The lights flashed. The curtains exploded wide open and some cheap, stink of a magician wandered onto the stage, trying his hardest to blow the crowd's mind. By jumping around with his cape.
PATHETIC!
'Shut up!' thought Bakura.
Why does this keep happening?
The magician wasn't the only stink in this small, cramped shamble of a room; the stink of liquor was almost over-powering. Bakura licked his lips in a thought;
a scotch. What I would do just for a sip...
Bakura sat down and realised his feet were perfectly slumped in a dirty, little puddle on the floor. Ryou sat down next to him and gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Oh Bakura, I'm so glad you brought us here, I've been just dying to see this show!"
Bakura turned to Ryou, smiled and looked back down at the puddle. He silently hoped the smell of liquor was no longer him and was the puddle, because if it wasn't, God only knows what it is!
Don't bring God into this, he's caused enough trouble.
And then there was nothing. No voice from the magician, Ryou's childish laughter and applause. Silently. Nothing in Bakura's ears other than white-noise. Everything just seemed to be on mute.
But I know what the puddle is.
What is it?
A puddle, obviously. A puddle of blood.
Who's blood?
Silly question. It's yours.
The questions stopped, Bakura stood up to leave, as did the white noise. Sound came flooding back but only to be replaced with a ear-deafening 'BANG!' and the room became misty, filled with smoke.
Bakura coughed and spluttered but managed to grab hold of his sword. Before he could draw it, another sword from the mist of the smoke came screaming toward him. Before he knew it, he was back in the chair. Unable to breathe, his lungs busy filling with blood instead of oxygen. He sunk deep. Deeper than sinking can describe.
HAHAHAHA! IT'S ALL JUST SO FUCKIN' HILARIOUS!
Woah… The worlds shaking…
"Bakura!"