Chocolat, Chokoreeto, Theobramaticus� Chocolate

I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack




I’m
baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Sekura: *sarcastically*
woot..

Funny, the weather didn’t
call for sarcasm…

Sekura: shut up phantom!

Fine! Oh yeah, I should apologize in advance for
Otogi… I think he’s going insane… oki.. bye now!

 

--------------------------------------------

 

 

Chapter V – “We can only
watch them die—and we can never find out why…”

What have I done with my life?

Not a whole hell of a lot. For those of you keeping score at home, let’s recap, shall
we? Well, for starters, to say I’ve wasted
my summer is an understatement.
Something, perhaps some sick twist of fate has prevented me from just
slashing my wrists and finishing this stupid game, getting rid of all this
demented humour at my expense once and for all. Instead, here I am on this Ra-forsaken island in the middle of
nowhere, essentially a glorfied insane asylum where I can be watched day and
nito mto make sure I don’t do anything to hurt myself or anything which could
even have a remote possibility of being potentially hazardous to my
health. Not that I’m unappreciative of
what Pegasus has done for me, he didn’t have to allow me to roam the island at
my liesure, but he only wants to give his suicidal protegé all the liberty he
wants while still keeping him—me firmly under his thumb. In truth, he didn’t even have to let me come
here; although, after his last encounter with Yami no Bakura, I doubt even
Pegasus would think to refuse the Tomb Robber, lest he lose his eye again.

In retrospect, if I had really wanted to stay
alive—which I don’t, but let’s just pretend for a moment that I did, this would
have been the best place for me to go.
First and foremost, it’s far away from everything and everyone who made
me want to kill myself. Second, I can
actually stand to be around the people here.
I mean, it’s not often that one is able to study with one’s idol, but
I’ve been given that rare opportunity and have tried to take advantage of it to
the best of my abilities. And third, I
have everything I could ever want to make me forget about killing myself and
remember what I have to live for. Right
now, I’ve got the resources at my fingertips to rebuild my mighty empire of dice to rival the seemingly omnipotent monopoly
that is Kaiba Corporation in a matter of days.
Croquet and everyone have provided me with all their technology,
knowledge, and services to make me comfortable.

So, with all this going for me, why am I still
miserable and dreaming up my next attempt on my own life? The answer is so blindingly obvious, I can
almost not believe it has been staring me in the face all this time—I don’t
want any of this. I don’t want to live
knowing someone is always watching me.
The perpetual Big Brother concept never ceases to amaze me, I feel like
a goldfish being observed in a bowl—only without the three second memory. As much as Croquet and the others want to do
things for me, they just don’t understand that I want—no, I need to do things on my own. Personally, I quite enjoy not seeing the
floor of my lavishly furnished bedroom for all the clothes haphazardly strewn
about. And I would like to keep it that
way, thank you; I don’t need someone
cleaning up after me every time I turn around.
Now I think I know how Mokuba must feel… poor kid. But then again, he probably had the luxury
of that lifestyle ever since he was too young to remember anything else, so
it’s probably second nature and an expectation
that one of “nii-sama’s” precious servants will be there if anything
unpleasant ever needs to be done.

Sitting here, looking at my room, I see my plate of
half-eaten pasta and I almost feel guilty for not eating it—knowing full well
there will be a fresh plate waiting for me to aimlessly pick at in the
morning. It’s not even that I don’t
like what has been prepared for me, it’s more like I just can’t bring myself to
eat anything, save for when I’m extemely hungry. And I know it doesn’t help that I’m very quickly satisfied when
it comes to food. I really should
either make it look like I’m eating more, or tell Croquet not to make so much
for me. But of course, that would just
be too easy for me now, wouldn’t it?

From my bed, I look at myself in the full length
mirror and everything seems to come together.
I know thatI’m not really that attractive and, when it comes right down
to it, I’m just too ordinary, there’s really nothing special about me. What have I got that nobody else has? Nothing.
I know I’ve criticized Yami no Yugi for being all talk and no action,
but I’m no better, just smoke and lights.
No wonder I can’t keep a boyfriend.

