This was a kind of challenge from my Creative writing teacher. We got told to write a dramatic monologue with the poem 'My last duchess' as inspiration. Here's mine.

Warning: loads of angst, I'm talking about bucket fulls

Based on Mello's possible thoughts after Matt dies, can be seen as slash but wasn't intended to be. Mello might be a bit OOC.

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The images of the blood painted on the wall showed the failure of his mission. Mine succeeded and I'm still here but mine was easy.

He was only a distraction but why do I feel the guilt of his death.

I still see his face, the look of determination. He didn't want to fail me.

He was just one of my men, why can't I let his death go. I let the others go. But they hadn't been my friend since the orphanage.

I miss the bleeping of his stupid game. I never thought I would miss it but I do. The constant bleeping of his game that I just wanted to smash on many occasions. He would put up the volume just to bug me.

It's still there on the table sitting there innocently. No bleeping is heard, the owner now six feet under. If it wasn't for him I would be too.

Now I miss that bleeping too. In some way I miss the smoke. The stuff that I though would kill him, instead I did.

The pain in my stomach won't leave me alone, why does my gut twist so. Even when the building exploded I didn't feel guilt for the others death. But seeing him shot by half a dozen guards. It made me feel more guilt then ever.

I don't feel guilt for all the other people who've died, by my hand or not. He was special, always there even when I messed up. Always trying to please me, except with that game of his. That was just to keep me from getting to high and mighty. He would often say that jokingly.

This scar on my face, the only reminder of the explosion I created. He said he didn't care about it, everyone else would avoid looking at it but he could look at it and still genuinely say I looked great.

I feel bad, all the times I put him down, all the times I hit him even when it wasn't his fault. He still stayed by my side. He would have followed me to the ends of the earth.

The times I sent him out for menial tasks, he never complained once. Others always complained but he did as I asked without a word.

Why have I become a wreck since he died? Is it the guilt, the feeling that it should have been me?

Was joining the mafia the best choice for me? After my child hood I never thought I would feel compassion again, it seemed ideal until I met him. His very smile brightened my day but I could show no weakness.

I didn't even get to thank him for it. He was just another underling to me.

So why can't I get him off my mind? He haunts my dreams, every time I close my eyes I see him, peppered with bullet holes. His eyes are wide and he's looking at me. Does he blame me?

Every time I threatened him with a gun even if some one else had done something and he had taken the blame. I can see it.

It haunts me, what if it had been me who had shot him? One of the times he'd been joking around, what if I had pulled the trigger?

This chocolate in my hand. It reminds me of the time he tried to take it. He always said I ate to much chocolate but he also said he was amazed by my skinniness. If he could see my skinniness now…

What could I do now? He was gone. So was anyone else who worked for me. I had nothing.

Should I move forward, try again. Then someone else might die. I don't want to feel this pain again.

The gun on the table is taunting me, it's the one I would threaten people with. I hadn't used it before, I spent so much time cleaning it. I used the other guns that packed more of a punch. It was always commented on about how I would either be eating chocolate or cleaning my gun.

Now this gun's getting cleaned more often. Maybe some day I'll use it. The thought of shooting my self comes to mind but I dismiss it. I don't want to die now.

Is that what he thought as the guards cornered him? Did he not want to die either?

Did he take the job knowing he would die? Did he know the bullet proof vest he had been given was faulty. I gave it to him from the store cupboard. I should have checked it first.

I feel even more guilt now. Do you think I will even stop feeling it?

The gun's still on the table. Maybe…

I dismiss the thought again. I still don't like the idea of dieing. Is that wrong of me? Do I deserve to die after all I've done, the people I've killed.

I guess I do.

Does anyone else feel like me? The guilt pouring on so thick they might suffocate.

I see ghostly images of him. They tell me different things, some blame me and some blame themselves.

Am I loosing my mind? Who's to blame? Me, him… or is it Kira?

This gun on the table in front of me. Will it take away the pain of loosing him? If I leave it, will it ever leave me?

The gun is light in my hand. Its loaded, it always has been. What do the people I point this thing at feel? Scared?

I don't quite know what I feel. I haven't felt anything but guilt since he died.

The trigger feels heavy as I lightly pull it, it puts up resistance. I feel something warm wrap around my hand.

His hand. It feels so real. I look up. Another ghostly image is in front of me. He stands there and looks at me.

"Mello?" that voice, it's haunted me like the face in my dreams.

"Put down the gun." The gun slipped from my grasp. The clunk of it hitting the table breaking the ambient silence.

I'm a wreck. Why is this happening to me? Can't he just leave me to be guilty in peace?

Its not even him talking, it's the woman who lives next door.

I see him everywhere I go, hear him with every sound that reaches my ears. I know it's not him but his image still haunts me.

I know in the bathroom there are sleeping pills. I've seen them. Maybe I can get some sleep at night and never wake up.

Would I be free of these feelings?

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Feedback would be much aprecitated. If its extremly ooc then its beacuse I have yet to finish reading the series