Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
Thankies for the reviewers are after the chapter.
***
RECAP: Ryou had botched his own suicide. Ryou had gone slightly insane (Only slightly! Only slightly! Ryou-fangirls get away from me! Aiee!) Ryou was knocked out last chapter from a blow to the head (courtesy of Yami Bakura).
Note to reviewers for chapter one: Thanks are at the end of the chapter.
*Ryou's POV*
Even before I was fully conscious, I could feel it. Seeping into the darker corners of what was left of my sanity. Corruption of my body. Pollution of my soul.
No, please, not again. Not again.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Suppress this. I can beat this. Kill this.
Please.
My eyes fly open with a throat-wrenching sob. I can feel my back arch from a vividly hard floor. Distantly, my mind registers that I'm panting- no, gasping.
I can't hold this in. Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.
Finally, it flares to life. The hunger.
My veins are exploding. My skin is tightening around my flesh. Bones are burning. Blood searing inside. Air is too heavy to breathe. Can't scream.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Lungs are collapsing. I can hear my pulse. Faster. Faster. Soaked in boiling oil. Thrown into the heat at the heart of the world. Suffocation of sins.
I think I'm crying. My fists clutching air. My teeth will shatter if I keep my jaw clenched much longer. Untamable.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Hatred. As fiery as the agony.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate Them.
Hate this.
Hate myself.
Writhe. Struggle.
Falter.
No use. Can't win. It's too much. Hurts too much. Hate's too much.
Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.
Please.
Just let me die.
Writhe. Black. Fall.
Let me die.
***
Withdrawal.
That's what They told me it was.
They watched me the first time it happened. They waited while I shrieked and tore at invisible demons. They would watch when I clawed at my skin. And when I fell to the floor sobbing after each wave of pain, They would wait for the next roll of agony to possess me. The day it all started. The day I died too many times to count. Over and over. Scream after scream.
When exhaustion would not allow another shriek out of my lungs and I could no longer remember who I was, or if there had ever been a life before the pain, a life without suffering, it was then that They gave me another dose. Another injection of the drug I do not know the name of. A shot to hell.
They told me this would happen again if I didn't take It. This withdrawal. They told me while I lay on the floor, my life rekindling through the poison under my skin. They told me it would hurt even worse if it happened again. The demons brought me down, and they would drag me down further. They told me their price, the money I had to pay to prevent from ever going through that again.
I knew then I was addicted. That I would never be able to get out of it. I would always be Their slave. I would always be Its slave. So when They asked me if I was going to comply with their wishes, to sign myself unto the Devil's contract and buy my "medicine" from Them, I, who had forgotten how to talk, the words to say, I, Ryou, a light to counter the dark, I, the broken tatters of my life strewn upon the ground, I surrendered to all, and I whispered but one word. One croaked, filthy word.
"Yes."
So began my death.
Withdrawal.
***
I know I'm dreaming.
Because there is no way on this god-forsaken earth, that I would ever make these same mistakes again.
That's how I know.
It's a memory.
It's a dream.
Only a dream.
If only it didn't seem so real. It was only a month ago.
Don't scream.
Don't scream. . .
*Flashback*
I kept thinking that this was a really bad idea.
If one added my coordination skills, luck, and a large room full of music and people, one would definitely not be in the vicinity when disaster would inevitably explode.
I was at the Domino high school dance. With my friends. With unbearably loud sounds unidentifiable as music crushing my ears. So after standing one minute with Joey and Tristen under the speakers, I left them to suffer their self-inflicted hearing torture. As I headed towards the refuge of the punch bowl, a familiar face found its way in front of me.
"Hello, Baker." Michael Baker, the son of one of my father's American business friends and dinner-party-visitor to my house on several occasions, smiled at me.
"No need for formalities, Ryou. It's Michael." He grins again.
I couldn't help noticing that he addressed me by my first name, as well. And how unnerving that smile was.
"Nice outfit. It suits you." So says Michael. Personally I don't see myself as different from any other guy. I was wearing a dress shirt and slacks. Like every other guy here. Now, Michael was really starting to scare me.
"Not much of a dancer then?" He asks. That question further proved his unfamiliarity with me. My friends wouldn't have needed to ask. Apparently they didn't need me to have fun at a dance either. I felt a little left out, but so what? Friends were still friends. Even if they forgot about you from time to time.
Right?
I shake my head with a smile of my own. "Not really. I was just going to get some punch, actually, so-"
"Great! I want some too. Let's go." He cut me off before I got the chance to tell him I wanted to be alone for a bit.
