Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Just a Facade ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! I never have, nor will I ever. So shoo! Go away! No suing me!

Author's Note: Just so you know, I was feeling really depressed when I wrote this. Basically, my parents are threatening me to either fix my grades or transfer me to another university that they think is right for me. Obviously, this isn't what I want; since I picked the one I'm currently at because it was far away from home . . . this other they were going to send me to would have been much closer. I basically wrote this to siphon off some of my depression . . .

Just a Façade

~ Kurama no Miko2003

Everyone assumed he was happy; he was smiling, he was nodding at the appropriate times, he was laughing. Little did they know . . . it was just a mask, something to keep them from asking questions. A smile symbolized happiness; that was simple enough. He learned that at a young age; smile and no one would ask you questions. Yet little did they know . . . no one questioned the occasional flashes of sadness from his big, warm, chocolate eyes . . . the rare frowns he would wear. No, he would just brush it off as something that went wrong. The others would look concerned for a moment and then continued the inane chatter. Yet his pain never went away . . . the pain . . .

"Stop daydreaming, stupid," his darker other half had said several nights ago, appearing beside him in his usual ghostly form. Their physical similarities were uncanny; anyone could have mistaken him and his yami for twins . . . should they ever see them side by side. But no, more often than not, it was a matter of people mistaking him for his yami. "Get done with this . . . this . . . homework thing of yours so I can go and play." In a flash, the darker of the two disappeared back into the strange golden ring around his neck. The next day, the brutal homicide of a homeless man was shown on the news. There was no point in asking if it was his yami; there was no doubt in his mind that was who the murderer was. And again, his friends blindly trusted him when he said he was sure it was not his dark half; but that did not stop them from giving him a look. A look he knew only too well . . . a look of pity . . .

No, contrary to what his friends thought, it was not a matter of his yami physically abusing him and then healing him to hide the truth; no, it was worse than that. `If only he'd stop saying these things . . . how little I'm worth . . . how useless I am . . . Can't he tell I'm trying? I'm trying to prove to him my worth? That I have a use, purpose?' He sighed; there really was no point to it all . . . no matter what he did, his other half always said he was useless, worthless to the point that he was not worth the space he took up, the air he breathed, the food he ate. In short, he was worth . . . absolutely nothing. But of course, his other half does not say anything; he was not wearing the large golden pendant at the moment.

Suddenly, the timer in the kitchen goes off; quickly pushing back his chair, he rushes down to the kitchen, his hair, a shockingly pure white, flying behind him. Picking up the lid of the pot of soup he was making, he looks over to the cutting board. Several sliced tomatoes sat on the board, but that was not what held his attention. No, it was the knife that lay beside the tomatoes. It was an extremely sharp French knife, no nicks in it whatsoever . . . for a moment, he considered it. Death; whether he should plunge the object in between the ribs in the left side of his ribcage. It would be a simple death, really, just plunge the knife in the right spot . . . directly over his heart . . . and it would all be over. No more dealing with his forever absent father, his verbally abusive other half, and the fake smiles he gave people . . . his tortured soul could just leave . . . forever depart from this world, and be reunited with his beloved sister . . .

Yet at that very moment, another part of his mind asked him, "Why would you do such a thing when there are people in the world who would cry for you? You're not alone . . . you never were."

`Ah, but I always have . . . father's never here . . . mother's gone . . . Amane-chan's gone too . . . my yami doesn't care about me . . . my friends . . . could they even be called friends? I can't talk to them about anything . . . they're just . . . there; they're the only ones who don't look at me in fear . . . they let me be around them . . . but that's only because they know mou hitori no Yuugi can control mou hitori no boku . . .'

"Ah, but your father . . . your friends . . . they'd all cry for you, wouldn't they?" his mind asks him, yet again.

`No they wouldn't. Father would simply be glad I'm gone so he can go and do his research for as long as he wants; mou hitori no boku can find some other person's body to use; my so-called friends would simply say that it was for the best and assume that mou hitori no boku did it . . . nothing matters really. I can just leave this world, the plane of existence, and no one would care . . .'

