Living Lost
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,943
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,943
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
My Fault
My Fault
Obviously, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh... but I'd like to.
()()()()
No... no...
How—what—who—why?!
Well, I can see what—from the way the gun is clasped in your lifeless hand, having fallen in a perfect arom wom where it was once pressed to your now broken, bloodstained temple. That’s also how—a single, agony-filled bullet to the brain.
Oh, how like an innocent I sound, as though I were far removed from this. As though I never knew you. But I did, love, and I wonder if you forgot me in those blessed few seconds before the shot struck home.
Listen to me; I’m poetically detached. I sit here, on my ankles, staring at your chilled, accusing shell and wondering what it was that drove you to the extreme. You threatened many times in your emotional instability, but always my love for you kept you going. A thought crosses my mind like a sneering black cat: was my love not enough?
This brings me to my unanswered question, the answer to which I may never know: why? Why leave me here? Why leae ale alone? Why leave? Why?!
“Doushite...” I choke on the stench of death. This mangled corpse, this bloody semi-automatic, this scene isn’t you. It’s a scene from an ‘M’ rated video game like the ones we used to play, it’s a scene from a late-night primetime news channel like the ones we’d have blaring just to mask our own noise... but this scene is not you. Not the friend who taught me love, not the lover who taught me the pleasure and pain of ecstasy. This can’t be you.
My stomach lurches. I’m not as far removed as I first believed. Desperately I clutch at your other hand, feeling the cold, unyielding flesh and begging for this to be a nightmare I could wake up from. Like all the other times I saw you die, this has to be a dream...
Fleetingly I hope that there is one more bullet in that gun.
My grasping fingers touch upon something crumpled in your rigid fist. Prying said fist open and wincing as dead bones crack, I behold a note.
A note addressed to yours truly.
Bloodstained and crumpled as it is, the note is at first impossible to read. Then as myr-blr-blurred eyes focus, I skim the first few lines and realize that I don’t want to read it at all.
But I cannot tear my eyes away.
“I know you’re reading this, you whimpering canine,” it reads, and I cringe at the way you rile me, even in death. You know what makes me angry. You always did.
“I know you’re reading this, you whimpering canine. That’s why I wrote it. To tell you after my demise what a cowardly piece of refuse you are. This mess before you is your own damn fault. You drove me to this with your mistakes, your cheer, you goddamn love. Love? I don’t need love. Hell, never have. And the fact that someone—you, no less—has the nerve to love me, seduce me, make me act unrationally and unthinkingly is more than I can handle.”
I can imagine your hand shaking as you write this. Shaking with rage, or regret?
Oh, my love, don’t do this to me. You’re tearing me up. I don’t need this, don’t know how much more I can take...
“You’ve driven me to the edge and pushed me off into oblivion, mutt. I’m escaping now, from you and your love. There is nowhere else to turn. Drugs don’t free me long enough, blood only flows so long. This is my last resort and it’s all your fault.”
I reel back from your body, throwing the note away from me in something akin to panic. I can imagine you actually saying this to me in your sneering cold way and each word is a six-inch in the gut. Tears are falling freely now, spattering over your bloody clothes and your face. That face, the mask I came to love. Serene, even in death. Oh, gods, what have you done to me?!
I’m tasting bile; asll I can hear are your biting words, all I can see are your icy sapphire eyes, all I can feel is the pain in my heart... That bruised and beaten, straining organ.
It just broke.
My fault. Your death was... my fault? And I can see now that is was. It must have been.
The two of us were never meant to be together. I should have seen that from the beginning, but the circumstances didn’t allow for rational thought. And by forcing my love upon you I only made the whole damn situation worse.
I was oblivious to your pain, and now I have no chance to redeem myself. I can now see why you were driven to bring the end. This pain, this blinding heartache and undeniable betrayal, is too hot and heavy for me to bear.
Guess I take your last train outta here.
My fault...
Click.
Obviously, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh... but I'd like to.
()()()()
No... no...
How—what—who—why?!
Well, I can see what—from the way the gun is clasped in your lifeless hand, having fallen in a perfect arom wom where it was once pressed to your now broken, bloodstained temple. That’s also how—a single, agony-filled bullet to the brain.
Oh, how like an innocent I sound, as though I were far removed from this. As though I never knew you. But I did, love, and I wonder if you forgot me in those blessed few seconds before the shot struck home.
Listen to me; I’m poetically detached. I sit here, on my ankles, staring at your chilled, accusing shell and wondering what it was that drove you to the extreme. You threatened many times in your emotional instability, but always my love for you kept you going. A thought crosses my mind like a sneering black cat: was my love not enough?
This brings me to my unanswered question, the answer to which I may never know: why? Why leave me here? Why leae ale alone? Why leave? Why?!
“Doushite...” I choke on the stench of death. This mangled corpse, this bloody semi-automatic, this scene isn’t you. It’s a scene from an ‘M’ rated video game like the ones we used to play, it’s a scene from a late-night primetime news channel like the ones we’d have blaring just to mask our own noise... but this scene is not you. Not the friend who taught me love, not the lover who taught me the pleasure and pain of ecstasy. This can’t be you.
My stomach lurches. I’m not as far removed as I first believed. Desperately I clutch at your other hand, feeling the cold, unyielding flesh and begging for this to be a nightmare I could wake up from. Like all the other times I saw you die, this has to be a dream...
Fleetingly I hope that there is one more bullet in that gun.
My grasping fingers touch upon something crumpled in your rigid fist. Prying said fist open and wincing as dead bones crack, I behold a note.
A note addressed to yours truly.
Bloodstained and crumpled as it is, the note is at first impossible to read. Then as myr-blr-blurred eyes focus, I skim the first few lines and realize that I don’t want to read it at all.
But I cannot tear my eyes away.
“I know you’re reading this, you whimpering canine,” it reads, and I cringe at the way you rile me, even in death. You know what makes me angry. You always did.
“I know you’re reading this, you whimpering canine. That’s why I wrote it. To tell you after my demise what a cowardly piece of refuse you are. This mess before you is your own damn fault. You drove me to this with your mistakes, your cheer, you goddamn love. Love? I don’t need love. Hell, never have. And the fact that someone—you, no less—has the nerve to love me, seduce me, make me act unrationally and unthinkingly is more than I can handle.”
I can imagine your hand shaking as you write this. Shaking with rage, or regret?
Oh, my love, don’t do this to me. You’re tearing me up. I don’t need this, don’t know how much more I can take...
“You’ve driven me to the edge and pushed me off into oblivion, mutt. I’m escaping now, from you and your love. There is nowhere else to turn. Drugs don’t free me long enough, blood only flows so long. This is my last resort and it’s all your fault.”
I reel back from your body, throwing the note away from me in something akin to panic. I can imagine you actually saying this to me in your sneering cold way and each word is a six-inch in the gut. Tears are falling freely now, spattering over your bloody clothes and your face. That face, the mask I came to love. Serene, even in death. Oh, gods, what have you done to me?!
I’m tasting bile; asll I can hear are your biting words, all I can see are your icy sapphire eyes, all I can feel is the pain in my heart... That bruised and beaten, straining organ.
It just broke.
My fault. Your death was... my fault? And I can see now that is was. It must have been.
The two of us were never meant to be together. I should have seen that from the beginning, but the circumstances didn’t allow for rational thought. And by forcing my love upon you I only made the whole damn situation worse.
I was oblivious to your pain, and now I have no chance to redeem myself. I can now see why you were driven to bring the end. This pain, this blinding heartache and undeniable betrayal, is too hot and heavy for me to bear.
Guess I take your last train outta here.
My fault...
Click.