pray it as he blackmails me and enslaves me to his will.
"WIMP," he shouts mentally, throwing a punch to my abdomen without even moving, "CAN'T EVEN BUST A BANK!" He leans into a shove on my walls, tumbling them down to the ground like shredded paper, they are so weak. I sense a presence poking around the mists of my mind, searching for me. I curl into a ball, hiding myself from his probing, sinking ever deeper into my subconscious, praying over and over again, faster and faster.
I can't do anything for those who are less fortunate than me unless I help myself first. And the only way to do that seems to be to succumb to Bakura's will. So why didn't I rob the bank? Why didn't I act like a man and take the money, just as Bakura wanted me to? Who would care that I stole a few coins to save myself a punishment? A sick smile spread out around me, full of hatred and lust for pain. It enveloped me, triumphant and encouraging of my present thoughts, carelessly unguarded and veiled as if to flaunt the fact that I could do nothing to hurt my master even when he had no walls. The smile grew wider and meaner as I gasped and began to shiver. Something felt wrong, foreign and awkward in my thoughts. I shouldn't be contemplating the rights and wrongs of my refusal - there is nothing right about robbing a bank! Nothing!
Still, though, a part of my mind insisted on my stupidity, and that revealing smile never faltered, just faded from the mists of my mind as naturally as water evaporates.
Eventually I woke up in my own body, sprawled on the floor, limp and as useless as a corpse. A rough and sandy carpet cushioned my face about as well as a rock, only adding pain to the growing list. My eyes didn't seem to be working, all I saw was swirling mounds of black and brown and hundreds of neon dots blinking in and out of sight. I must have been out longer than I'd expected.
"Get up," was my good-morning call.
"Bakura?" My voice was raspy with misuse, and I had to try again, just to see if I could still talk. It came out as a rusty croak, but he heard.
"No, Death. Get up." I struggled to my feet, but was apparently too slow for him, for in the next second, an arm was snaked around my waist and pulling me up to my full height. I righted myself with his help, before being abruptly turned around.
The next thing I new I was back on the ground with a flaming cheek and a crushing foot atop my chest. "Weakling," was his only word, but it left me with a feeling of embarrassment and shame even as he grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up again, the material bunching beneath his fingers as he drew me off the ground and closer to his own face. I felt awkward as the cloth tightened uncomfortably around my skin, keeping me from falling, and yet digging into my nape and back at the same time.
His breath mingled with mine, not unpleasant, and yet not exactly fresh at he same time. It blew the tendrils from my face as he snorted, looking me up and down, from my feet dangling an inch above the ground and back to meet my frightened gaze. "Of all males, it had to be you, the she-boy." He looked as if he wanted to spit, but instead he threw me back down, again, hard. My shoulders slammed into the floor and my head snapped back, bouncing from the cheap carpet. Spots danced and whirled before my eyes, again, playing with the posters on the walls and the bright lamp by my bed.
My instinct was screaming at me to run, but my body wouldn't respond, wouldn't even twitch. I looked up at the very image of myself bending over me, getting closer and closer. My own lucky jacket was on my thin and delicate shoulders, tossed over the blank long-sleeved I wear to cover up the bruises. My hair, colorless and long swept passed the shoulders, framing my delicate and slightly long face, brushing past my eyes. How could I be so cruel to myself?
Once again, I was hauled up by the collar, but this time, instead of punching me or throwing me against the wall, he turned, me with him, and shoved me onto the bed. My eyes were shut tight and hard, tense just like the rest of my body in anticipation for the blow. My eyes flew open in shock as the mattress cushioned my fall, and I stayed there, sprawled and thankful to be on something comfortable.
I looked up at him, afraid and confused, but he only stared down at me with a sick expression. Eventually it twisted into an exaggerated self-pitying look that brought a bright red flush to my already scarlet face.
His eyes were staring at me intensely, rapt on my face. I began to sweat and avert my eyes, willing for him to stop that creepy look. My arm shivered, goose bumps crawling up to my shoulder as my blood seemed to pound harder and harder until I felt as if my veins would burst. Eventually, as if I were a puppet, my hand moved up into the air, hovering on an invisible string without my will. Fear clutched its icy fingers at my heart, clawing at my instinct. I wanted to run from this thing, run from my own limb! I gasped up at Bakura, who was smiling again. My breath came out in short, abrupt gasps. "M-make it stop! MAKE I-IT STOP!" A weak and high pitched voice choked out the plea, barely shoving past the lump in my throat.
