Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Echo Trauma ❯ Echo Trauma ( One-Shot )

I don't know how this idea popped into my head. . . all I know is that I was in the mood for angst.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own yugioh!!!!

Malik/yami bakura twisted YAOI fic

This may gave some nightmares. It is utterly freaky.

That's why I love it!

It brings out the darkness of the world in some places, but I'm an optimistic person, so it may be weird.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

He was brought back to the cold of the stone floor. The air was damp, and thick. This was his home, but now it was a cage.

And his father . . . his father was there; strangely alive, as if his death had never happened. As if he had risen from the dead to recreate the most traumatizing moment of his life.

His body was sleek with sweat, as silent sobs emitted themselves from deep within his bones. Most of the skin on his back was torn and an aurora of purple surrounded the oldest cut, tie dying his back red and purple. An aurora of color, an aurora of pain.

Malik screamed as the heated weapon scorched his flesh again, leaving a trail of death as it tortured his skin. He had once seen the carvings, when his father was dressing in his room, and now he was staring at the wall in front, which also carried those dreadful scars.

`Does the stone feel pain when we pierce it so? Do we show remorse when we take away its pride, and hurt it against its will?'

Malik was young again . . . about the age of ten . . . and that's how he thought again. In his eyes, every one and everything was an innocent creation, born with a young mind. But everything is prone to poison, and a child doesn't figure that out until it has happened to him. Until the first thoughts of darkness and the real world enter the weak mind.

Torture. . .

Pain. . .

Lust. . .

Blood. . .

Angst. . .

Suicide. . .

Homicide. . .

Sorrow. . .

Loss. . .

Yearning. . .

Terrorists. . .

Foreign words to a child of ten, but everyday happenings for an adult.

He gasped as the knife edged into his shoulder blade, and felt his back warm up suddenly. It all felt wrong, and cruelly unnatural.

"i-stop it please!" he cries out to the deaf man. The man makes no sound. It seem that the more malik pleaded, the less the man heard.

Another cut this time, in an unsuspecting area. The knifepoint gouged out the symbol of the cross, sprawled across the middle of his back. He screamed again, and felt tears warm his face. He trembled, from cold and pain. He body ached, and his eyes hurt from the stress of shutting them tight. But even that was not comforting enough.

Every time he shut his eyes, he felt himself enter a deadly staring contest with the darkness itself. Yet he kept them shut, accepting the darkness, and letting it comfort him in cruel ways.

No. . .

Please no. . .

Hold on to your innocence child. . .

Don't let it go when you're too young. . .

Don't set the black-red raven of reality free little child. . .

Or it will continue to soar until it falls onto the ground in which it was created . . .

He was taught you could blot out anything by shutting your eyes, but the pain knew how to get past the barrier of the skin, and dig deep, so deep it disturbed your soul, yet only pierced the skin. The pain was red. The pain could match the very color you would fear most. He unconsciously arched his back, away from the deadly touch of the knife. Away from the pain.

He heard a sound, and this time it had nothing to do with him. It was the sound of metal on stone. A small, weak sizzle followed.

Don't let it die. . .

Don't kill it. . .

It was possessed by the hand. . .

The hand that holds the power. . .

The knife had been dropped, and now laid dormant on the ground.

He had no time, no time to look, none to prepare. He felt a hand push him to the floor, and he hit it hard. He was hit with a new pain, this time in his legs, as a rope fastened them to a nearly by supporter-beam.

"You made a grave mistake, and I will teach you the hard way. You cannot hide away from the family prophesy!"

"But---"

so naïve. . .

such a beautiful minded child. . .

so innocent. . .

I'm going to miss that. . .

His father came to malik's hands, and pulled so that his arms were straight, and his whole body was stretched. Pleas fell unto ears that could no longer hear the voice of a 10 year old. He had no time to hear the mimics of his voice, imitating his when he was young. When he was innocent.

The strain and feel was a new sensation, as minute old cuts were re-parted. His back was warm. Too hot for it to bring comfort from the ice-cold stone flooring. It burned with pain. It reeked of blood.

"You will no longer struggle, even if that is your will."

Malik felt rope fasten tightly around his wrists, and saw that the end was tied to another supporter beam. His wrists felt strangely itchy, as the aggravated skins redden around the spot.

The rope is a barrier. . .

Like the skin. . .

It hides the blood that lurks beneath. . .

If only I could save you. . .

Release you from your imagination. . .

The white dove is slowly turning black. . .

What was that smell? He was unaware of it then, but now it was far too noticeable. The child was far too innocent to realize his flesh not only bled, but had burnt also. But could he realize? Did he know deep down, but buttoned it up inside?

The dove is gray. . .

Darker . . .

The innocence is being smashed. . .

Suffering. . .

Dieing. . .

We're losing the battle, my friend. . .

Then, as quick as the relief came, pain came on swift wings, in agonizingly slow strokes. Pain flooded his whole left side, as he stifled a cry into a weak sob. At least now his belly felt some warmth, as the untamed red dribbled down his side, and dyed the ground the colors of pain. His pain. . . his sobs. . . his innocence lay on the floor. . .

I'm so sorry I couldn't save you child. . .

If only my words were enough to fix your young mind. . .

If only. . . if only. . .

For the dove has turned black, into the blood black raven. . .

Free . . .

In a cruel way. . .

The symbol of ma'at . . . {when I did research to see what the symbol was, it said it was the symbol of ma'at, but correct me if I am wrong . . .}

Wind dragon god, Ra, representative of land and sky. . .

Saint dragon, Osrirs, symbol of the forces of good and evil. . .

Lord of destruction, Obliesk, controller of light and dark. . .

The prophetic hieroglyphics. . .

And the telltale symbol of the sennen ankh.

They slept on his back. That's where they made their home. Then, and forever, and into the abyss of oblivion. . .

It was over . . . or was it just the beginning?

He snapped back to reality, passing the barriers of his memory and imagination on the way. Bakura licked malik's blood off the knife, and proceeded to clean his back, savoring the tinge of iron in the blood.

Something that scientist can't figure out. . .

You can travel into the past. . .

If you recreate the event. . .

Malik remembered where he was . . . it seems bakura had proven that he was capable of time travel, able to recreate anything. . .

Malik never doubted bakura again.

And his innocence. . .

His pain . . .

His sobs. . .

Lay on the floor. . .

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I hope you liked it! ^_^ thanks for reading, and putting up with my hidden darkness.

Please review? I put my heart into this. . .