Here comes another one-shot story by Windy! And... it's another attempt to get rid of my writer's block for 'Another Bakura'. I think it'll work this time.
---I've Always Wondered---
I've always wondered about fate.
Fate and destiny.
Some people believe that what you do is controlled by fate. That everything happens because fate wanted it to happen, maybe to make us happy, or sad. But other people don't. Some people believe that we control how life turns out for us. That we control how we feel, what we do, and everything else.
I believe it was fate that brought me here. Everyday, I curse fate and destiny for driving me to the point where I'm about to go insane. I curse fate, who killed my mother and my sister, who brought me this Ring, who cursed me with this evil spirit...
Who brought me to my demise.
I dimly remember all the good times I had with my family, especially my little sister, Amane. I do remember the time where we spent every minute of our lives together, and I was in pure happiness. Well, that is, until that incident happened, killing my mother and my sister. When that happened, I had turned to my dad for support, but he turned away from me, spending every waking moment at his latest archeology project.
But there had been a time where he had came home. That day, where he had brought me a gift from a market stand in Egypt. I remember how happy I was when came back, and even happier when I had found out that he had gotten a gift for me. As he had taken the Ring out and given it to me, I hadn't realized that someone evil was living in that thing. I didn't notice when I was holding the Ring so delicately in my hands, almost afraid that it would just shatter. I didn't notice when I carefully put it around my neck, smiling with pride and happiness at my dad, who cracked a smile then too.
I didn't notice until I went to Domino Elementary School, and then he showed himself.
Every since that day, I come home and see him. He glares down upon me like I'm nothing, like I'm just a piece of trash, and then he starts beating down upon me, both mentally and physically. At the end of his assault, he would smirk sadistically at me, and then walk away. He leaves me, lying on the floor, blood spewing out of my wounds and bruises beginning to form. Slowly, I would get up, heading upstairs to the bathroom to clean it off, and act like nothing ever happens.
I'd wear long sleeve shirts or sweaters to hide my cuts, scars and bruises. I distanced myself from the other students, convincing myself that they wouldn't care.... nobody does.
This is where I am now, sitting on the couch of my living room. Tears pour out of my eyes, dropping silently on my lap. These tears mix in with the other tears in there, creating stains like clouds in the sky. My white hair, now tinted red with my blood, dangles around my face lifelessly, just like what I'm going to be soon. I close my eyes, stopping the flow of tears for a minute, and listen. I try to hear any signs of him nearby, and luckily, I don't.
I sigh inaudibly, standing up and slowly walking upstairs, into my father's room. As I walk, I try to savor this peaceful moment; quietness without a trace of fear. I silently open the door; the only sound in the house as I walk was my footsteps against the wood floor. I take a seat on my father's bed and gaze around at the precious artifacts he carried.
"Daddy," A little child said as he gazed up into his father's face, a look of awe appearing on his face as he looked down at the item, "What is that?"
The older man chuckled, ruffling his son's white hair before he replied. "It's a knife."
"What is it used for?" The child asked, peering curiously at the knife.
"I think it was used for cutting people up or for hunting." His father replied, laughing slightly as his son made a face.
"Why would anybody want to cut other people up?" The white haired boy asked, plainly ignoring what the other use was probably for. His father chuckled, and then gave a small sigh.
"The people that used this knife," He started, pausing to find a way to explain this difficult reasoning to his small child, "Had special ceremonies they did when someone died. They would cut the body up and take out all the insides, putting them into little jars that the people believed they would need for the other world."
"You mean they do it to everybody who dies?" Little Ryou asked, looking aghast. The older man suppressed a grin as he continued on.
"No, Ryou. They usually did it to the rulers of their land or people who were rich enough to afford it." Ryou's father said as he smiled lightly down at his son, whose face turned into one of slight understanding, then into a sickened face.
"That sounds gross..."
His father laughed out loud, patting his son's head a couple times before ushering him into bed.
I stood up, strolling to a glass case on the wall, peering into it. The knife was there, its intricate patterns mesmerizing me, a brief smile appearing on my face. But it disappeared as soon as it appeared, and I carefully took the knife out. The blade didn't appear rusted, and I began to doubt if it was from the Egyptian time at all. As I looked closer at it, I realized that it wasn't a knife... it was a dagger. The marks on it looked almost new, and then I realized that it was just a fake copy in a market stand in Egypt.
My thumb grazed across the blade; a cut being made by me as blood seeps out of the wound and down my hand. I smile a sad smile as I gaze at the blood, almost tempted to lick it off my hand. I walk back to the bed, kneeling in the middle of the mattress, gazing at knife in my hand.
I take in a breath, and plunged the dagger within my chest. Blood starts spilling out like a river, and I slump forwards, my vision already getting blurry. I hear the screams of him ringing in my head, telling me not to die. I forced out a laugh, coughing up blood. I already knew I was going to die. You see, I was already drifting; the pain from my chest is lessening, and, for the first time in my life, I felt safe.
I've always wondered about fate.
Fate and destiny.
And I still do... just up in heaven.
Reviews, please! I'm not very good at the angst genre.