Average. That pretty much summed me up. I had an average name, a regular appearance, and an ordinary mind. My name was Tory. There was nothing special it. I obtained C's in all of my exams, and that was with revision. Definitely nothing exceptional about that either. However, if you lived in an orphanage full of intelligent crackpots, who all but grinded their arm to a stump in exams, and you were average? Then you're nothing special at all.Although of course there were other people who were anything but intellectual, but sometimes it felt like I was the only one.
So being common in the orphanage was pretty much looked severely down upon, because ironically Wammy's was an orphanage for intelligent children. So how exactly did I end up here? That's what I wanted to know. Maybe I got mixed up with an intelligent baby, on my way to a normal orphanage. It was an amusing thought.
I hated being nothing special, it made me feel so inferior to the brain-boxes that surrounded me, smothering me. Thus, I also despised abnormally clever people. They irritated me immensely. I had also realised that academic individuals were ridiculously stuck-up. They thought they were better than every god damned person, and they expected to be pampered over. The kids in the Wammy's orphanage thought like that too, although that way of thinking was probably fuelled by Roger, the main supervisor of the orphanage. He always bought the cleverest ones what they wanted, as it "motivated them." It was mainly the top three mad scientists of Wammy's who received anything they ask for, as they were the special cases. By mad scientists, I was referring to Near, Mello, and Matt.
Near must have had about three hundred tonnes of toys in his room. He was the first successor to L. Gosh, who wanted to succeed L? Who wanted to have the responsibility of keeping the global world safe from crime on their shoulders? Anyway, Near had white messy hair. Roger said his hair was white from the amount of stress he had as a baby; he was usually found barefooted and in white pyjamas, with a stoic expression on his angelic little baby face (not).
The second successor to L was Mello. He demanded the most expensive chocolate, and he got it. But that's not all! He actually gets the chocolate shipped from Belgium. That I swear was just favouritism at its finest. Mello had ginger straight hair that brushed his shoulders, and was in the style of a bob; fit with a full fringe. He looked just like a girl when viewed from the back. He walked around in a black leather vest and tight, black trousers, and I mean reallytight. That bulge in his trousers wasn't just a crease in the material. It was disgusting; he was disgusting. He walked around dressed like that, and he thought it was normal. As if!
Matt was the third successor to L (The oh, holy everlasting L!). I wasn't really sure what his flaw was, as I didn't see him much. But I actually believed that he got dressed in the dark. He sported a red and white striped long sleeved t-shirt, which sometimes he covered partly with a furry beige body warmer. He also wore blue jeans tucked into high top, brown military boots and he had short red hair, dyed obviously. See what I meant about Wammy's place being full of lunatics? Anyway, Matt received all the computer games he desired. I mean come on, where were my anime box sets, Roger? Or my books that were long overdue? Oh I know where they were; they're still in the shop collecting dust as usual…
I snapped out of my thoughts. I shouldn't have let myself get so riled up. I swung my legs out of my single bed, and I had to quickly cover my squinted eyes from the glaring morning sun. I brushed my limp, wavy, mousey brown hair out of my eyes as I did so. I hated these blinds, they didn't block out anything. A yawn escaped my throat, and I stood and dragged myself over to my continuously growing floordrobe, hunting through the mound of clothes. I pulled out a simple blue dress with a collar, a grey cardigan, and black leggings, and white trainers. As I slipped the clothes on, I pondered over what we might have for breakfast. Finally ready, I made my way through the mess and pulled opened the door, which opened with a resisting click. I stepped out and turned to shut the mahogany door. As I started to turn, a hand impacted with my shoulder. I lost my footing and crashed into the dark green, plush carpet. I winced at the pain of the carpet burn and at the throbbing of where the hand had shoved me.
"Move out the way, stupid airhead!" a harsh voice sneered.