We walked over to the punch bowl, and Michael was saying something about moving back to America in a couple of days, but frankly, I didn't care. It wasn't as though we were friends or anything. We were merely accidental acquaintances through my father's line of work. So needless to say, even though I wasn't really listening, I put on a polite smile and nodded my head at intervals. I tried to get the message across, that I something else important to do, by glancing around significantly.
But he just wouldn't stop talking. How in the world could anyone talk for that long about the decorations at a school dance? Apparently Michael could. I was getting anxious to leave now. Yami and Bakura were planning to duel at Yugi's grandfather's gameshop after this, and I had been looking forward to watching it for the better part of a week.
I took another sip of the punch. Okay, let's try this excuse: "Could you excuse me, I have to use the restrooms. I think I drank more punch than I should have."
"Sure. I have to go to." Funny, all he had was a couple of sips. And he was STILL following me. Argh! What was with this guy? Couldn't he take a hint?
I threw away the empty paper cup. Then the world threw itself upwards and I tripped and fell- straight into Michael. Amazingly he caught me. I didn't have much time to think about it though. My stomach was upset. My vision became muffled and the music didn't seem so loud. My stomach started heaving. It was then I realized, quite groggily, that someone must've spiked the punch. Boy, was I stupid.
The scene changed before my eyes, instead of flashing lights, it became dark. Green and black. Grass and street. My mouth opened, and I threw up. All over the green. All over the black. And all over someone's shoes. Couldn't really tell whose. Didn't really care. Throat felt sticky and raw. Bad taste. Stumble. Why won't the earth keep still? I can't stop my mind from spinning, can't think. Can't understand.
The floor lifts from my feet. I think I'm being carried. My mouth fumbles for words. "Wha's'goin'nn?" The words sound slurred, my tongue won't work right. Can't see who answers.
"It's alright. It's okay."
Clogged mind registers voice. Michael? Sidewalk passes by my head. Don't feel too good. Steps. Door. House? Wait- wasn't I supposed to be somewhere else? Or something? Or-
In a room. More voices now. Is that a good thing?
Can see shadows. Blurry faces. Rough hands.
Maybe not so good.
Try to get away. Try to get out. No. No. No.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Arms around me. Smothering. Caging.
Escape.
Hopeless. Too tight. Can't get away. Too cold. Too tired. Too scared. Can't get away. Can't- can't- can't-
Can't breathe.
Cry.
Slump. Limp. Weak.
Surrender.
Give in. Give up.
Mercy.
Mercy.
Pain in arm. Quick. Small. Sharp
Curl in. Curl up.
Hurts. Hurts. Hurts.
Something spreading. Warm. Arm, neck. Melts heat across chest, through legs, trickles into head.
Filling me.
Burning me.
Hurting me.
Don't like this. Don't like this.
Scared.
Want to go home. Always wanting to go home. But-
Alone.
Always and forever.
Head feels light.
Body does too.
Light enough to fly.
Fly home?
Soothing.
Calming.
World falls away.
Falls away.
Perfection.
Feels . . . wonderful. . .
Feels wrong.
This happiness isn't real.
It's eating me alive.
Underneath the white mask.
Underneath my skin.
Fall from heaven. Fall to hell.
Banished from home. Thrown to the earth.
Fly away, angel. Fly away.
/Bakura?/ try, cry, try. /Bakura?/
Save me. Help me.
Love me.
Cry.
Love me.
See me?
Know me?
/Bakura?/
Foggy. Blocked off.
No.
Corrupting warmth in my body. My mind. My soul.
Love me, Bakura.
All the world is falling away.
/Bakura!/ My soul threw itself against the mind barriers.
Alone.
Always and forever.
Drowning in white. Drowning in bright. Starlight. Star bright.
No- don't want- can't-
Love me.
//BAKURA!//
***
*Back to the Present*
Blink.
There's a bright light searing into my eyes. The word "ow" filters through my brain.
Blink.
I can't see. A brilliant, white illumination surrounds me and starts to seep into my skin. I can't help thinking that I might be dead. Was it too much to hope for?
Blink.
I can breathe now. Cool and rich gulps of air. Dulls the ache in my head. Fades the soreness of my body. But it'll be back. The pain will always be back.
My eyes start to water as I try to focus them. Strain to catch a glimpse of whatever may be happening to me. I get my wish.
Blink.