"Ah, but they would, think about it," his mind prompts. "Your father comes home whenever he can; your friends try to get you to be happy and smile when you're with them . . ."

`But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter . . . I'm in pain . . . and there's no changing it . . . as long as I'm forced to face mou hitori no boku alone . . . there's . . . there's no point in living . . . no point in continuing to live in this . . . this . . . this hell for the rest of my life. In that one moment, he walked over to the cutting board and picked up the knife, seriously contemplating his own death. Should I? Just one little thing keeping me from living in this hell forever . . .'

A sudden flash of light appears above him as an angel appears; sadly looking at the depressed teenager. "No, my dear brother, you're not alone . . . you never were," the angel says, taking the knife out of the youth's hands and setting it back onto the cutting board.

"Amane-chan . . . I . . ." he left his sentence unfinished, burying his face in his sister's angelic robes as warm tears ran down his face.

"Shhhhhh . . . it's alright, Ryou-chan . . . don't cry . . . you'll see . . . everything will turn out fine in the end . . ." the angel soothed, running a hand down her brother's back. His sobs did not lessen any; he just cried his heart out.

"Father's never here anymore . . . mou hitori no boku just hates me . . . and my friends . . . they-"

"It's alright," she replies, "I'm watching over you . . . always and forever dear brother . . . I read the letters you've faithfully written to me from heaven as you're writing them . . . I've seen the abuse you've taken . . . be brave . . . it's true it takes courage to kill yourself . . . but don't forget, it also takes just as much courage to survive . . . don't ever forget that . . ."

"I won't, Amane-chan . . . I promise you . . . I won't," he replies, regaining his will to live, to survive.

"My time here is short . . . I must be leaving now . . . just remember . . . just take it one second at a time and those seconds will become minutes, and those minutes will become hours, and those hours will become days, and those days will become weeks, and those weeks, months, and those months, years . . . you can survive, my dear brother. You will survive. I must go . . . take this as a parting gift," she reaches into one of her wings and tugs at a feather. "Hitori ja nai yo, Ryou-chan; should you ever feel the urge to do what you contemplated doing tonight, look at the feather . . . and remember . . ." The angel gently faded away, leaving Ryou to his thoughts.

"Amane-chan," he murmurs, looking down at the gently glowing feather. Slowly tucking it into a back pocket, he places the knife in the sink and puts the cut tomatoes into the soup.

~*Owari*~

Kurama no Miko2003: This really didn't turn out the way I expected it to . . . but then again, I was just plain old writing this . . . and I really wasn't sure where this would take me. And unless I get lots of requests for not making this a one-shot, it'll remain that way . . . And if anyone wants to know why I picked Ryou-chan for this, it's simple, really: he's the only one that fit the bill. I have written it for Kurama-sama, but it just wouldn't have worked . . . at all. I guess I could've written it for Mikagami from Flame of Recca now that I look back on it . . . but Ryou-chan came to mind first. And I do feel a little bit better now . . . I hope some of you liked it . . . this is probably the first full, all-out angst fic that I've written . . . every other time, it's just been light angst. But hey, if you think it sucks, so be it . . . it probably does. I haven't really edited it at all . . . And please; do be kind enough to leave me a review. Reviews would help cheer me up a bit . . . make me feel better. Arigato gozaimasu for reading this!.

And here's a Japanese to English dictionary for the few phrases of Japanese I used in this fic:

Mou hitori no boku: The other me; this is what the yamis are referred to in the original YGO anime. In this case, since this is Ryou, he's referring to his own yami, Yami Bakura.

Mou hitori no Yuugi: The other Yuugi; basically, Yami Yuugi.

Hitori ja nai yo, Ryou-chan: You're not alone, Ryou-chan.

Arigato gozaimasu: Thank you very much.