AN: A more upbeat story since people don't like depressing stories.
It was absolutely terrible. The weather outside couldn't even be described as weather; it was absolutely horrendous.
Hail, ice, rain… all pouring for the black abyss above. The grim weather was a horrendous sight to the one staring out his bedroom window.
He sighed.
It was a day like any other. Exam results were to be posted today. He knew. He knew deep down that he had failed yet again. Second again. The sound of low growling rumbled in his throat. He turned away from the window; golden bangs shadowed his bruised eyes. What would you expect? He hardly got any sleep last night. But he was used to it. It was like a routine: take a test, worry all night, then wake up feeling extremely agitated. He always wondered why the hell he worried so much if he knew the results already. But the answer was clear. No way in HELL was he ever going to give up. He would give it his all, every time.
And that was why it pissed him off so much.
His best wasn't fucking good enough. EVER. Every time he would try his best and every time he would fail.
A hand balled itself into a fist and the teenager inhaled deeply to try and calm his nerves.
Mello sighed again and turned the doorknob, exiting his room and yet again breathing deeply.
He walked down the hallway, heading for the library where the results would be posted.
Mello glanced inside before entering to make sure he wasn't there yet.
He did not want to see that white apparition today.
Mello walked in with an air of "fuck off or I'll fucking kill you." He approached the papers and flipped through the packet, searching for two names.
And there they were. Near, perfect score. Mello…
Missed one point.
An intense rage bolted through him and he had to restrain himself from ripping the papers to shreds. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, his head bowed at such an angle that made his eyes seem even darker than usual. His aura read pure hatred. A sudden flash of lightning sparked a sudden and violent pivot, and a glower that would make even demons scream in terror.
He slammed his fist against the wall.
Why?
Why wasn't he ever fucking good enough?
It's because of him…
Near.
Oh, how he hated that boy.
He just wanted to wring that white neck until he turned red. He wanted to beat that sick whiteness out of him.
And he would, oh yes… he would…
He was more than capable of doing it and one these days he would… One of these days he would get his revenge.
AN: So, what do you think? This was actually the first Death Note story I ever wrote. Reviews make me happy (: