Disclaimer: If I did own Beyblade, I certainly wouldn't let my little sister watch it anymore... Oo Oh, and this drabble was inspired by M.C.R.'s "Helena", which isn't mine, either.
Author's Note: In case you didn't have a handy web-dictionary like your's truly, a simulacrum is a copy of something. See how long it takes you to guesswho's a copy of whom?Also, while this drabble can stand alone,it could also be seen asthe sequel to my earlier story, 'Imperfect'.
Please tell me what you think,na?
"Came a time when every star fall
Brought you to tears again
We are the very hurt you sold
And what's the worst you take
From every heart you break?
And like the blade you stain
Well, I'll be holding on tonight…" – Helena, M.C.R.
Pale, calloused fingers trace the deep grooves and scars etched into the surface of the beydish where the two of them had fought, so long ago.
His hand clenching painfully tight around the beyblade in his hand, he pushes back the red armband that has become his trademark. Now fingers that caressed the dish drag nails-first down his arm.
An arm as scarred as the beydish before him.
His grip relaxes and the blade clatters as it strikes the dish, soon to be followed by a splatter of blood. Tears smudge blue-stained cheeks.
"Goodbye Dranzer…goodbye Kai."
Then Tyson walks away.