Mihael's mother never liked the color black. She would always dress him in bright colors, "happy colors" she would say.
"Mama, why don't you let me wear black?" Mihael asked one day as she helped him slip on a red turtleneck.
"Well honey," she started, beginning to hand Mihael his sweater. "Black makes you look boring, and you Mihael, are defiantly not boring." she gently poked his nose, a wide, loving smile on her face. "Now let's get you some warm gloves and your shoes so you can head off to school."
"You're not boring either, Mama." Mihael said smiling himself, watching his mother's skirt swish around with every color he could think of, all decorated on its fabric.
This continued almost every day when Mihael would get help dressing, and sometimes he would get different answers from his mother.
"Black makes you look sad, Mihael, and I want you to be as happy as you can be."
"It doesn't compliment your hair very much, you have such beautiful hair and it doesn't deserve to be shadowed by all that black."
"The only time you'll need black is if you're going to a funeral, and you aren't going to one any time soon, Mihael."
Every answer came with a smile, and Mihael would compliment his mother in the same way she would do to him, smiling all the while.
Mihael sat on the curb, waiting for his mother to pick him up from school; he'd gotten an 'A' on his exam he took last week, and wanted to show her as soon as possible. This one was much harder than other tests he took, so Mihael was hoping his mother would make his favorite dish for dinner. Minutes passed slowly, and Mihael stopped himself from getting worried.
'She's just a little late; I'm sure Mama's just washing the dishes or making something really good for dinner!' he thought, watching cars pass by, his classmates and friends waving at him behind the windows.
Almost an hour had gone by before a black limousine drove up next to him, and elderly man stepping out and heading towards Mihael.
"Excuse me young man, are you Mihael Keehl?" he asked in a language Mihael had heard before.
'That's English…We learned it in school last year…but I don't remember much…' Mihael stared at the man, thinking of words he remembered and trying to put them in a sentence.
"Mama says… not to talk… to strangers." He said in spaced out English with a thick accent himself.
"Well then, I'm Roger, and it's a pleasure to meet you." His face had a small smile, while he stuck out his hand to help Mihael up.
"I'm…I'm Mihael, but… why are you here?"
"Well, that test you have there," Roger started, pointing to Mihael's exam. "was actually a test we pass around the world to find geniuses, and I'm assuming most of your class got 'C's and lower, correct?"
Mihael nodded, putting pieces together. "Are you saying…I'm a…a genius?" Roger chuckled.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying, Mihael. I help run an orphanage in Winchester, England and I was wondering if you would like to leave here and start learning over there. It will be much harder than here, but I'm sure it won't be much different."
Mihael's eyes lit up, crumpling the paper as his fists balled in excitement. He didn't know what an orphanage was, but the thought of learning more had already dragged him in. Reverting back to his own language Mihael replied quickly, his words beginning to slur together.
"Of course I'll go! I just have to tell Mama and then she can pack and come too, right?"
Roger's smile started to disappear when he heard Mihael mention his mother. Putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to stop him from jumping up and down, Roger looked away for a moment.
"You'll be going to another orphanage if you decide not to go to Wammy's House- that's the name of the one I help run, because…well… the thing is Mihael, your mother passed away around an hour ago."
Mihael hated himself; he was dressed in a black suit, with a black tie and black shoes. Everything was black, everything.
He'd fought when he was helped to get dressed, demanding they let him go, that his mother wasn't dead, just sleeping.
"I'm not boring!" he screamed when they tried to button up his shirt. "Mama said it didn't make my hair look nice! I'm not…I'm not going to a funeral, Mama's not dead!" Tears fell from his eyes as the maids looked away, knowing just as much as he, that yes, Mihael Keehl was going to his mother's funeral.
Out of energy Mihael let the maids continue to dress him, all the while tears falling from his eyes as he repeated in a low mutter "I'm not sad, I'm not going to a funeral, I'm not boring…"
Mihael was seated in the limousine that Roger had come in, now in as many bright colors he could find. He'd even worn his Mama's skirt over his pants, the one with all the colors he could think of. At least he did until Roger had told him to take it off and put it away. He still had her rosary though; the one she'd given to him for his birthday because he'd always liked the color of the beads. Clutching the cross and looking down, Mihael shifted in the uncomfortable silence.
"Mihael," Roger said, looking down at him. "At this orphanage, no one can have the name they were born with. If you're good enough you can have a chance to succeed L, the best detective in the world, but for that you need an alias." Roger looked down at Mihael, the boy's eyes wide in shock.
"So…I'm not only a genius, but I can be a detective on top of it?" His English had gotten better, after being around the man for however many days it'd been. Roger nodded before speaking again.
"Yes, that's correct. But you need an alias, so we had L look at your files, and he's usually the one to decide everyone's alias; that or Mr. Wammy himself when L is busy. So, L told me that you're new name starting today is going to be Mello." The car came to a stop, a large iron gate in front of them. "He also said: Welcome to Wammy's House."
Mello walked into his room, a single bed on the right side of the room, and a closet on the left. He opened the door to put his things away, except all the hangers already had clothing on them; black clothing.
Mello swallowed, shoving away his mama's words as he dropped his backpack and undressed. Slipping on a pair of black pants and a long sleeved shirt, Mello fingered his rosary, wiped away his tears and whispered to the sky.
"Don't worry Mama, I won't be boring."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed, I want to dedicate this to my grandmother who passed away early this morning because she always said black made you look old and boring. I just wish that I'd worn more colors when she was around, because you don't realize how much you'll miss something until it's gone. Please review with feedback and criticism!