As I watched, confused tears blurring my vision, my fingers coiled into a fist, slowly and painfully, digging the nails into my palm. It moved, and faster than ever, I was doubled up on the bed, staring at my own hand as it gripped me up again and punched me, right in the spot that Bakura always did - the soft part of the stomach. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming, feeling the blood dribble out after the next hit. I crumpled, my head in my knees, one arm covering my neck.
It was at this moment that I truly realized how much of a coward I am. Yugi doesn't get pushed around like this because he doesn't let any one beat him up. Or, at least, Yami doesn't. But how could I? I have nothing! No powers, no real friends that would help me out in the dead of night. Only a traitorous arm and a powerful Yami... Just thinking about standing up to him ran a shiver down my spine, a tremble through my shoulders. The thoughts were traitorous to myself, tiny rays of false hope that beckon me to follow until I step out onto a cloud of fake beliefs that suddenly gives way beneath me. I'll fall and fall and fall into more of Bakura's abuse.
I waited for the next blow, eyes shut tight and tensed. Eons passed, hours and hours. I waited, afraid, and yet no longer in anticipation. My breath mingled on the covers until I had to shift to get more air. As I did so, something of me collapsed, and my arm was mine again, normal, if a bit sore, and mine to control. I brought it under me and prayed my thanks.
Yugi never had to go through what I go through. He was lucky, he was blessed, and yet instead of counting the stars that smile down upon him, he yearns for more blessings, for more stars to twinkle at night. He wants to save the world. He wants to be the savior for every human being that's alive. He doesn't want to work on his own life first, only theirs. He doesn't even want to help his friends unless they help him first. He doesn't want to help me gain a few of my own stars; he only wants them all for him. He wants to be a hero. I want to be an average Joe. That's all I want, and yet it seems that what Yugi was born with has escaped me, just like ignorance and oblivion. It's not fair, it's really not fair at all, but no body cares about what's fair. They only care about Yugi, the one that has it easy.
Sometimes I feel bad about being so desolate, as if I don't have a right to be. There could be so many people out there who have it far worse than me, who are not only trapped within their bodies, but within their minds. I pity those people and pray for them with all my might, even as my body is manipulated and used, and my life is falling apart at my feet, I pray for others to have happiness in life, as I will never have. I pray it as he hits me, pray it as he blackmails me and enslaves me to his will.
"WIMP," he shouts mentally, throwing a punch to my abdomen without even moving, "CAN'T EVEN BUST A BANK!" He leans into a shove on my walls, tumbling them down to the ground like shredded paper, they are so weak. I sense a presence poking around the mists of my mind, searching for me. I curl into a ball, hiding myself from his probing, sinking ever deeper into my subconscious, praying over and over again, faster and faster.
I can't do anything for those who are less fortunate than me unless I help myself first. And the only way to do that seems to be to succumb to Bakura's will. So why didn't I rob the bank? Why didn't I act like a man and take the money, just as Bakura wanted me to? Who would care that I stole a few coins to save myself a punishment? A sick smile spread out around me, full of hatred and lust for pain. It enveloped me, triumphant and encouraging of my present thoughts, carelessly unguarded and veiled as if to flaunt the fact that I could do nothing to hurt my master even when he had no walls. The smile grew wider and meaner as I gasped and began to shiver. Something felt wrong, foreign and awkward in my thoughts. I shouldn't be contemplating the rights and wrongs of my refusal - there is nothing right about robbing a bank! Nothing!
Still, though, a part of my mind insisted on my stupidity, and that revealing smile never faltered, just faded from the mists of my mind as naturally as water evaporates.
Eventually I woke up in my own body, sprawled on the floor, limp and as useless as a corpse. A rough and sandy carpet cushioned my face about as well as a rock, only adding pain to the growing list. My eyes didn't seem to be working, all I saw was swirling mounds of black and brown and hundreds of neon dots blinking in and out of sight. I must have been out longer than I'd expected.
