Hello, fanfictionites. Welcome to what is quite possibly the most depressing thing I have ever written. Before you start on that, though, you should know a couple things: 1) I do not know Mello's past, so I just made stuff up. 2) I wrote this while listening to the Slipknot song 'Snuff', and I highly recommend that you, the reader, listen to it as well; it will make you cry, and if you aren't crying, there's not much point in reading this. Personally, I literally sobbed for almost an entire day when I found out that Mello died, and wrote this while I did it. So. Anyway. Please enjoy crying your heart out for everyone's favorite chocoholic. May he rest in peace...

Mihael Keehl

The name, engraved on the gray stone, was going to haunt me for the rest of my days. The world around the stone was dull and lifeless. He didn't belong there, in that cold, uncaring place. He had been a bright flame, full of energy, burning with passion... The graveyard's atmosphere seemed a mockery of everything he was. Around me, other visitors moved without making a sound, sweeping along like wraiths in the silent shadows. He would have hated the silence. He had always been loud. I tend to believe it was because he wanted you to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he was there. Attention was something he could never seem to get enough of - understandable, I suppose. If I recall correctly, his mother abandoned him as a child, leaving him to the orphanage because she didn't want him anymore. It was sufficient cause for anyone to crave attention, and since no one had ever really taken the time to teach him what was right and what was wrong, he'd obtained the figurative spotlight the only way he could think of - by getting into trouble. I often wonder how he would have turned out if someone had spent time with him, truly focused on him and let him know that he was special in his own right. Instead of that, he was constantly compared to someone else, always being overlooked because the other boy was such a prodigy. What a life that had to have been... And in the end, it had led to this. It was never decided exactly how it had happened, but when they pulled his burnt body out of the debris from the explosion... well, the bullet-hole was clearly visible. Personally, I can't bring myself to believe that it was suicide, though some seem to believe that. No, I can think of no reason that he would bring his life to an end. He had loved life, as best I could tell, and while we hadn't quite gotten along, I must admit that... the world seemed to empty a bit when I was told he was gone. It was as if I were in a room with naught but three candles burning to light it. The first ceased to glow when the man he'd always hoped to replace had died his untimely and unjust death. Then, when he, too, passed on to wherever souls like his go, the second candle was snuffed, leaving me alone in a considerably darker world, in which the light was feeble and flickering, its strength having departed with him. I have never been one for wishing, but I truly wish that, at some point, I had told him-

"Sir. I'm sorry, but it's getting late in the day, and I've got to lock the gate now."

I gave a nod in response to the caretaker's voice and knelt next to the grave. All the other stones in the graveyard had bouquets adorning them, or simply a single rose or other variety of flower. I had no such things to offer. Flowers would have been an insult to him. Instead, I pulled a very large bar of chocolate out of my pocket and placed it gently on the dead-looking grass before the stone.

"Sir..." came the voice again, impatience evident in it.

After all those years, I suppose it stands to reason that he would influence me at least a bit, and especially considering where I was at the moment. Thus, very much as he would have done, I stayed where I was, simply to annoy the insensitive caretaker further. But then, it wasn't really just to test my fellow man's patience. I wish I had told him while he'd been alive to hear me, but one must take whatever opportunities they are presented with.

"I always thought of you as an older brother."

My voice was as cold and dead as the rest of the graveyard. He would have hated that, too.

"Though I never said anything, or showed it... I suppose, deep down... in a way... I loved you."

I rose slowly and turned my back on the grave, feeling a frigid winter breeze toss my hair about. Absently, out of habit, I reached up to twirl a lock around my finger.

"...Goodbye, Mello."

Call it a hallucination if you like, but once I had been ushered out, I turned back around to gaze once more through the gate at the lifeless field that was now his home. There next to the grave, a figure stood, dressed in black leather, blonde hair blowing the same breeze as mine. The figure bent down, snatched the chocolate bar I had left, and proceeded to rip off the wrapper. Then it turned and faced me. It took a large, violent bite of the chocolate, smirking around it as I stared. The fragment of the confection vanished, swallowed by the apparition, and I heard a very familiar voice, carried to me on that frozen wind.

"Goodbye, huh? Well, fine - I wouldn't stick around just for you, anyway. ...But, you know, Near... I get what you said. Looks like death has turned me soft, but I guess, deep down, I loved you too... Little brother."

...So, how many of you figured out who was narrating before he started twirling his hair? Reviews would be wonderful, if you don't mind. ;)