Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ At Your Funeral ❯ Bad Little Boy ( Chapter 1 )

Well...I don't have anything to say...I pretty much said everything I wanted to. Be sure to read my Bio and review my other fics if you haven't read them. Go on, go ahead, they're good. I promise.

Wet redness dripped from sandy strands of hair and onto sun-kissed skin as the child stood still as stone in the bright emrace of the cold white moonlight.

He had been there for hours.

In a place he didn't recognize, at a time he'd never seen, with a person...he just didn't know.

He was confused.

He was confused, and lost, and sad...but most of all scared.

It was like so many times before.

Waking up from a blind, sometimes blissfully dreamless sleep, to a reality that made his mind cower into the shadows that he so hated.

But it scared him.

Things like this weren't supposed to happen in real life.

There weren't supposed to be monsters, and zombies, and evil.

Evil...evil...evil.

There wasn't.

Those things were meant for stories, and nightmares, and...bad people.

Bad, bad people who did bad, bad things.

Not him.

He didn't do bad things.

He wasn't bad.

He wasn't evil.

He was good.

He was innocent.

He was.

He was...

He was...she swore he was.

She promised!

She did!

But maybe...she lied.

Because these nightmares weren't nightmares...they were real.

This was real.

All of this.

Even the wet.

Even the red.

Even the...

...He needed his sister.

She would know what to do.

What to say.

How to handle this problem.

She always took care of his problems.

Always comforted him, and held his hand, and slept with him in bed because the house was just too dark at night.

It used to be better.

When night came he would shut his eyes pretending it wasn't there, that it was still bright and warm and they were there.

All of them.

And it was perfect, and wonderful, and beautiful and...

But then...his father...his father's voice.

Loud and angry and full of hurt.

For him.

Always for him.

And the light would fade, like the glow of a dying firefly and the shadows...

Growing along the walls, bigger, and bigger, and bigger until...

The light was gone and he was all alone and...a voice.

One he had never heard before in real life, but that he knew so well.

How did he know it so well?

He never knew.

But that voice...

Teasing and hot and cruel.

He didn't like that voice.

It sounded like it belonged to someone mean.

Someone hurtful and angry and painful.

Like his Father.

But...

Much worse than his Father.

Much, much, worse.

As something wet ran past his lips he subconsciously stuck out the pink tip of his bitten tongue and ran it along the chapped flesh drawing the blood into his mouth.

His eyes were still frozen in shock, the lavender orbs bright with the hysteria he just barely hid under the surface of his small body, the hysteria that had haunted him since the earliest days of his childhood, since the shadows came for him and his family.

Now that hysteria threatened to overflow over his entire being and suck him into a blind wet nightmare.

Like a person drowning.

He would kick and fight and try his hardest to live, but then like a fire burning in his chest, a fire so deep and desperate to leave him, his breath would explode from his mouth along with a few dancing droplets of blood swirling tauntingly above his head and he knew.

He knew.

He knew it all the time now.

He was doomed.

Wasn't he?

No matter what she said.

He was.

He was...

Calm.

Long after seeing the body, seeing the blood, the expression of horror, the sightless eyes, the arms bent like the broken wings of a bird, the mouth stretched in a scream of absolute terror.

Long after all of it.

Even the discovery of that man's blood...on his hands.

...And in his hair, on his skin, and even...some in his mouth.

He had done this.

Hadn't he?

But he hadn't.

HE had.

The bad, bad, evil one.

The one who brought the shadows.

The one who brought the pain.

He had stopped his father's pain.

Stopped the angry voice.

The hurtful hitting.

All the tears.

He had stopped that pain.

But brought his own.

Plus the blood.

All this blood.

Red, red, wet...blood.

He stared down at the older teenager's body.

It seemed so impossible.

He was dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Dead, dead.

Not a person or a boy or man.

Not a hero, or a daddy, or a...

What was it called?

Lover?

Not anything.

Now he was a body.

Dead flesh...

Cold dead flesh...

He lightly bit his lower lip and continued to stare, his gaze was so intent on this, that he didn't see the couple as they stumbled into the alley their footsteps drunken and wild.

His ears so deafened that he missed their raucous laughter and dirty jokes.

And his soul was so still that even when the couple were less than a few feet away he didn't notice them.

Nor did they notice him.

Until the girl turned...

Her gaze drifted from her companion to the figure standing in the silver glow of the moonlight, and the reality of it all hit her, her drunken stupor evaporating in the cold night air as her eyes widened and her heartbeat grew louder with the newfound silence.

He lifted his head, he felt...

Eyes on him...

No.

Please don't look at me.

I'm ugly.

He turned and looked at the girl in the shadows, her thin arms wrapped another another boy.

A taller boy, with brown eyes, who wasn't dead.

And she looked on...

She looked on at the most horrific sight she had ever seen in her entire life, and probably...ever would see.