/Bakura?/
//Ryou. . .// His voice is so soft. So gentle.
/Bakura? You're bleeding./
And so he was. One side of his face had a deep gouge in the side of it. I lift a hand from the bed I was lying on. He's sitting so close to me, my fingers reach for the wound. I falter, and draw my hand back to my side. The blood trickles down his neck and stains his shirt.
Something like a chuckle escapes him, but turns into a clenched sob.
Don't cry, darkness. Don't cry.
His pale fingers come to the side of my face to caress a strand of my hair.
I've never seen a person cry with no tears.
Another suppressed sob.
And then you do something I thought you would never be able to do.
Your arms envelope me. An embrace far more gentle than feathers drifting.
I close my eyes. If this isn't real- if this is all just another cruel nightmare-
//Ryou. . .//
At the sound of your voice calling within me, I don't care if this is an unreality. I'm so hollow. So colorless. So wretchedly empty.
And all I care about is you.
I don't move.
All I could expect was death.
I can't move.
All I wanted was death.
I try to hold on to you. I try to escape the dark weighing me down. But I'm trapped. Death has claimed me for its own, and I won't ever escape agony's clutches.
Don't let me go. Don't let me go.
And then. . .
No, not again. Not again. Not now. Not with him.
Cry again. Die again. No.
Hunger. Violent and awake. Starved and enraged. It turns on to full blast.
I can't breathe anymore.
I don't want to breathe anymore.
Scream. Scream. Scream.
I'll never be free of it.
//Ryou? Ryou!//
Your voice is fading. Don't let me go. Don't let me fall.
Save me Bakura. Save me from myself.
I can't see your face.
Scream.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
My insides explode but my skin constricts. My world has fallen. There's no going back.
I'm on fire. I'm on ice.
I can't feel my hands as I claw at my face. I can't feel the bruises my thrashing body is inflicting upon itself. I can't feel my body contort and twist unnaturally.
But I can feel you.
You're holding me down. Hands on my wrists keep my fingernails from ripping away my skin. A heavy weight on my body keeps me from struggling. You're holding me to life.
You're holding me to pain.
Scream.
After scream.
After scream.
Save me Bakura. Save me.
/Kill me now/ I send to you.
/Please. . ./ I can't feel my tears, but I know I'm crying. /Set me free, Bakura/
I can't see your face.
I feel a sudden jerk on my neck.
A last flash of searing pain, and then. . . this.
Is this release? Fade to white.
Am I free?
Fly away. Fly away.
Love you, Bakura.
Fly away.
***
Author again.
Yes, I am aware that most of my reviewers are going to kill me for the ending of this chapter. Such an evil cliffhanger.
I would have written more but I wanted to get this posted as soon as possible. I'll get the next chapter up if I get any reviews. If I don't (by the way, this *is* a threat. At least, I hope it is.) I won't post the next chapter because what would be the point of taking the time to put it on the internet if no one likes it enough to review? Which reminds me. . .
Reviewers:
To Reaper from Heaven- Thank you for reviewing, honored First Reviewer. Yes, I like switching things around. Its fun throwing the world into chaos. I should do it more often, yes?
To Jeti- Thank you so much for letting me decide whether or not I could write another chapter. It's nice when I'm free enough to make my own choices. And I'm terribly glad you liked it.
To Lightning Sage- (Death_Cry stares at your review, eyes wide) I can't believe you like it so much! (Squeal) *I* can't help but be amazed. Wow. I mean. . . well, wow.
To Bakura Fan- Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Did everyone hear that? I'm on a favorite's list! (Death_Cry runs around the room dancing and knocks over a table, two chairs, and a lampshade before deciding that perhaps dancing is not the best thing for her to be attempting) Glad you liked it. Even happier that you put me on a favorite stories list! (Squeal and the sound of shattering glass can be heard)
To Rlenavampyre14- I'm like that too, except I wear red when I'm happy and smile when I'm sad. Thanks for reviewing. See? I posted another chapter, aren't you proud of me? Email me. I found a picture to send to you. Actually, a whole treasure trove of pictures.
To Evil- (Death_Cry bows) Thank you for reviewing, kind stranger. Unfortunately, you are going to have to wait until the next chapter to see if Ryou dies or not. Which also reminds me. . .
So, the big question: Did Ryou die?
But I'm a real big softie. How could I murder such an adorable character? I'd rather have him suffer. (Demonic grin)
Besides, how would I write the next chapter without him? It *is*, after all, written in his point of view. . .