I let down my hair and, one by one, relieve myself of
my arm bands, head band, and even my trademark earring and any other jewelery I
may be wearing. I pull off my black
tank as I stand away from the bed facing the mirror. I take a deep breath and slide my boxers off as well, throwing
them in a corner before turning to look at myself in all my glory—or the lack
thereof.

I had once heard that the only to know if you were
content with yourself would be to loo you yourself once you were stripped of everything
which could corrupt your poersonality all be able to say you’re satisfied with
who you’ve become in every way. I’ve
never been able to say that to myself and today seems to be the exception. Personally, I never believed that, and I
still don’t. But then I got to thinking
and I figured why the hell not? I might
as well give it another shot, right?
Well, if it’s possible to be more depressed than I already am, tell me
what I’ve won mister disembodied voice, because I am ugly. No wonder people run from me—and here I
thought it was because of my rotten personality.

I run my hands over my abs and the strong muscle that
never used to be there; I guess all this free time on the island has at least
done my body some good. Lately, I’ve
found that running really late at night often helps be calm down and sort out
of the stuff that’s been floating around my mind; so I’ve been doing a lot of
it, whenever I can, really. But not
even all that running is enough to make me beautiful, no matter now smart, rich,
successful, desireable, funny, powerful, or witty I may become, beauty is one
thing I will never possess.

I take another look at myself and let out a heavy
sigh, wincing as I can see my ribs protruding unnaturally from my sides. I can’t exactly say why I’m surprised, I
really shouldn’t be. With all the
excessive amount of exercise I’ve been doing lately, it really shouldn’t be all
that hard to believe every ounce of body fat I may have once had has since melted
away from my frame, leaving toned muscle, yes, but that’s not the point
here. The fact is, that when your diet
consists largely of wheat thins and water, weight gain just doesn’t happen and
I don’t have the stuff in my system to replace all the fat I’m burning. Unfortunately, a small amount of fat is good
for a person, you know, it hides the ribs under a nice little fatty cushion…
that I don’t currently have. Now I
realize perhaps not eating isn’t the smartest think I could be doing to
strengthen my ‘I am not anorexic’ case.

It’s kind of funny, but I swear Croquet has seemed to
have become my own personal protector when it comes to all things small and
germ-like. I know he’s looking out for
me, and it’s not because he fears for my life and is under orders from Pegasus
to watch me, it’s almost as though he genuinely likes me alive and wants to
keep me that way. It’s just so hard to
dismiss a comment on how I’m becoming very thin when it comes from someone with
so much compassion, I only wish I was half the man Croquet is. But even with his advice, I can’t bring
myself to eat any more because I’m simply not hungry; on the other hand, I
really can’t go on like this, if I lose any more weight, Pegasus will really
have the upper hand with me during our duels.
Besides, wasting away due to starvation
was not on my List of Ways to Kill Myself™.

But speaking of Pegasus, looking at the mirror, I
trace a long red line along my stomach with one of my fingers. A gift from my idol during our last
duel. Ok, a few weeks back, he decided
he might as well teach me something while I was here, and so he suggesting
fencing. Yeah, smart plan on my part
there. See, when I first got here, he
said I could go wherever my heart desired to take me, but the armoury was
off-limits. I guess this was for
obvious reasons, the last thing anyone wants is a suicidal maniac having full
access to whatever weapons of mass destruction I wanted. But when an opportunity presented itself to
me to gain access to that room, I couldn’t in good consious turn it down. Big mistake, that’s exactly what Pegasus
wanted me to do.