"Get up," was my good-morning call.
"Bakura?" My voice was raspy with misuse, and I had to try again, just to see if I could still talk. It came out as a rusty croak, but he heard.
"No, Death. Get up." I struggled to my feet, but was apparently too slow for him, for in the next second, an arm was snaked around my waist and pulling me up to my full height. I righted myself with his help, before being abruptly turned around.
The next thing I new I was back on the ground with a flaming cheek and a crushing foot atop my chest. "Weakling," was his only word, but it left me with a feeling of embarrassment and shame even as he grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up again, the material bunching beneath his fingers as he drew me off the ground and closer to his own face. I felt awkward as the cloth tightened uncomfortably around my skin, keeping me from falling, and yet digging into my nape and back at the same time.
His breath mingled with mine, not unpleasant, and yet not exactly fresh at he same time. It blew the tendrils from my face as he snorted, looking me up and down, from my feet dangling an inch above the ground and back to meet my frightened gaze. "Of all males, it had to be you, the she-boy." He looked as if he wanted to spit, but instead he threw me back down, again, hard. My shoulders slammed into the floor and my head snapped back, bouncing from the cheap carpet. Spots danced and whirled before my eyes, again, playing with the posters on the walls and the bright lamp by my bed.
My instinct was screaming at me to run, but my body wouldn't respond, wouldn't even twitch. I looked up at the very image of myself bending over me, getting closer and closer. My own lucky jacket was on my thin and delicate shoulders, tossed over the blank long-sleeved I wear to cover up the bruises. My hair, colorless and long swept passed the shoulders, framing my delicate and slightly long face, brushing past my eyes. How could I be so cruel to myself?
Once again, I was hauled up by the collar, but this time, instead of punching me or throwing me against the wall, he turned, me with him, and shoved me onto the bed. My eyes were shut tight and hard, tense just like the rest of my body in anticipation for the blow. My eyes flew open in shock as the mattress cushioned my fall, and I stayed there, sprawled and thankful to be on something comfortable.
I looked up at him, afraid and confused, but he only stared down at me with a sick expression. Eventually it twisted into an exaggerated self-pitying look that brought a bright red flush to my already scarlet face.
His eyes were staring at me intensely, rapt on my face. I began to sweat and avert my eyes, willing for him to stop that creepy look. My arm shivered, goose bumps crawling up to my shoulder as my blood seemed to pound harder and harder until I felt as if my veins would burst. Eventually, as if I were a puppet, my hand moved up into the air, hovering on an invisible string without my will. Fear clutched its icy fingers at my heart, clawing at my instinct. I wanted to run from this thing, run from my own limb! I gasped up at Bakura, who was smiling again. My breath came out in short, abrupt gasps. "M-make it stop! MAKE I-IT STOP!" A weak and high pitched voice choked out the plea, barely shoving past the lump in my throat.
As I watched, confused tears blurring my vision, my fingers coiled into a fist, slowly and painfully, digging the nails into my palm. It moved, and faster than ever, I was doubled up on the bed, staring at my own hand as it gripped me up again and punched me, right in the spot that Bakura always did - the soft part of the stomach. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming, feeling the blood dribble out after the next hit. I crumpled, my head in my knees, one arm covering my neck.
It was at this moment that I truly realized how much of a coward I am. Yugi doesn't get pushed around like this because he doesn't let any one beat him up. Or, at least, Yami doesn't. But how could I? I have nothing! No powers, no real friends that would help me out in the dead of night. Only a traitorous arm and a powerful Yami... Just thinking about standing up to him ran a shiver down my spine, a tremble through my shoulders. The thoughts were traitorous to myself, tiny rays of false hope that beckon me to follow until I step out onto a cloud of fake beliefs that suddenly gives way beneath me. I'll fall and fall and fall into more of Bakura's abuse.
I waited for the next blow, eyes shut tight and tensed. Eons passed, hours and hours. I waited, afraid, and yet no longer in anticipation. My breath mingled on the covers until I had to shift to get more air. As I did so, something of me collapsed, and my arm was mine again, normal, if a bit sore, and mine to control. I brought it under me and prayed my thanks.