Thankies for the reviewers are after the chapter.
***
RECAP: Ryou had botched his own suicide. Ryou had gone slightly insane (Only slightly! Only slightly! Ryou-fangirls get away from me! Aiee!) Ryou was knocked out last chapter from a blow to the head (courtesy of Yami Bakura).
Note to reviewers for chapter one: Thanks are at the end of the chapter.
*Ryou's POV*
Even before I was fully conscious, I could feel it. Seeping into the darker corners of what was left of my sanity. Corruption of my body. Pollution of my soul.
No, please, not again. Not again.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Suppress this. I can beat this. Kill this.
Please.
My eyes fly open with a throat-wrenching sob. I can feel my back arch from a vividly hard floor. Distantly, my mind registers that I'm panting- no, gasping.
I can't hold this in. Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.
Finally, it flares to life. The hunger.
My veins are exploding. My skin is tightening around my flesh. Bones are burning. Blood searing inside. Air is too heavy to breathe. Can't scream.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Lungs are collapsing. I can hear my pulse. Faster. Faster. Soaked in boiling oil. Thrown into the heat at the heart of the world. Suffocation of sins.
I think I'm crying. My fists clutching air. My teeth will shatter if I keep my jaw clenched much longer. Untamable.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Hatred. As fiery as the agony.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate Them.
Hate this.
Hate myself.
Writhe. Struggle.
Falter.
No use. Can't win. It's too much. Hurts too much. Hate's too much.
Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.
Please.
Just let me die.
Writhe. Black. Fall.
Let me die.
***
Withdrawal.
That's what They told me it was.
They watched me the first time it happened. They waited while I shrieked and tore at invisible demons. They would watch when I clawed at my skin. And when I fell to the floor sobbing after each wave of pain, They would wait for the next roll of agony to possess me. The day it all started. The day I died too many times to count. Over and over. Scream after scream.
When exhaustion would not allow another shriek out of my lungs and I could no longer remember who I was, or if there had ever been a life before the pain, a life without suffering, it was then that They gave me another dose. Another injection of the drug I do not know the name of. A shot to hell.
They told me this would happen again if I didn't take It. This withdrawal. They told me while I lay on the floor, my life rekindling through the poison under my skin. They told me it would hurt even worse if it happened again. The demons brought me down, and they would drag me down further. They told me their price, the money I had to pay to prevent from ever going through that again.
I knew then I was addicted. That I would never be able to get out of it. I would always be Their slave. I would always be Its slave. So when They asked me if I was going to comply with their wishes, to sign myself unto the Devil's contract and buy my "medicine" from Them, I, who had forgotten how to talk, the words to say, I, Ryou, a light to counter the dark, I, the broken tatters of my life strewn upon the ground, I surrendered to all, and I whispered but one word. One croaked, filthy word.
"Yes."
So began my death.
Withdrawal.
***
I know I'm dreaming.
Because there is no way on this god-forsaken earth, that I would ever make these same mistakes again.
That's how I know.
It's a memory.
It's a dream.
Only a dream.
If only it didn't seem so real. It was only a month ago.
Don't scream.
Don't scream. . .
*Flashback*
I kept thinking that this was a really bad idea.
If one added my coordination skills, luck, and a large room full of music and people, one would definitely not be in the vicinity when disaster would inevitably explode.
I was at the Domino high school dance. With my friends. With unbearably loud sounds unidentifiable as music crushing my ears. So after standing one minute with Joey and Tristen under the speakers, I left them to suffer their self-inflicted hearing torture. As I headed towards the refuge of the punch bowl, a familiar face found its way in front of me.
"Hello, Baker." Michael Baker, the son of one of my father's American business friends and dinner-party-visitor to my house on several occasions, smiled at me.
"No need for formalities, Ryou. It's Michael." He grins again.
I couldn't help noticing that he addressed me by my first name, as well. And how unnerving that smile was.
"Nice outfit. It suits you." So says Michael. Personally I don't see myself as different from any other guy. I was wearing a dress shirt and slacks. Like every other guy here. Now, Michael was really starting to scare me.
"Not much of a dancer then?" He asks. That question further proved his unfamiliarity with me. My friends wouldn't have needed to ask. Apparently they didn't need me to have fun at a dance either. I felt a little left out, but so what? Friends were still friends. Even if they forgot about you from time to time.
Right?
I shake my head with a smile of my own. "Not really. I was just going to get some punch, actually, so-"
"Great! I want some too. Let's go." He cut me off before I got the chance to tell him I wanted to be alone for a bit.