Our first few sessions weren’t bad, but as usual with
Pegasus, the first few anything
aren’t bad. Starting slowly, he taught
me etiquette and how to hold the rapier properly, then we started on the
basics. I found I was a quick study and
within only a few hours, I was sparring with my teacher. Things were going relatively well,
considering I really couldn’t be hurt by the protected tips of the rapiers. At least, that’s what I thought. But one day, Pegasus told me he was stepping
up my training and, instead of throwing me my usual rapier, he opened up a
chest and threw me a two-handed bastard sword.
I was barely able to hold it up while he wielded his with an almost
feline grace and gave me only one instruction: defend myself. I know he
went easy on me because I know he could have sliced and diced me into about
half a million Otogied ped pieces before I even knew what was going on. Instead, all I got from that encounter was a
little scratch below my left cheekbone.
I told him I didn’t smudge my mascara, but he just had to be sure. (a/n:
what is it with bishounen and lots of
mascara?) Anyway, from that day,
training has been more about survival and endurance, and less about technique
and finesse. During these encounters,
it’s not uncommon that I get slashed by Pegasus’ blade at least once, that’s
how I got this mark. A demonstration of
his skill as a swordsman, as I know he could have just as ea not not pulled the
thrust and cut me clear in half, instead just this superficial cut. It’s now almost a daily occurance that I
find myself on my back with a new weapon poised at my throat, if it’s not the
bastard sword, it’s a katana, or a kasuri-gama, or a javelin, or one of my
mentor’s new toys. So many times I’ve pleaded with Pegasus to
just end this, it would have been so easy for him, a little flick of the wrist
and I would be gone. And everytime he
just gives me the same smug response: ‘No
Otogi, that wouldn’t be doing either of us any good.’ and everytime I begged
him to tell me what the hell he was talking about, but he never would, he would
only put our swords away and leave the training room a forlorn expression on
his face, day after day, that was all I ever got. But I guess the good news is that I haven’t cut myself since I
arrived on the island. I look at my
arms which are covered in shallow slash marks from today’s practise session,
who needs cutting when I’ve got Pegasus?

I look at myself one last time before retrieving my
boxers and sliding them back on. I
check under bed bed and my little prize is still there, I slide it from its
sheath and look at my own reflection in the wakizashi’s blade. The first chance I got, I swiped this sword
from the armoury, doubting Pegasus would even know it was gone—let alone miss
it. I’ve had it up here for a few days
already and have intrigued Croquet and the others by requesting access to lib library to do extensive research on the ancient samurai traditions of feudal
Japan. Little do they realize of my
true intentions. I have a feeling
Pegasus may know more about the inner-workings of my mind than he’s letting on,
but I doubt even his Sennen Eye can show him everything I have planned, mostly
because I’ve only decided what I’m going to do this morning.

I’ve formulated this enitre plan in my small mind and
it all makes sense in that context. I
mean, really, I can’t stay here forever, and I’ve already wasted a good half of
my summer. If I manage to live through
the rest of it, something which, given my current circumstances, I highly
doubt, I’ll have to go back. But how
can I? I can’t face them again, not
after all I’ve gone through, all I’ve done to try and forget…

I suppose this fate that I’ve dr up up has been in
the back of my mind for quite some time as a viable option for me. I have been hoarding anything I thought I
may have needed for this, even though I had never consiously decided on the
manner of my death; however, I have a feeling I’ve known this was my path all
along. A path to escape the dishonour
I’ve brought down upon myself, a suitable punishment as decreed by my
research. Of course I speak of the
ancient art of seppuku, the ritual
suicide of self-disembowelment. For
some reason, the thought of contemplating my own entrails by the light of the
rising sun has always intrigued me, and so I’ve chosen this day to die—a clear
morning which will soon yield so a magnificent sunrise over the distant
horizon, giving me just enough time to put things in order. Even if I do start before sunrise, it matters
not, as waiting to die from disembowlement is notoriously a long, drawn-out
process. If this is to be my last
sunrise, I might as well enjoy it.

I go under my bed and pull out another small box of
supplies I figured I would need. A
small fold-out table, a bottle of sake, and a rather nice silk kimono. I almost feel bad about stealing all this
stuff from Pegasus and his staff—they’ve all been so nice and accomodating to
me, even though I’ve probably been the biggest prick ever. I drape the elegant green kimono onto my
shoulders and set the sake on the table.
I’ve always been a big fan of this kimono ever since I layed eyes on it,
mostly because it’s the same colour as my eyes, I would imagine. I’ve always been told they are my best
feature, so hauntingly surreal, I’ve had people tell me it feels as though I’m
gazing into their very soul. If only I
had such an ability, perhaps then I could look into someone’s heart and find
someone just as miserable as I am.

