It's too late for the doorbell to ring. The annoying buzz wakes me mid-dream and I lie in bed trying to hear the sounds of downstairs.
Murmured voices and finally the sounds of Mom crying find their way to my room. I throw the covers off my bed and run past my clock which reads nine-thirty. It's too late for me to be awake and out of bed, but I wanted to find the evil person who made Mom cry.
The stairs are cold underfoot but it feels nice on my warm feet. The house is dark except for one lamp in the living room and the television. Brightly lit, however, is the kitchen.
When I get there, two men in blue are sitting at the table with my mother. One is short and fat and one is tall and skinny. It's comical, and I almost laugh. I only snicker lightly before I remember my mother's tears, and remember there's something more important going on.
"Mom?" I call from the shadow of the hallway, and she looks up slowly. She can't hold her composure, like I know she's trying to, and begins to cry in my presence.
The fat police officer stands and walks over to me and leans down so that we are eye-to-eye.
"You need to be a big boy now," he whispers so that his dark mustache twitches. I can tell that he's tired and that he's sad because of his eyes. The brown color is ringed darkly and tears rest on his eyelids.
I frown indignantly in spite of the situation. "I already am!"
The police officer can not even smile, as most adults do when I say such things. This worries me, and it's written all over my face. His large hand ruffles my hair, but I'm too numb to feel it. He walks back over to the tall officer, who is blonde.
"Came here, sweetie," Mom calls. I rush over the cold linoleum until I'm at her side. I rest my hands in her warm lap and stare up at her. "Baby, I have something to say." She can't go on because of the tears that start pouring out suddenly.
I can only stand by her side with wide eyes. I'm too afraid to even cry, and I don't know what to do with myself
The policemen watch us silently, and they do not leave. They do not help, either.
"Sweetheart," mother begins. She takes a few breaths to calm herself before going on to say, "Daddy got in a car accident. He's not coming home." Her last words are high-pitched and rushed, and she starts crying again.
Then it's the next day, and I find my mother in a pool of blood. I scream and scream, but no voice comes out. Panic rises in me, and I try to run, but it feels as though I'm running up a steep hill. I move sluggishly and try to call for help, but there's no one there. I make it to the stairs, and all I see downstairs is a sea of darkness.
Isn't it morning? Why is it so black?
I can only look in horror at the bottom of the stairs.
Then the scene goes black.
My eyes open to the light and I see that it's morning.
I mumble something that only I understand to mean, "so that's how it happened today."
My dream is still fresh in my mind and I think it over. Everything was so real, except for my mother's face. I don't remember what she looks like anymore.
That wasn't how it went, but it's always different each time I have a dream.
I suppose it was a metaphor. My father's absence led to my mother's absence. Other family members tried to help, but they never really cared. And then everything went black, and now I'm living in an orphanage. I have no friends here, but does it even matter? I know full well that I'm not capable of having friends when I only care about myself.
My father left our family when I was seven. He just up and walked out. He was tired of my mother, tired of his job, tired of his life.
Tired of me.
Not too long later, Mom killed herself. The silhouette of her hanging body in the basement will never leave my memory, nor will the sounds of my own screaming as she twisted around on the rope that held her by her neck.
Dad never came back for me, but I never stopped hoping. All that time I lived alone with Mom, I always held out hope. He'll never know ow to find me now that she's gone, so I don't hope anymore. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm all alone, and I'm mildly fine with that. I have to be, because it's not like it's going to change anymore.
I'm just the quirky, feminine boy in first place at an orphanage full of geniuses.
I shake my head each time I think of that, like my thoughts are a drawing on an etch-a-sketch and I can make them disappear. I hate belittling myself. I hate others belittling me. I'll show everyone! I'll be the best. You just watch, Dad. You'll see the boy you abandoned all those years ago become something great.
I strut around the orphanage, smug and full of myself. I can't help it. If I let my guard down for even a moment, I'll think lowly of myself, and that can't happen. So I begin to place myself on the highest pedestal I can, and soon I become the bully and the idol of Wammy's. Everybody adores me, but everybody fears me. When I ace a test, everybody congratulates me. When I don't, no one comes near me. I am in the eyes of everyone.
That's a very lonely place.
--
My parents are laughing in the front seats of the car. I'm strapped up in my car seat, like any other three-year-old. The sun is setting, and my fear rises with the moon. I can't understand why I'm so afraid, and I call out to my mother and father.
Nobody answers me, and I look to the front seats.
There's nobody there; no one driving th car.
Suddenly, it begins to swerve. I bang on the window and scream for help, but there are no other cars on the highway. The car takes a sharp turn, and I fly off the bridge, unable to unstrap myself before the car hits the water.
I wake up before I drown and sit in bed. Soon the sun rises, but nothing gets better.
