Unfortunate
Pairing: Thiefshipping
Rating: T
Warnings: depression, character death, war
A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I was real busy in school. Schools end is always stressful and I had to concentrate on the tons of tests that my teachers had in store for me :( I'm really rally truly sorry and hope you'll never have to wait that long again (especially concerning 'Understanding'…)
Background information: This one-shot is set in Ruanda in 1994 at the time of the horrid massacre there. I watched a film about it and decided, moved by what I saw, to write something about it. Now some things you might want/need to know before reading: The great massacre began because the president of Ruanda was killed (if it was an accident or murder and if it was murder, who did it is still not clear) when his plane crashed on April 6th 1994 and lasted until middle of July 1994. In that three month period of time 800,000 to 1,000,000 people were killed. That is about 75 percent of the Tutsi population that lived there. The Tutsi are one of the three ethnic groups living in Ruanda, the others being the Hutu, the ones who killed the Tutsi, and the Twa. The UNO soldiers who were in Ruanda when it all began mostly had to leave (the French left entirely) after mere days and those who stayed weren't allowed to shoot. In the end the heads of the Hutu army were defeated, but still it's one of the most gruesome massacres in history. Good films about it are: Hotel Ruanda, Shooting Dogs and Sometimes In April. Now enjoy my story ^^
Disclaimer: I do not own either Yugioh nor the history of Ruanda. And to be honest: I don't want to either. At least not the latter.
Oh and "bla bla" is stuff I thought up and 'bla bla' is stuff that was really said.
[Insert line here]
A shot. A cry. Tears cascading rosy young cheeks. It's not me. Not yet.
'Kill them! Kill them filthy cockroaches!'
Are we worth nothing? They say yes. That we should all die. On the radio. On the streets. They scream for our death.
Fire everywhere. The stench of burning flesh and rotting corpses. No hope. No happiness. No help. The UN soldiers left. All foreigners left. Left us alone.
'You aren't only black, but also Africans!', they said, 'You are not worth our help.'
And he left as well. Not because he wanted to. He screamed and fought, but they dragged him away. They held me back. They didn't even let us say goodbye.
His last words were "I love you!" and as I shouted out my own feelings for him the desperation in his russet orbs nearly killed me.
Now that he's gone I am nothing but an empty shell. I never planned to become this attached to him…
I still remember when we first met. Before they started killing us. It was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon and my siblings and I played soccer.
I wasn't that good at it, but it was fun and even though my twin Mariku, who always played in a team with my adopted brother Rishido, won always I still let myself be persuaded to play every time. And ishizu, my sister, gladly was my teammate whenever we played.
When I kicked the ball particularly hard it flew too far and onto the street, landing right in front of a pale foreigner. The boy picked up the round leather and looked around to find the one it belonged to.
I called for him. That it was ours. When our gazes met a shiver ran down my spine. His irises were bloody red, looking even redder compared to his ivory skin and snow white hair.
On an impulse I told him my name and invited him to play with us. Introducing himself as Bakura he took the invitation and took Ishizu's place. My sister was exhausted and didn't really like soccer anyways.
For the first time Mariku had a hard time winning. He and Rishido did beat us, but they were pretty exhausted afterwards.
From that day on Bakura and I met nearly daily. I found out that his father was a journalist and had taken him and his younger brother Ryou to Ruanda when he was sent there to report about the riots going on here.
With the time I began to develop feelings for him. And he for me as well. One day he suddenly kissed me. Without a reason. One moment we were talking about how stupid teachers are and the next his lips were on mine. Of course I responded. After a little talk afterwards we became a pair. Lovers.
When they killed president Juv Enol Habyarimana we had been together for three weeks. Only few days later every foreigner had to leave. And those who were born here were left to the massacre on my people. The Tutsi. Because the Hutu blamed the president's death on us. Because they wanted revenge. Because we were in charge not too long ago.
I saw my family die. Only Mariku and I are left now. Father was shot by a Hutu solider. Rishido and Ishizu were slaughtered on one of the great massacres near my house. My mother died giving birth to me.
Alone. Mariku and I are alone. We haven't spoken since our adopted brother and our sister were killed. Not one word left our mouths. The only thing I feel is despair, the pain a dull throb. The bruises on my skin don't matter. Nor do my protruding ribs. The hunger is just a nuisance.
I just wish I could be with Bakura again. My handsome devil. I can still feel his kisses. His touches. His smiles. We never went further than touching, but I wish we had. Then I could at least say I had all of him. That he was really completely mine.
I aimlessly stare at a golden necklace with a small heart dangling from it. I got it from him exactly one week after our first kiss. He'd smiled at me, really smiled and not smirked like he usually did, and given it to me saying it was his heart.
I didn't know what to do. I was so happy I couldn't express it. Not even the passionate kiss that followed could have described my happiness. In return I gave him a blood red glass stone that I'd found at the river side when I'd been really small. It wasn't much, but it was about everything I could offer, seeing as my family wasn't exactly wealthy. Poor.