We walked over to the punch bowl, and Michael was saying something about moving back to America in a couple of days, but frankly, I didn't care. It wasn't as though we were friends or anything. We were merely accidental acquaintances through my father's line of work. So needless to say, even though I wasn't really listening, I put on a polite smile and nodded my head at intervals. I tried to get the message across, that I something else important to do, by glancing around significantly.
But he just wouldn't stop talking. How in the world could anyone talk for that long about the decorations at a school dance? Apparently Michael could. I was getting anxious to leave now. Yami and Bakura were planning to duel at Yugi's grandfather's gameshop after this, and I had been looking forward to watching it for the better part of a week.
I took another sip of the punch. Okay, let's try this excuse: "Could you excuse me, I have to use the restrooms. I think I drank more punch than I should have."
"Sure. I have to go to." Funny, all he had was a couple of sips. And he was STILL following me. Argh! What was with this guy? Couldn't he take a hint?
I threw away the empty paper cup. Then the world threw itself upwards and I tripped and fell- straight into Michael. Amazingly he caught me. I didn't have much time to think about it though. My stomach was upset. My vision became muffled and the music didn't seem so loud. My stomach started heaving. It was then I realized, quite groggily, that someone must've spiked the punch. Boy, was I stupid.
The scene changed before my eyes, instead of flashing lights, it became dark. Green and black. Grass and street. My mouth opened, and I threw up. All over the green. All over the black. And all over someone's shoes. Couldn't really tell whose. Didn't really care. Throat felt sticky and raw. Bad taste. Stumble. Why won't the earth keep still? I can't stop my mind from spinning, can't think. Can't understand.
The floor lifts from my feet. I think I'm being carried. My mouth fumbles for words. "Wha's'goin'nn?" The words sound slurred, my tongue won't work right. Can't see who answers.
"It's alright. It's okay."
Clogged mind registers voice. Michael? Sidewalk passes by my head. Don't feel too good. Steps. Door. House? Wait- wasn't I supposed to be somewhere else? Or something? Or-
In a room. More voices now. Is that a good thing?
Can see shadows. Blurry faces. Rough hands.
Maybe not so good.
Try to get away. Try to get out. No. No. No.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
Arms around me. Smothering. Caging.
Escape.
Hopeless. Too tight. Can't get away. Too cold. Too tired. Too scared. Can't get away. Can't- can't- can't-
Can't breathe.
Cry.
Slump. Limp. Weak.
Surrender.
Give in. Give up.
Mercy.
Mercy.
Pain in arm. Quick. Small. Sharp
Curl in. Curl up.
Hurts. Hurts. Hurts.
Something spreading. Warm. Arm, neck. Melts heat across chest, through legs, trickles into head.
Filling me.
Burning me.
Hurting me.
Don't like this. Don't like this.
Scared.
Want to go home. Always wanting to go home. But-
Alone.
Always and forever.
Head feels light.
Body does too.
Light enough to fly.
Fly home?
Soothing.
Calming.
World falls away.
Falls away.
Perfection.
Feels . . . wonderful. . .
Feels wrong.
This happiness isn't real.
It's eating me alive.
Underneath the white mask.
Underneath my skin.
Fall from heaven. Fall to hell.
Banished from home. Thrown to the earth.
Fly away, angel. Fly away.
/Bakura?/ try, cry, try. /Bakura?/
Save me. Help me.
Love me.
Cry.
Love me.
See me?
Know me?
/Bakura?/
Foggy. Blocked off.
No.
Corrupting warmth in my body. My mind. My soul.
Love me, Bakura.
All the world is falling away.
/Bakura!/ My soul threw itself against the mind barriers.
Alone.
Always and forever.
Drowning in white. Drowning in bright. Starlight. Star bright.
No- don't want- can't-
Love me.
//BAKURA!//
***
*Back to the Present*
Blink.
There's a bright light searing into my eyes. The word "ow" filters through my brain.
Blink.
I can't see. A brilliant, white illumination surrounds me and starts to seep into my skin. I can't help thinking that I might be dead. Was it too much to hope for?
Blink.
I can breathe now. Cool and rich gulps of air. Dulls the ache in my head. Fades the soreness of my body. But it'll be back. The pain will always be back.
My eyes start to water as I try to focus them. Strain to catch a glimpse of whatever may be happening to me. I get my wish.
Blink.