Throwing open the double French doors leading from my
room to the balcony outside, I have to take a moment and take in the sights
around me. The calm blue ocean beneath
me stretching out for kilometre beyond kilometre, as far as my eye can see. The soft scent of the water, refreshing to
my senses and nostalgic of my childhood—great, now I have that memory to contend with again.
The sea has always been said to be soothing to one’s nerves and to
comfort; however, it is not comforting to me, nor is it calming—rather, the
water below me is a mockingly familiar shade of blue. I can’t help but see Seto’s eyes refelcted in the waves, staring
back at me. Damnit, why him again? It’s almost as though I was so infatuated
with him before I left that even now I cannot purge him from my mind. And I suppose that’s true if I’m even here,
having this mental conversation with myself.
Turning away from the balcony’s edge, I smile wryly, how ironic will it
be to kill myself overlooking the ocean which reminds me so much of the lover I
never had, whose colloquial dismissal of my advances drove me to the very brink
of this madness.

Returning to the inside of the room, I’m quick to
fetch my supplies and return to the balcony.
I’ve set everything down and I find myself kneeling before the small
table at the edge of the rail-less balcony.
How sweet my revenge will be on everyone who tried to discourage me from
suicide, how foolish of them to see it as anything but an escape. To think suicide is a disease to be cured,
needing something like a drug to be prescribed to solve this problem which has
grown to epidemic proportions in this last generation. I don’t believe it, I can’t believe it. I do not think this way because of an
imbalence of some chemical or other in my brain, I am the way I am because I
have repeatedly seen my entire life flash before my eyes and I am constantly
reminded that I have wasted my youth and corrupted my future. They
(my acquaintances formerly known as friends) keep saying they will make sure
this never happens again. Do they not
see? No matter how much they try and
fight it, this is who i am, I don’t think it can be fixed. Even if they do manage to foil my
attempts, it's not a question of if I
will try it again, it's probably when.

Almost casually, the blade finds
itself unsheathed and in my hands. At
first, I truly don’t know what to do with it, as I had never come this far when
I would go through this process in my mind’s eye, I was almost always
interrupted or otherwised sidetracked from my goal. Needless to say, getting this far is quite the feat of mental
sgth,gth, not that it will matter in a few hours time. Did I forget to mention that? Unlike my last attempts, this will be
painfully drawn out. A good reason why
I chose sunrise, by the time someone does think to look for me, I should be
dead; but, as I know all too well, fate has an interesting way of messing with
that plan. The true art of seppuku is
normally performed by two people as either a punishment as decreed by the
Sh, or, or in battle to avoid dishonour and capture, so the victim is very
seldom alone. The observer is supposed
to be the final bringer of death by chopping the victim’s, namely mine, head
off before the long death by disembowlement process begins. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m without a
second, to hours of agonizing pain for me… woot! (ßa/n:
enter sarcasm here)

With one hand practically
fondling the handle of the wakizashi, I untie the obi around my waist and allow
the kimono to open and blow helplessly in the breeze. At one point, I had absently wondered how I was going to be able
to cut all the way across my own abdomen without even a line to guide me. I pondered that for many a second before one
of my training excercises, and then the answer became painfully obvious. I use my free hand and trace the cut which I
got from Pegasus that same day. Not
deep, just all the way across my stomach with near perfect accuracy when it
comes to depth and consistancy. It will
make for a delightfully easier disemboweling process as I at least have
something to go by which I didn’t draw on myself with awbeawberry scented magic
marker that I found under my bed. I had
thought of using that marker to write a farewell note to Pegasus and the
others, thanking them for everything, but I decided against it when I realized
how stupid it would sound. Instead, I
just looked the biggeieceiece of paper I could find, not finding any, I decided
my own chest would make as good a canvas as any, and used my marker to scribble
one word in the most meticulous kanji I could manage at the time, and writing
backwards. In past experience, I found
that often, this one word was enough to do more psychological damage than a
long, angsty, philosophically suicidal rant.