I'm no longer in first place. There's a new boy named Near who stole it from me, and now he is the one in favor to succeed L.
He dresses in white, like a Goddamn polar bear. His hair is the same color and his eyes look like storm clouds. He sits strangely, like he has to stick very close to himself. His dark eyes tell me he trusts no one and sees everything, even the things that I do not. He sees through me and knows me well, even though I only fight with him.
I hate his eyes. I hate his clothes. I hate the pure white puzzles that he puts together constantly. I hate the fact that he's two years younger than I am but has a better brain. I hate the fact that he lives and breathes.
I'd love to put an end to him.
It doesn't take long for everyone to notice my envy for the boy, and rumors spread like wild fire throughout Wammy's. They all make Near sound like an innocent boy, but I become the bad guy. What gives?
I suddenly transform from idol and bully to outcast and loser.
I'm second best, and nobody cares about anyone but first.
--
My parents are fighting. They're screaming vulgar words back and forth at each other, and I watch them with tears in my eyes. Suddenly, my father looks at me, and his eyes are sorrowful. It's almost like he's reaching out to me.
I'm a child. How dare he reach out to me?
I feel the tears fall as I stand shivering. I can't help him because I don't know how. I'm only five. I can't do anything, and so I watch him leave. He doesn't even pack a bag, he just turns to the door and walks out.
I hear the car start and drive away. I turn to Mom and she's crying. Then I'm in the basement and I'm holding on to the railing tightly. A shadow is hanging from a beam in the ceiling. My bare feet walk over the cold floor to the terrifying shadow. I get to it and see that it's not a shadow at all.
It's me.
I wake up and I'm crying. They're angry tears of hatred, but I'm still afraid. My heart is racing and I'm sweating, and I don't know where I am for a moment.
A new boy moved into Wammy's recently. I don't know him, but I've hear stories. The girls love him, and he doesn't care about succeeding L.
That means he really couldn't care less about me.
But he really couldn't care less about Near, either.
For the first time, a child has come that doesn't care about rank or.. anything, for that matter.
It's nighttime, and I sneak into his room. I wanted to talk to him alone earlier, but girls had crowded around him all day. Why? I'm second, so why don't they crowd around me? Why am I so forgotten?
I finally open the door and walk in, and I find him awake. He's lying on his bed, staring at the television with a game controller in his hand. His thumbs work like they're dancing over the buttons, with a certain gracefulness that could only come from hours of practice.
"I'm Mello," I say quietly.
He doesn't acknowledge my presence in the slightest way. Something about that intrigues and angers me.
"I'm Mello," I say louder.
He presses the X button repeatedly and the television responds with a loud, "Fatality."
"Yes!" He pulls his legs under his body to sit on his calves.
"I'm Mello!" I shout, and the boy finally pauses his game.
He turns to me. His orange goggles hide his eyes and gleam in the television light.
"I know," he says. His voice is very gentle as he speaks to me, and it sounds very throaty. He doesn't turn back to the television as I make my way over to him. Instead, he watches me carefully, as if he were an animal and I were the predator. I smile at his goofy look.
"You're third," I say carefully. For some odd reason, I'm afraid I might scare him away.
"Am I?" he looks back at the screen momentarily then back at me. I know he wants the conversation to end so that he can play again.
He's strange, but there's something compelling about him. I take careful steps toward him. I'm still afraid I could scare him away. He doesn't move, and as I get closer, I can see that his eyes are green underneath his goggles. His hair is brown in the dim light, but I think it's really red.
I extend my hand, and he grasps it. We shake, and silently agree to become friends.
We talk all night, and I eventually fall asleep in Matt's bed.
I'm sitting on a rock in the middle of a meadow. The breeze blows my hair back and I feel like I'm flying. There's something different about this dream, and I realize it right away.
I'm not a child, and I'm not afraid.
"Mihael," the breeze whispers to me. "Mello." At that name, the breeze sounds sad.
"Yes, Mom?" I answer.
"I'm glad you're here," she sings to me.
"You left me," I tell her. Thunder cracks in the background, but it disappears when she speaks.
"Shinigami," is all she says.
I think that she is here to collect my soul. "I'm dying?"
"Do not fear the shinigami. You're a fallen angel, my son."
I wake in a cold sweat. Roger is leaning over me with a nurse and Matt.
"What?" I mumble.
"You were crying in your sleep," Matt tells me.
I always cry in my sleep, I want to say. "Oh," I say instead.
The nurse touches my hair gently. "Mello," she whispers.
My eyes widen slightly, but I regain composure.
"Matt," I hear Roger mumble. "Take care of Mello."
--
I drive with Takada in the back of the truck. I know that I will die today.
With Matt gone, I don't even see a life worth living.
As I feel my heart stop, I remember:
"Do not fear the shinigami. You're a fallen angel, my son."
I save the world to compensate for my sins.