/Bakura?/
//Ryou. . .// His voice is so soft. So gentle.
/Bakura? You're bleeding./
And so he was. One side of his face had a deep gouge in the side of it. I lift a hand from the bed I was lying on. He's sitting so close to me, my fingers reach for the wound. I falter, and draw my hand back to my side. The blood trickles down his neck and stains his shirt.
Something like a chuckle escapes him, but turns into a clenched sob.
Don't cry, darkness. Don't cry.
His pale fingers come to the side of my face to caress a strand of my hair.
I've never seen a person cry with no tears.
Another suppressed sob.
And then you do something I thought you would never be able to do.
Your arms envelope me. An embrace far more gentle than feathers drifting.
I close my eyes. If this isn't real- if this is all just another cruel nightmare-
//Ryou. . .//
At the sound of your voice calling within me, I don't care if this is an unreality. I'm so hollow. So colorless. So wretchedly empty.
And all I care about is you.
I don't move.
All I could expect was death.
I can't move.
All I wanted was death.
I try to hold on to you. I try to escape the dark weighing me down. But I'm trapped. Death has claimed me for its own, and I won't ever escape agony's clutches.
Don't let me go. Don't let me go.
And then. . .
No, not again. Not again. Not now. Not with him.
Cry again. Die again. No.
Hunger. Violent and awake. Starved and enraged. It turns on to full blast.
I can't breathe anymore.
I don't want to breathe anymore.
Scream. Scream. Scream.
I'll never be free of it.
//Ryou? Ryou!//
Your voice is fading. Don't let me go. Don't let me fall.
Save me Bakura. Save me from myself.
I can't see your face.
Scream.
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.
My insides explode but my skin constricts. My world has fallen. There's no going back.
I'm on fire. I'm on ice.
I can't feel my hands as I claw at my face. I can't feel the bruises my thrashing body is inflicting upon itself. I can't feel my body contort and twist unnaturally.
But I can feel you.
You're holding me down. Hands on my wrists keep my fingernails from ripping away my skin. A heavy weight on my body keeps me from struggling. You're holding me to life.
You're holding me to pain.
Scream.
After scream.
After scream.
Save me Bakura. Save me.
/Kill me now/ I send to you.
/Please. . ./ I can't feel my tears, but I know I'm crying. /Set me free, Bakura/
I can't see your face.
I feel a sudden jerk on my neck.
A last flash of searing pain, and then. . . this.
Is this release? Fade to white.
Am I free?
Fly away. Fly away.
Love you, Bakura.
Fly away.
***
Author again.
Yes, I am aware that most of my reviewers are going to kill me for the ending of this chapter. Such an evil cliffhanger.
I would have written more but I wanted to get this posted as soon as possible. I'll get the next chapter up if I get any reviews. If I don't (by the way, this *is* a threat. At least, I hope it is.) I won't post the next chapter because what would be the point of taking the time to put it on the internet if no one likes it enough to review? Which reminds me. . .
Reviewers:
To Reaper from Heaven- Thank you for reviewing, honored First Reviewer. Yes, I like switching things around. Its fun throwing the world into chaos. I should do it more often, yes?
To Jeti- Thank you so much for letting me decide whether or not I could write another chapter. It's nice when I'm free enough to make my own choices. And I'm terribly glad you liked it.
To Lightning Sage- (Death_Cry stares at your review, eyes wide) I can't believe you like it so much! (Squeal) *I* can't help but be amazed. Wow. I mean. . . well, wow.
To Bakura Fan- Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Did everyone hear that? I'm on a favorite's list! (Death_Cry runs around the room dancing and knocks over a table, two chairs, and a lampshade before deciding that perhaps dancing is not the best thing for her to be attempting) Glad you liked it. Even happier that you put me on a favorite stories list! (Squeal and the sound of shattering glass can be heard)
To Rlenavampyre14- I'm like that too, except I wear red when I'm happy and smile when I'm sad. Thanks for reviewing. See? I posted another chapter, aren't you proud of me? Email me. I found a picture to send to you. Actually, a whole treasure trove of pictures.
To Evil- (Death_Cry bows) Thank you for reviewing, kind stranger. Unfortunately, you are going to have to wait until the next chapter to see if Ryou dies or not. Which also reminds me. . .
So, the big question: Did Ryou die?
But I'm a real big softie. How could I murder such an adorable character? I'd rather have him suffer. (Demonic grin)
Besides, how would I write the next chapter without him? It *is*, after all, written in his point of view. . .