DB: I'm back! Sorry for the long wait. I know this chappie is really short but I've been so busy and I'm trying to get rid of my writer's block! I'm going to try to get another chapter up this week or weekend though. I promise! I know I said Bakura would be in this chapter but he's not. I'm soooo sorry! He will be in the next one though! *shakes head in shame* I'm such a terrible person..T_T

Again, I want to thank all my reviewers - puppet-with-a-gunXD, Silver880, Jet Set Yoyo, and subaru1999. Thank you so much! You all rock! Cookies for everyone!

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of the characters. If I did Yami Bakura would always win and Ryou would kick ass.

"Speech"

Thoughts

Summary: After years of living with an abusive father who blames Ryou for the death of his mother and sister, Ryou finally decides to run away. However, life is hard on the streets. He is soon taken in by a small group of young thieves who decide to teach him how to survive. It would also seem that the so called King of Thieves appears to be interested in him…

Sorry, I suck at summaries…

Warning: mild to moderate yaoi/shonen ai. Nothing too bad though! ^_^ Also some rough language and violence.

Chapter 3

Memories of Red Butterflies

"Memory is the scribe of the soul" ~Aristotle

He was trapped, tangled in a web of broken shards of memory and thought. Flashes of color, sounds, smells, tastes – all tore through and around him, leaving him bleeding and raw, and his mind screaming for release but none to answer his call. He thrashed about trying to rid himself of these phantoms of the past but they gripped him all the tighter, warped claws digging into the recesses of his thoughts, pulling him forward further into his mind's turmoil. He knew where he was going, for it was the key part of his agony and confusion, the memory of the event that began his living hell. He felt it bubbling to the surface of his mind, rising through the deep waters of his thought from where he kept it hidden. Then, it burst to the surface and at once it was clear, he was there again, where he had committed one of his two greatest sins.

He saw the park where they had played. He saw himself, a small white haired boy of about six years of age. The boy wore a pair of blue jeans and a white tee-shirt. He saw the small white haired girl of perhaps five who wore a pink skirt, a white blouse, and a small pink hat and the older white haired woman as well. His sister and mother. He had not glimpsed their faces like this, almost seemingly alive, in a long time. Yet he could feel no joy at this sight. He knew what this memory contained; after all this was the only memory he had of them for he would not let himself remember them any other way than the day of her death. He did not deserve to forget what he did.

He saw the boy run up to his sister shouting and holding his hands carefully in front of him. Upon reaching his sister, he opened his hands to reveal a small, brilliantly scarlet butterfly resting on his palms. It was delicate looking with its small body and legs but its bloodied wings made it look as though it was made with ruby gems. It slowly opened and closed its wings never once trying to fly from its spot on the boy's hand. The girl was fascinated by the simplistic beauty of such a common being. She reached out to touch the tiny creature but it flew through her grasp coming to land on the boy's soft hair. The girl pouted. Why would it not come to her? She reached for it again but was thrown backward as the boy pushed her away. She fell to the ground with a soft squeak. The girl rose and brushed herself off before pushing the boy back. The boy retaliated by taking the hat from her head and running off with it.

He could hear no sound from this memory but he knew that the boy was laughing and the girl was crying for her hat back. The boy looked to make sure his mother was still in conversation with the other adult before continuing to run toward the edge of the park. He saw the boy stop beside a road and throw the hat in the middle of it. The girl was breathless and nearly crying. Get it for me, she had said. The boy had refused saying she should get it herself or was she a baby? The girl had been frightened. She wasn't allowed to cross the road and she didn't want to get in trouble but she wasn't going to let her brother get the best of her. The girl straitened herself and had run to get her hat. Neither of them had seen the car coming.

It had connected with the tiny girl's body with the sickening crack of splintering bones, throwing her into the air and leaving a shattered, empty vessel sprawled on the ground. Blood had pooled around the body staining the girl's pure hair with the crimson certainty of death. The boy had been in shock, the mother and other onlookers were screaming, and the girl had just lain there still and forever gone from this world. On top of the body landed the small red butterfly that crawled across her face gently as if it too mourned her passing.

He remembered what happened next. He remembered the accusing looks in his mother's and father's eyes, he remembered how three days after his sister's death, his mother had committed suicide which he considered to be his second sin, and he remembered the abuse that was to follow in later years. He deserved it though. It was his fault after all.

DB: I know it's terrible. I wrote this when I was half asleep.

I heard red butterflies are supposed to symbolize death which is why I used it.

Please, oh, please review! The more reviews I get the more I'll update and the better I'll write!

I'll make the next chapter really good to make up for this crappy one!

~DistanceBetween