‘Good bye…’

Well,
it’s now or never. I take a deep breath
and plunge the blade deep into my left side.
I know I don’t have everything I need for a proper seppuku, but the
least I can do to honour this ancient custom is to do everything I can to keep
it honourable. It goes without saying
that I am now in considerable pain, blood leaking out and staining my skin only
from the initial entry, there will be much more before I am through. In accordance with the ancient customs, I
pull the blade out a little before moving along my abdomen and plunging it in
again. It is all I can do not to scream
in agony, but this is the fate I chose, there is no need to unnecessarily bring
more people into this, especially because they would likely try to stop me.

My eyes fall shut as I rotate
the blade within my body, finding that it facilitates my actions, letting the
blade rip the skin and tissue as opposed to stabbing it over and over. With a motion much ressembling a saw, I pull
the blade out a little on a diagonal and then push it back in, every stroke
causing blood to practically gush out of my body, staining my hands, my body,
my kimono, even the precious white carpet.
I gather the courage to open my eyes again only to find that I’ve barely
managed to cut an inch from where the sharp blade had initially penetrated, but
I’ve noticed the pain has dulled to a violent throbbing in my head, I know I
must press on if I intend to get this over with before someone gets suspicious.

A few long slashes and about a
bathtub full of blood and miscellaneous bits of stuff later, I’ve managed to cut
half way across my stomach and I am starting to get dizzy. But I know I cannot stop to get by bearings,
I must continue, for I still have much to do.
However, I can’t help but get curious, I pull the blade completely out
of me and again, look at my reflection in it’s tainted surface. I look much the same as I did before, only
paler. I press the palm of my hand over
my eye and drag it down my face to keep me awake and it left a thick coat of
blood on my face, but I decide to leave it, knowing I have far more important
matters to attend to, returning the blade to it’s temporary home, deep within
the warm recesses of my abdomen.

Now, I had cut myself before,
but never like this. Every stroke of
the blade through me sends me into a world the likes of which I can’t even
begin to describe, in a way, it’s almost pure euphoria. I can feel everything with the blade inside
me, as it moves, I can feel my skin and muscle slowly tearing under the might
of the steel within me. It’s almost as
though my senses are heightened, and I can hear
the flesh tearing and ripping away from my skin, the beat of my heart
speeding up and pounding against my chest. In a sick, twisted way, it’s almost
like sex, frenzied elation. The more I
cut along this predetermined line, the more I want to continue. It’s strange, but I don’t want to stop, the
sword seems to have a mind of its own, having picked up speed and is now
practically at the far right extreme of my body, having already gone past the
end of the slash wound given to me by Pegasus.

Finally, I do manage to pull the
sword out of my right side, silently marveling at the ocean of blood flooding
from my midsection, I’m amazed I’m still consious and my appendix isn’t staring
at me from its place on the floor—yet.
But I’m still not finished, it seems, as I plunge the blade deep into
the centre of my deep horizontal cut across my stomach. But now the direction has changed, I no
longer have the desire to cut across my body, but rather vertically as I start
to saw the sword up my stomach towards my ribs. Every cut is severing nerves and destroying blood vessels, my
pain is lessened and the blood flow increased, I gasp out every so often as the
blade slices through a rather large nerve bundle or a organ which just might be
the aforementioned appendix—if I knew where my own appendix was. But I finally reach my xiphisternum and I,
almost regretfully, pull the long blade out of my body and deposit it on the
floor beside me.

Now, this is where the
proverbial fun begins, I can hardly belive I’m actually doing this, my life has
been such a useless waste of some higher power’s time, and I know I’m not going
to go down in history as some monumental person, I’m hardly going to be a blip
on the radar, a ripin tin the pool of life once this all over with. And, in an ironic sort of way, that comforts
me. Knowing that nobody cares about me,
that if I dried up and blew away like a neglected leaf on a serene autumn day,
nobody would notice and even fewer would care.
And when it comes right down to it, my entire life has been irony
personified, the deaths of my parents, my education, it’s all been a joke. The knowledge that I was always the one
throwing my own parties, I was the one buying the streamers and the hats,
largely because I knew nobody else would always supported my theory that nobody
would lose any sleep if I were to spontaneously drop off the face of the
planet. Or fall off the face of the
planet into a particularily large pool of blood, preferably my own, much like
the one I am currently kneeling in.

