Don't Deserve
He looked over in the direction of grave in every few minutes, every once and a while, remembering the loud annoying antics of the boy lying there before unknown silence consumed him. Now, he'd never admit that how much indeed he was used to watching over that boy even though he had a hard enough time with saying that he was indeed their friend.
Now, however, he doubted it was necessary. It was basically something that went unspoken, but they knew he obviously gave a shit about their health, as when Ray had attempted to storm off in anger after that kid with the wind bit-beast, he had stopped him then put a stop to the offending kid himself. A slight ache resurfaced from the faded scar on his arm. He'd gotten pretty beat up, all for their sake.
Every once and a while, he'd remember something. Something completely irrelevant to the situation. Or perhaps it was relevant, he hadn't decided; it depended upon the situation. Like his first taste of glory.
The crowd cheering.
The smoke and the explosions.
The first launch.
The crashing and collisions of beyblades.
That was the life he had chosen. The wind brushed the side of his face, and he felt the dried paint he had painted upon his cheeks this morning. It sent him spiraling into a similar reverie.
His father.
His father beyblading with him.
Smiling, laughing, learning things he had never dreamed of.
The resemblance between the two of them.
But things changed, the light that once surrounded him turned into muddy darkness.
The slamming of the door.
His father's slightly nervous expression.
His mother's silence.
Loud car crash.
His grandfather.
The hatered upon his face, and the way he looked at his grandson.
The way they talked, not watering down the choices and the consequences.
The proposition.
The lifeless body of his father.
The silent goodbye that never happened.
His mother's refusal to speak.
His outburst.
The bodies pushed into the grave as they passed by.
The hand that held him back.
His screaming.
The tears that fell down his face.
The words spoken to him by the devil.
The propoganda.
The lies.
The brainwashing.
The darkness.
Sweet darkness.
His darkness.
Abandonment.
The first time he had painted his cheeks, taking on an oath he had never shared with another living soul.
Things he had never chosen, choking him.
The blood on his hands.
The sound of talons on metal.
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Like A Shooting Star
FanfictionTyson screw up big time. Last year was Kai's first real Christmas, thanks to Tyson, after spending a brutal Christmasless childhood in the monastery. Last year, Tyson left Japan and promised Hiromi that he would come home for Christmas on time. Thi...