There stood a little boy with wild sun-bleached hair that was dripping with red stained liquid...blood.

Blood.

Blood...

His eyes were large, and bright, and frightening, shining with a light that was as blank and cold as glass, but what was horrifying was what was behind those eyes such...

Such...

Oh!

His lips were dry with blood stains and the red gave the crude impression that he was wearing lipstick, the lips were just slightly parted enough for red canines to poke through.

His tanned skin was marked with thin scratches some still bleeding...others nothing more than fresh scars...scars probably made from the dying man's last fight.

And his hands...oh his hands...

They were completely...covered...covered...

Blood dripped from his long fingertips to the ground beneath him, and as he continued to stare at her...he changed.

From...

His eyes turned from shiny lavender marbles to purple pools of hatred, and cruelty, and...lust, his red lips stretched into a wild smile and he turned to face her fully, taking one step towards her.

And as he did, she took a step back, fear making her entire body freeze while her mind conetmplated how horrible it would be to die this way.

Her companion had abandoned her, his body leaving hers to fend for itself, his form hidden behind a dumpster in the corner, his mind sobered with the events the night had brought.

His thoughts only on how, he too, didn't want to die in a dark alleyway by himself.

And as she stood there on this cold and bloody night staring down at this child demon slowly approaching her, she found that she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even turn her eyes away from his own.

Save herself from his dead stare.

And when he was a few inches away, he looked at her, directly into her frightened blue eyes, and as her companion would later contemplate even though he shouldn't have been able to see him, it seemed that his girlfriend had become invisable and the child was looking through her, directly at him.

Directly at his soul.

And laughing at it.

At him.

He tilted his head to the side and his hair moved past him in waves, his eyes glanced at them both, and his lips parted as words both tempting in their obvious sexuality, and frightening in the fact that it was a child younger than ten, and even threatening in the fact that any pleasures would end in pain.

Any and all pleasures.

"I'm going to get you.".

The words were whispered, and when the whispers past his lips he licked them beckoningly.

"Come play?", he asked in a voice that micicked and laughed in such a childish manner at them both.

And with that he closed the distance between them, leaving nothing more than the winds wispy strands to pass through them, leaving nothing to stop him from what he wanted.

And without hesitation the girl opened her mouth, and let out a shrill scream, her mind running through ever worst-case scenerio.

Every painful possibilty.

Every way in which a person could die, at the hands at another person.

The man in the dumpster hid even further behind the green metal, eyes tightly closed, hands trying to block out the screams he was sure would end with a significant amount of bloodshed.

Later...when he was asked what he was doing there, he would lie.

Say he was calling someone on his cellphone when he heard the scream and hadn't responded quickly enough to rush to her help.

He would lie because he was too ashamed of the truth.

And as she stared into those murky pools of madness she screamed.

Again and again.

Every last fear was vocalized in an unhuman wail, and as other late night passerbys rushed in, trying to figure out what was happening, trying to save someone who sounded like they were dying, they too would be struck into silence when the first epiphany hit them.

Here in this alley where prostitutes and drug addicts frequented, there was a child.

Completely covered in blood, standing so close to a young teenage girl that they must have share body heat, that they must have shared...touch.

Later when they thought about it they would lie.

Say to themselves that they weren't afraid for their lives, that they didn't feel like running for their souls when they looked into that child's eyes.

Running for the sakes of their very essences as they gazed into the depths of hell-bent madness.

And as he heard the hurried footsteps, his gaze flicked from the young victim to the crowd filling the small space, it took him only seconds for a plan to develop, and once it did...

Without warning he pressed his body tightly against the girl's with a fierceness that shut her up into silence and submission, quickly he wrapped his arms around her waist and forced tears to spill through his eyes dragging the blood on his cheek with these new droplets.

Dragging the fresh droplets onto her white dress.

Loud childish sobs filled the air, and he weakened his knees so that it seemed that the girl was the only thing keeping him standing, she froze, her mind blank, because she was sure, she was so sure that she was only seconds away from dying.

Dying in the arsm of this child.

When everyone heard the noises, the pain and sadness in his voice, they snapped out of their silent reveries.

Out of the thoughts that had haunted them as soon as they saw him.

Everyone rushed forward to save the child.

To save the girl.

The apprehend the man hiding in the shadows.

Everyone tried to save or stop someone.

No one could save the dead man.

And no one could stop the child.

No one would ever admit the first thought that came to their minds as they surveyed the scene.

The child had killed the man.

And now he was going to kill this girl.

No one would ever admit it.

The truth.

No one ever does.

Ever.

Well this turned out very good considering how long I've been playing around with the idea. This is going to be a chappie fic, not a one-shot. I plan to tell them from as many P.O.V. as possible, but because it's from a younger Malik's P.O.V. so, so many main charcters just won't be included. It should be good though. I will do my first Isis P.O.V. I hope to do her justice.

Well review!