Hey! :D New story here. I can tell you now that it's going to be mostly cannon, if not completley so. It's basically Death Note told from Mello's perspectice. I hope you like it!
Please reveiw! :3
(all content, including the poems, belongs to me except that that is originally a part of Death Note)
I wish that things were different
When all we wanted was time.
We used to look at the sunset,
We used to always rhyme.
We used to fit together
Like two pieces of a puzzle.
We never used to overlap,
But now we always shuffle.
…
Her name was Tatyana. She was my twin sister. I don't really remember much about my life before Whammy's, to be honest, but I know that she was very important to me. We did everything together.
She was everyone's favorite. I do remember that. She was the quiet one, incredibly sweet and brilliant. She was beautiful and good natured.
I was brutish and routy. Just as brilliant, but in an incredibly loud way. I hardly ever did what I was told.
We complemented each other. Ying and yang. Good and Bad.
Tatyana and Mihael Keehl.
Sure, I was a bit jealous. Everyone loved her more, even our parents sometimes. But, the thing is, even I loved her more. So it didn't really matter.
Even to this day, I can still remember when she died.
I was only 7 at the time. I don't know if it was because of it being a traumatizing experience, or maybe just reliving that night in my dreams so many times, but I remember nearly everything as if it was yesterday…
…
We're driving to the hospital when someone shoots one of the back wheels of our car.
My father, a former head of the Russian Mafia, curses, swerving and crashing into a tree. I squeeze Tatyana's hand in my own, hearing her scared cries and stand up in my chair, trying to get a glimpse of the damage over my father's seat directly in front of me.
Mommy is crying, clutching at her stomach; I wonder if the baby will ever be born now. Papa is working madly at opening his door, shouting angrily in Russian.
"Should've known they would come for me…" he says roughly as his door finally opens. I immediately grab Tatyana from beside me, unbuckling her and pushing her to the front of the door, making her climb over the seats.
Once she's over, she turns back to me.
"Mihael? Are you coming?" she asks, a tone of desperation in her voice. Mama is pushing her out the door, groaning as another contraction hits.
"Yes." I say. "Go, Tanya. Go. I'll be there in a second." She looks at me with desperate, brown eyes, before nodding and going.
Mama reaches for me just as another shot rings out in the air.
"Go." she pleads at me. "Run."
I shake my head.
"The baby, Mama." I insist, crawling to her as I hear a third shot from outside. "The baby. You have to push."
She shakes her head, tears in her eyes.
"Go," she says firmly. "Run."
I give my mother one last tearful glance and run, hoping I can distract whoever's outside away from the car.
I take five steps outside the car before I see him.
My father is lying maybe ten feet from the side of the road, blood stains surrounding his body with red. I run to him, pressing my fingers against his throat.
No pulse. I choke back a sob.
And that's when I see her, blonde hair falling around her face in a halo and her body sprawled in a broken way that just screams dead.
'She's just sleeping, she's just sleeping, just sleeping, sleeping…'
But people who are alive don't have that much blood soaking into their light pink dresses. Before I even think, I'm already to her side, a silent scream ripping through my throat.
Her dark brown eyes, the only thing that usually distinguished us apart, are still open. Gasping, I find the presence of mind to slide them shut with my fingers just as a loud bang sounds off from behind me.
A large gush of air hits me from behind, and I'm pushed down onto Tatyana, my chest laying horizontally against hers.
Several clanging sounds follow and something wet begins to drip against my neck. I pay it no mind, instead rolling off Tatyana to see what has happened now.
Where the car once laid there is now a burning lump of metal. Someone must've thrown explosives.
Another sob reaches it's way up my throat, thinking of the baby.
I was right. It's never going to be born now.
Before I think on what I'm doing, I stand, stumbling slightly. I suddenly feel extremely weak.
I touch the back of my neck and my hand comes back painted red.
'Yes, that's right, it's only paint,' I think dazedly before everything goes black.
…
When I wake up, I'm assaulted by an extremely bright light from above. My eyes immediately re-shut and I groan, feeling a distinct pain at the base of my neck. I try to reach up a hand to feel what's wrong, but someone immediately grabs it to stop me.
I open my eyes again, and the light is slightly better this time.
A man I don't know is standing over me, tall and thin, with balding grey hair and kind blue eyes. His hand is around my wrist, which I now see has a clear tube filled with fluid connecting to it. A bandage is tied around the back of my head, I realize. I'm injured.
I scan the room for my parents immediately. "What-?" I ask, cutting it off short because speaking is suddenly very painful.
The man gives me a thin smile, patting my wrist delicately before letting it go. "Do you remember what happened, Mihael?" I frown at him tiredly, hearing a light but distinct accent in his gravely voice. It takes me a second to place it.
"You're American," I croak.
He shakes his head lightly. "I'm British. Can you please tell me what happened?"
He has a very soothing way of speaking. Before I know what I'm doing, I start whispering.
"Mama started having contractions, so we were going to the hospital," I murmur slowly, the memories coming in a foggy light. "…someone… shot the back wheel…"
Suddenly, it all comes back to me in painfully clear bursts of blood and gunshots. I choke back a sob, and tears sting faintly against the backs of my eyes.
"They're all dead," I murmur brokenly.
The man gives me a slight nod in response before sitting down in one of the metal chairs lining the walls.
He murmurs something in English, looking through a large suitcase to his left. After a few seconds, he nods, pulling out a slightly battered-looking rosary.
He drapes it carefully across my chest.
"This was found in the wreckage." he murmurs. "A… colleague of mine thought you would want it."
I nod, feeling the beads halfheartedly with my free hand.
The rosary is Papa's; it gives me the strength I need to straighten my shoulders and meet the man's eyes head on.
"Who are you?" I ask him. My voice, surprisingly steady as it is, sounds remarkably cold.
He gives me a small smile. "I am Watari. A orphanage in England sent me to pick you up once you are ready."
I nod tiredly. "Can we go now, then? I don't want to stay in Russia a second longer."
'Maybe,' I think. 'This will be less painful somewhere that cannot possibly remind me of them.'
…
The man, Watari, checks me out of the hospital quickly. As we are walking to his car-a black limo- he stops, opening up the trunk.
"We've got some new clothing for you back here. What color do you want?" he asks me.
I remember how Papa used to dress when someone had died. "Something black." He gives me a small, understanding nod and hands me a lump of dark fabric. I put it on in the back part of the car while he starts driving, barely noticing as he presses a button that lifts a wall between us, giving me privacy.
I barely pay attention to what I am wearing-pajamas made of silk-after figuring out that it is indeed black. I drape my rosary around my neck over them and curl up on the seat, falling asleep.
Here, separated from the outside world by tinted windows and a black barrier, there is no one to notice the tears that slide down my face.
…
After that, I dimly remember Watari lifting me out of the limo and carrying me into a plane before buckling me in. I remember a strange man waiting for us there, with large dark eyes much like Tatyana's and thick, messy hair. I remember that man brushing a strand of my honey blonde hair out of my eyes, and whispering something so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.
"Sleep. You'll need it."
…
There was once a time,
When, against the bleary sky,
I forgot about all my troubles,
And learned how to fly.
I saw wonders and riches,
Still yet untold.
I forgot all my worries
And learned how to be bold.