The night began like any other; silent. Quiet and restful with only the slightest glimmers of sound, perfect conditions for falling asleep. The air was warm with the heat of a summer in Britain and it had been gently perfumed with the scent of laughter and happiness. In the faint, faint, distance, one could still hear the sound of college students giggling as they stepped out of their favorite pub booth or slid out of their chosen barstool. But the noises weren't loud enough to sidle through the sturdy wooden walls of the notorious Whammy orphanage.
So, as you could imagine, one would be surprised to hear music.
Yet, this wasn't normal music. It wasn't the sound of a million instruments coming together in symphonic harmony, nor the blare of an unknown child's sleepy voice. It was gorgeous. Almost sinfully so. This was the music of a singular piano and an expert player.
"Sometimes I feel I've got to.. Runaway..." And a voice even a Broadway singer would be jealous of sifted down the corridors of the pitch black orphanage.
"Tainted love... Tainted love..." It continued. Filling each tired orphan's head with joy and happiness while they slept. All except for one older boy. Who's mind had become bitter after years of second place and who's only purpose in life had become beating everyone else. He was displeased by the music. There was to be a test tomorrow and while his nemesis was sleeping soundly, he lay awake. All because of that dammed piano.
"Now I know I've got to... Run away... I've got to... Get away..." the voice, which sounded far better than that of an angel's pushed its way further into the boy's ears. He gripped at his long, golden, hair with a hand of black fingernails. Who was up at this time of night? Beside's him, of course. The boy glanced at his clock angrily. It was two in the morning and someone was pounding away at the piano, singing like a Lyrebird. This infuriated him beyond belief. He shuffled from the warmth of his bed and into the darkness. The boy shoved his door open, a growl hidden deeply in his throat. He slammed the heavy wooden door that led to his room forcefully. A small, black, sign fell from its perch and bounced against the cold floors. 'Mello' was written on it in golden calligraphy.
This is the very beginning of a story I'm using to help fend off writer's block! It was written in a horse stable with the greatest horse ever, feel honored. But, on a serious note, this won't be continued unless i get at least two reviews within the first week or so. It's pretty terrible, I know, so no huge flames please!
Bullet holes and stitches OXOX
~Zombiekyller