Remembering a legend I read
about a fearsome samurai warrior, I pull the flaps of skin on either side of
the vertical wound away from each other so I have enough space to fit my hand
in. I slide my entire hand into the
gaping hole in my body, marveling at the warmth I am greeted with as I pull out
my hand, and a handful of my own bleeding entrails, which I set lovingly on the
floor to study, much as the ancient warrior of legend did. I repeat this process until I am sure the
vast majority of my intestines clutter the floor. Damn, the cleaning people are really going to hate me, I really
should have left them a gift or something.
All this bleeding is beginning to make me giddy, a feeling which,
overall, I really dislike.

Having regained my composure for
a moment, I reach for the bottle of sake and the crystal glass which I swiped
frogasugasus when he wasn’t looking (I think he refers to it as a “snifter”, or
something?). I slowly fill the glass in
front of my eyes, making sure to stop about half way for a moment before
continuing, assuring two distinct pourings.
Bringing the fine glass to my lips, I take as much as I can into my
mouth, finding it a little hard to swallow with most of my digestive system
staring me in the face. I take the
glass away, finding it a little more than half empty and I smile wryly at
myself, quickly lifting the glass to some higher power, mocking it, and sending
the rest of the liquid down my throat, content to have finished the last part
of the ritual. The sake needs to enter
the glass in two pourings, and must enter the body in two distinct sips from
the glass. Two pourings into the glass,
two from the glass to the body, four total pourings in all, And as everyone knows, one of the ways to
say the number four in japanese is the word shi;
however, there is more than one kanji for this word, and while one does mean
four, another interpretation of shi is
death. How utterly convenient for me, I
suppose, the ritualistic portion of seppuku is either terribly well thought
out… or painfully ironic.

“Well, Otogi, you’ve done all you can. Now, we wait. This is for all of those poor, pathetic bastards who kept saying
you had so much to live for, well who’s laughing now?” I muse to myself as I take the sword back
into my hand and start absently poking at my intestines.

‘It’s stabbin
time!’ I think to myself as I poke
my jojunum kinda hard with the sword, stabbing it, if you will, then I cringe
at my own bad jokes.

I don’t know what nerves
I’ve severed, but I cut something I probably shouldn’t have, as I doubt this is
what those warriors were going through before they—well, it might have been
what they would have gone through before they were beheaded. In any case, I don’t know what has gotten
into me, but I start laughing out loud, and maniacally at that. It is the kind of laugh that would
simultaneously make all three Yamis rage with jealousy. Now I’m sure I’ve awaken someone, but there
really isn’t much anyone can do at this point.

Before I know it, my world starts to spin and
everything becomes very dark. Perhaps
this is the product of all the blood loss finally taking its toll upon my
body. A vicious tremor es mes my body
and my face falls unceremoniously into my leaning pile of entrails as I start
to lose consiousness. Vaguely, I pick
up something along the lines of a door shutting, but then again, I remembered
that just before I died the last time, it must be a thing with me and death.

…Or maybe not as I feel a sharp pain in my ribs, a
sharp, I think I’ve just been kicked by a
wing tip kind of pain. I double
over and cough up even more of my own blood as I turn my face to try and catch
a glimpse of my assailant, absently wondering why I haven’t heard an
ear-piercing shriek yet. Instead, my
eyes come upon black shoes and red pants.
And there’s only one person I know on this island who has the guts to
wear red pants.

“Pegasus-sama…?”

“Yes, Otogi-boy.
My, my, you have made quite the mess around here, haven’t you?” Pegasus notes, looking around the room, “Did
you really expect to be able to pull this off without anyone, namely yours
truly, coming in to stop you?”