A small sigh escapes my lips and my eyes lock with Mariku's, his orbs mirror my soul. Empty. No fear, no anger, no pain left anymore. Some of the others living on the waste dump still hope, still feel, and they cry day and night. They cry for help, beg for the UN soldiers to rescue us. But they don't. We are unimportant to them. Useless. Ruanda is useless.
Suddenly there is another noise than the wailing. Harsh shouts and gun shots. They came back. The Hutu. Who knows who will die this time? Maybe Mariku. Maybe me. Maybe someone else. But one thing's for sure. They won't kill us all. They want the survivors to quiver in fear. They love to torture.
The noise comes closer. And closer. People die. People are spared. And the noise comes closer still. Until, without a warning, someone stands in front of us. Eyes narrowed, a conniving grin on his fleshy lips. Short hair hidden under a green cap. One hand on his hip, muscular upper body bare. In the other hand he holds a gun. And it's pointed directly at me.
"Say goodbye cockroach!" he hisses and then pulls the trigger.
A loud bang. Agonizing pain in my chest. My heart is cold. So cold. I open my mouth, try to say something, but no tone leaves my mouth. My hand finds my twin's, squeezing. My eyes wide I see nothing. The cold spreads, numbing my body.
I'm dying…
"Malik! Hey Malik!", Mariku's voice brings me back to reality, his calloused fingers caressing the back of my hand, "Don't die on me here, understood? You can't leave me alone!"
"I'm sorry…" I whisper quietly, knowing it is too late.
I feel something in the hand he doesn't hold. It's cold. Metal. The necklace. With the last of my strength I let it fall on the hand holding mine and with my last breath I manage to say "Bakura… I'm sorry… I love… you…"
Then I don't know what is happening anymore. I can't move. I can't talk. I can't see. I can't think. Darkness. Darkness…
[Insert line here]
A white haired boy sits at his desk, listlessly doodling onto the page he is supposed to do his homework on. Pale pink lips scowl as blood red eyes catch sight of a small glass stone. The edges are smooth, the light reflecting beautifully on the crimson surface.
With a sigh the boy picks up the stone and inspects it closer, taking note of every ever so insignificant detail. The memories of the one who gave it to him flood the whitette's head. Golden strands of hair, bronze skin and lilac eyes. A treasure.
He misses him. His boyfriend. Malik. Anger bubbles in his stomach as he remembers the way they were torn apart. How the soldiers cruelly ripped his lover from his embrace. And where he had to leave him. In Ruanda where the Hutu slay the Tutsi. Where they kill people like said blonde beauty.
Suddenly there is a knock on the front door. Sighing the whitette gets up and heads downstairs to open for whoever disturbs him. Rolling his eyes he presses down the handle and gasps as the oak wood board reveals a tall tanned blonde with spiky hair.
"Mariku?"
"Bakura…"
"Where is Malik?" demands the whitette to know and hopes against hope that the feeling he had a few weeks ago had just been his fears.
It was a sudden pang in his chest, as if something important was ripped away from him. And somehow he knew something had happened to his lover.
Confirming his fears Mariku shakes his head and holds out his hand. And there on his palm lay the necklace he once gave Malik, dried blood clinging to the golden heart pendant and chain. With shaking fingers he reaches out to take the offered item, biting his bottom lip in order to try and numb the pain in his heart.
"Malik said that… he's sorry… and… that he loves you…", whispers Mariku, his voice nearly breaking and then suddenly screams, "THEY SHOT HIM BAKURA! THEY SHOT HIM!"
And then he throws his arms around the startled albino and cries into his shoulder, Bakura's own eyes leaking tears as well.
This is worse than being cheated on. Worse than Malik breaking up with him. There is no chance of getting the tanned boy back. No way he would ever see him again. And the one to blame is a nameless soldier. Someone whom he can't have revenge on.
This is probably the worst part. For both him and Mariku, for they are both very vengeful beings and this inability to act upon the fury growing in their hearts is torture.
"They are all dead… my friends… my family… I am all alone…" Mariku rambles, fists clenching and unclenching in Bakura's blue and white striped shirt.
"You can stay at mine. I'm sure my father and brother don't mind."
The distressed blonde nods, memories of the past months flashing rapidly before his eyes. People. Darkness. Fear. Fire. The breaking of a mind. A wood. Water. Hunger. Endless searing hunger.
"Come on in." Bakura says, a forced smile on his lips, "I'm sure you're hungry…"
Mariku's mouth waters at the thought of food. So long. It's so long since he last ate something other than berries and roots he found on his way. He doesn't remember. No recollection of the past few weeks except a few figments.
Bakura fed the underweight blonde, let him bathe and got him a room ready. He would make sure to make his lover's brother's life as comfortable as possible. Together they would try to overcome the past, the loss of Malik. The love of Bakura's life. Mariku's twin, his other half. But they can't. Their lives are destroyed.
But unfortunately nobody cares.
[Insert line here]
Word count: 1,770
And now my little golden notebook is full and I have to start a new one ;)
See you in the next installment of this oneshot collection!
*hands out donuts and smoothies to everyone*
~Todesan