"And only a family
Both loving and true,"
Night fell over Westchester, London, and blanketed the streets with a deluded ebony, starless. The only light provided came from the street lamps, for even the most situated night owls fled to their blankets and into slumber. Mello sat with his facing away from the streets of Westchester, the hard window providing him support while the heap of his scrawny shoulders and upper back were hunched forward a bit. The boy's fingers tampered with Matt's missing lighter; there was long background behind his reasons for this next action. There was a reason that on the night of July 7th, Mihael Keehl would take his life.
He took a drag of musty, heavy air from his and Matt's room into his lungs and coughed a bit, standing up. Nervously he strode to his desk on the opposite side of the vast, vacant room and picked up a pen and felt for his notebook by the lamp and stapler. He placed the tip down to his sheet of paper and let his mind take over, allowing himself to write freely, uncaring as to the world around him. Which didn't prove possible. He could swear he heard footsteps and voices as he began to write his note. The reason behind this to him was understandable. To anyone else, well, they just wouldn't understand.
-x-
Mello stood before his cold, unfamiliar mafia, his helmet resting under his arm and the hijacked motorcycle against the brick wall a few yards away. He knew they couldn't take each other anymore. He knew that each man before him hated the next over, and it certainly wasn't a secret. The fighting and chaos that went on his this backstreet alley was nothing new to any of them but Mello, as their Don, felt something was wrong and had to call this off. "So who will take the lead?" Glen asked him, an uncivil look on his face that would probably come off as unacceptable in society if worn anywhere else. "I need this job."
"Don't think I didn't take you as individuals into consideration before I decided on this." Mello bowed his head and sighed, and as he knelt down to fix his steel-toed boot, he could feel a deep stinging place itself in his back and he gulped. Glen was behind him, holding a switchblade in his shoulder. "I'm stronger than you think, Glen."
"Prove it." Mello slammed Glen into the brick wall but the other man still had his grip on the knife and twisted it hard in Mello's back; Mello had to stifle a yelp. The blonde pulled away and tossed a jacket over his shoulders, took out his key and casually switched it into the bike's ignition, and sat down on its seat. "Sort it out amongst yourselves, you dolts." Then Mello managed a grin and sped away.
-x-
As he sat against the window, it occurred to him just how much he had been hated among the small band of people he'd known. And now what? If the ones who knew him best no longer wanted him here-well, why should he? Mello, even as a child, never valued himself. And he would have to make that clear to everyone else before he could get anything out of this life again. He looked down at his writing.
"Damn you to hell; immortalize you. I can't take this life anymore. The money from drug and gun trafficking does to Watari. And to the rest of you bastards, nice try." Mello nodded to himself and folded it onto a square, setting it by the lamp once more. But the flame flickering from the lighter next to him was too daunting. He already had a scabbing wound in his back, blood soaking through his jacket though now dry, but he knew it wasn't life-threatening. Unfortunately. It was just a skin injury-nothing more. He pressed a sigh from his tired lungs and picked up an extra pencil sharpener razor from the drawer to his left. This would do just fine and he knew no one was around to stop him. He dragged it across his wrist lightly, unable to press it any harder. He knew suicide was right, but then why did it feel wrong? There was no other way. He knew it. He lifted the straight-edge and tried again, this time letting thinner blood trickle down his arm.
"Could conquer an evil
So ancient, so new."