“Well, that was the plan.” I reply dumbly, gods, I sound like… Jounouchi, kill me now. Oh wait, I am dying, nevermind. By Ra, now not only am I full of years of
pent-up angst, but I’ve also become cynical.

“No, the plan has changed. Because I’m here, and I’m not going to let you—“ Pegasus begins,
but I realldn’tdn’t want to listen to one of his lectures as the last thing I
remember before dying, so I grab my wakizashi by the blade and offer him the
handle.

“Indeed, the plan has changed, but let’s make the
best of it. Pegasus-sama, I beg of you
to be my Kaishakunin, my second. Take this sword and dispatch me, do not make
me endure this. Use your
prowess with a sword to kill me, slicing through my throat but ensuring that my
head is left attached to my body by a short flap of skin and that my face is
hidden, removing the stigma as decapitation.
As my mentor, I can only pray you do me this last service. You’ve taught me everything I know and I do
not wish people to think I am ungrateful for everything you have bestowed upon
me. Please, Pegasus-sama, you are the
best swordsman I have ever known, do this for me.” I plead.

“No.” is the
simple reply.

“Nani?” I am
able to choke out between coughs ofod. od.

“I am not going to help you, because you are not
going to die today.” He answers. I
don’t believe this, “You have too much to live for, Otogi. There are people out there who care deeply
for you, you only need to realize what you have and are willing to throw back
in the faces of those who have done anything at all for you, myself included.”

Oh, that hurt, and it felt like a hard shot to the
heart. I look up at my idol in wonder,
how does he honestly expect to heal me?
He pulls back his hair on his left side and I really should have known
better than to doubt him because there sits the Sennen Eye in all its glory. I shouldn’t be surprised when it starts
glowing and I feel myself being picked up off the floor, but I am. This feeling of the power of the Sennen
Items never ceases to amaze me and this is no exception. But all of a sudden a nerve is triggered and
I scream out, I don’t know what it is, pain, pleasure, all I know is that I’m
screaming and then I pass out.

From the looks of things when I wake up, it looks
like a substantial amount of time has passed since my latest foiled attempt on
my own life. I pick myself off the
floor and run a hand through my hair, staring out at the setting sun. So, what is this, the third chance at life I’ve had in the last month? Why can’t they just figure out that I can’t
live like this? I run my hand over my
abdomen to find nothing, absolutely nothing to confess what I tried to do, the
power of the Sennen Eye somehow managed not only to re-embowel me, if that is
even a word, but managed to conceal all the marks on my bo I’m I’m even surprised to find he’s gotten off
all the magic marker on me, not to mention cleaned up the ugly mess on the
floor and relieved me of my wakizashi and all my other supplies.

I look around and realize that I am back exactly
where I started. I have nothing and am
seriously considering just flinging myself off the balcony and onto all those
sharp, jagged rocks down below. I move
to open the doors, and coicidentally, they won’t open. In fact, it looks as though these doors have
been cemented shut. Well, I will give
Pegasus some credit, he knows how to kpeoppeople alive should he desire them
that way.

I move back over to my bed and collapse onto it,
burying my face in the linens as I begin to cry. I cry because I failed, I cry because I’m alive, I cry because
nobody seems to understand the hell which is my life on a day to day basis, I
cry because there are always people around me who think it is their job as the
intergalactic do-gooders to foil me in my plans for self-destruction. I don’t know how long I will lay here,
crying, but I do know that starvation does seem to have jumped up to the top of
the ways to kill myself list. I will not leave this room unless it is
absolutely necessary…

 

 

 

=======================

sorry
sorry… this was a little more morbid than I had originally intended

Sekura: I actually thought you fell short of your
mark

Sekura! Silence

Sekura: sorry!
Damn, last time I help you with a chapter.. next time, why don’t you get
your fuck toy to help you

*gapes
and blushes* don’t call him that

Sekura: why not?
Everytime I go to help you write you’re with him

Someone
feeling underappreciated

Sekura:
*pouts*

Awwwww……