Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Alone is Only a Word... ❯ The Middle is only a Vision... ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

"Do I do it? Do I try it? Or do I live in a half-lie? To live and walk and breathe-" His thoughts were cut off as the noise of the phone was heard. He listened as the answering machine picked up, and he listened as the caller left a message.
Not for him. Never for him.
Another sigh.
He lurched to his feet as he grasped the toilet to balance himself. The wave of dizzyness passed quickly.
"I live" he said dryly. He laughed hoarsly as he noticed with a slight glance the shape of the dried blood.
"It's a blood angel." And it was. His blood caked and staining the linolium around the tub and toilet. It would be nasty to clean.
His attention turned to the tub. He needed to clean up. Starting with himself.
A stumbling into the shower and a blast of freezing water. He sat in the tub with the shower on, and waited under the spray as it warmed up. The water at first washing over him and draining as a mix of dry flakes of crimson and a tinge of pink. Then it was just faintly tinted.
His arms burned as the too-hot water rained upon the wounds. He hissed at the sensation. His nerves were on fire now, the stimulation reminding him that he was in pain.
"Damnit." He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his ruined jeans. He slipped out of the soggy material and started on the shirt. Lifting it above his head and letting it drop to the floor.
The soap ran over the cuts, stinging and sterillizing.
Ouch.
The water then flowed clear, and he stepped out with the water still running. He scrubbed the floor with the ruined shirt and jeans. The cuts almost reopening in his arms as he did so.
The water ran red as he rinsed the shirt. He repeated this many times until the floor was reasonably clean.
Then turning off the water he grabbed a towel from the back of the door and he wrapped it around his hips.
'Well, that was fun..."


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His room is three doors down the hall on the right. The end of the hall. And no one ever came down far enough to look into it.
It was a mess, the clothes piled in the corners, and other various items spilling out from other piles. The dusky blue of his walls darker than they really were because of the shaded window.
And it smelled of clean laundry and stale blood.
Inhale. A sense of home, of longing and of nights spent in desolate isolation.
Exhale. Another wasted breath...
The walk in closet the had more on the floor than hanging up. He grabbed two t-shirts and a pair of pants.
After dressing he went to his dresser to get his x-acto knife. He took the other shirt and cut it into large strips for bandages.
"Never liked that shirt anyways."
Was this what they meant by mental instability? Wasn't he supposed to be anguishing over what he did or didn't accomplish?
Oh well.
He wrapped his arms in the makeshift bandages, tieing them off carefully. Afterall, he only had one hand to work with on each arm...
And so he had black-wrapped forearms, and disheveled, wet hair.
'What a sight I must make. They'll never notice anyway.'
He laughed. if they did, they wouldn't know the difference.
All the kids today wore arm warmers, and long sleeves all year long. He wouldn't stand out.
He never did.


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I never thought tha a failure could make me feel superior. I almost feel as though I cheated death.
But I didn't. It rejected me.
Like everything in this life.

Am I invincible?

Am I invisible?

I always thought so.
Standing still in the middle of a busy sidewalk, and no one glances at me. They seem to glde right past me wothout a thought or care.
I cry, I scream. I rage, I shudder at myself.
They never notice.
And if they do, why would they tell me?
The little boy with the big soulfull eyes. The one you would notice under any other circumstances.
But not anymore. You won't notice the spectre. The one the afterlife rejected.
And I laugh at your emotions.


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So there. I updated. Tell me how you like it so far. Thanks to my reviewers, and may there be more.