Kano: Ah, poor Ryou Bakura. He's just so easy to torture.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. I really wish I did, but I don't. Please don't sue me.
-- I Am: Insanity -
Sometimes I wonder if I'm insane.
I hear voices.
Well, not voices. A voice.
I hear a voice from somewhere in the back of my mind. He calls me names, berates me for my every thought-as if the very breath I draw offends him.
Sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, but I can still feel him. That's how I know he's real. Even when he isn't yelling at me, I can still sense him.
He whispers to me late at night because he knows that I can't sleep in this dark place.
He tells me that I'm a murderer.
He says I killed my parents, but I know that that can't be true.
He says a lot of things.
..But if it isn't true, if my Parent's aren't dead, then where are they? Why don't they come visit me in this place, wherever it is I am?
Where are my friends?
I can't remember any of them, not beyond vague flashes of colors, emotions of happiness that I can no longer feel. The only reason I know that they once existed somewhere outside of my own twisted mind is that he tells me about them too.
He has never accused me of killing them. Instead he claims- no, boasts- that he killed them, but that I allowed it.
Or atleast that I did nothing to stop him.
My mind jumps from thought to thought; I can't seem to keep it focused. I wonder how long I've been here. Have years flown by while I was unaware of them, or has it only been a few days? Have I grown into a senile old man who only dreams of his youth?
No, I can see my hands. They are thin, pale, but smooth and untouched by age.
I don't know why I let myself come so close to believing him. Maybe I will never learn.
He says a lot of things.
// You really are pathetic, aren't you? //
I turn, blindly searching for a face which I have yet to see. Although he has asked me a question, I know he does not truly expect a response. Maybe I really am as weal and stupid as he claims I am.
' Who are you? '
The words tumble from my cracked lips, dry and hoarse. I am perhaps more surprised to hear them than he is. In all the time that have been here- or that he has been here with me- I have not once spoken to him.
// So, the weakling speaks now? //
' Tell me who you are.'
My voice is louder now, not so rough as before.
// Why, my little Light, I am you. //
And then, he is there.
His face is only a few inches from mine, and he closes the gap little by little, leaning closer to me.
I catch a glimpse of long white hair, eyes that are such a deep red that they are almost black. He smiles, a slight smirk without a trace of humor, so that I can see his small white teeth, and his canines are sharp and pointed.
I can feel his breath on my cheek, his body so close to my own. He closes the small space between us, pressing his lips against mine forcefully.
He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, piercing the thin skin, and I imagine I can feel his tongue as it brushes over the cut.
And then he is gone.
I can hear his laughter echoing in my mind, and it isn't until my throat becomes sore that I realize that I am the one laughing.
I can taste the blood on my tongue from where my lip has started to bleed, and I can still feel his soft white hair brush over my cheek.
He says I am insane.
He says a lot of things.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. I really wish I did, but I don't. Please don't sue me.
-- I Am: Insanity -
Sometimes I wonder if I'm insane.
I hear voices.
Well, not voices. A voice.
I hear a voice from somewhere in the back of my mind. He calls me names, berates me for my every thought-as if the very breath I draw offends him.
Sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, but I can still feel him. That's how I know he's real. Even when he isn't yelling at me, I can still sense him.
He whispers to me late at night because he knows that I can't sleep in this dark place.
He tells me that I'm a murderer.
He says I killed my parents, but I know that that can't be true.
He says a lot of things.
..But if it isn't true, if my Parent's aren't dead, then where are they? Why don't they come visit me in this place, wherever it is I am?
Where are my friends?
I can't remember any of them, not beyond vague flashes of colors, emotions of happiness that I can no longer feel. The only reason I know that they once existed somewhere outside of my own twisted mind is that he tells me about them too.
He has never accused me of killing them. Instead he claims- no, boasts- that he killed them, but that I allowed it.
Or atleast that I did nothing to stop him.
My mind jumps from thought to thought; I can't seem to keep it focused. I wonder how long I've been here. Have years flown by while I was unaware of them, or has it only been a few days? Have I grown into a senile old man who only dreams of his youth?
No, I can see my hands. They are thin, pale, but smooth and untouched by age.
I don't know why I let myself come so close to believing him. Maybe I will never learn.
He says a lot of things.
// You really are pathetic, aren't you? //
I turn, blindly searching for a face which I have yet to see. Although he has asked me a question, I know he does not truly expect a response. Maybe I really am as weal and stupid as he claims I am.
' Who are you? '
The words tumble from my cracked lips, dry and hoarse. I am perhaps more surprised to hear them than he is. In all the time that have been here- or that he has been here with me- I have not once spoken to him.
// So, the weakling speaks now? //
' Tell me who you are.'
My voice is louder now, not so rough as before.
// Why, my little Light, I am you. //
And then, he is there.
His face is only a few inches from mine, and he closes the gap little by little, leaning closer to me.
I catch a glimpse of long white hair, eyes that are such a deep red that they are almost black. He smiles, a slight smirk without a trace of humor, so that I can see his small white teeth, and his canines are sharp and pointed.
I can feel his breath on my cheek, his body so close to my own. He closes the small space between us, pressing his lips against mine forcefully.
He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, piercing the thin skin, and I imagine I can feel his tongue as it brushes over the cut.
And then he is gone.
I can hear his laughter echoing in my mind, and it isn't until my throat becomes sore that I realize that I am the one laughing.
I can taste the blood on my tongue from where my lip has started to bleed, and I can still feel his soft white hair brush over my cheek.
He says I am insane.
He says a lot of things.