Yellow Butterflies

September; the month Seto dreaded. The Thanksgiving before Mokuba stopped talking, to seto; to anyone. Some how Seto felt that Mokuba blamed him or was he just grieving? He couldn't tell anymore. Every day was the same numbness he felt, the same emptiness in his heart. Every night, before he drifted to sleep, the memory of that day repeated its self; Over and over again.