A/N: Inspired by a classmate who is always saying that she doesn't know what she believes. We have a lot of different religions in our small class, so we occasionally get onto topics like that. At first, she couldn't remember the word, and just sat there going "I'm a- ag- an- antagonistic! I'm antagonistic" She then looked around, because the rest of us were laughing. It was true. The teacher ended up telling her, and that was that. But I couldn't help but use it in a fic about Mello. It just fits so perfectly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Mello, or Death Note for that matter. They belong to the owners.
Mello was a short kid when he was little. He grew up somewhere in an undisclosed location, though it was probably up north, as the poor boy does not seem to have a tan. He was always smart for his age, always insisting on learning big words.
He had short, chin-length blonde hair, pale skin, and an obsession with chocolate. He also wore a rosary around his neck, leading many to believe that he was Catholic. Of course, he also happened to use a wide variety of language, do things that were not only against his supposed beliefs, but also against the law, and, of course, take the Lord's name in vain.
What he believed was a mystery to everyone, including himself. He had been raised to believe in God, in Catholicism, but his actions said otherwise. He wore the rosary out of habit, though he didn't know quite why. The word to describe Mello would be agnostic, or someone who does not know what they believe.
He knew naught of his beliefs, although he had learned long ago to be careful when addressing himself as agnostic. He knew that very well.
It had been a warm, sunny day in the undisclosed location. He'd gone to wherever little Catholic kids go on Sunday mornings, and was back at his house later in the day. He was a happy little kid, always surrounded by people he cared for, and always getting into trouble.
His mother had asked him to go and get the lemonade from the fridge, and to bring it outside. Despite being an intelligent, trouble-making boy, his mother still trusted him with jobs like that. Even though she knew that he might drop it or do something to it.
"What am I?" he'd asked her, intending to say 'What am I, your servant?', but forgetting to say the last part. His mother looked at him, smiled, and said, "Yes, what are you?"
He'd been waiting for this moment for a while. He knew that he didn't quite believe in God anymore, but he wasn't quite sure what he should believe in instead. He'd learned the word from one of the big kids in the church. He was agnostic. But, being the young kid that he was, he couldn't quite remember the word. What he actually said was:
"I'm antagonistic," he stated proudly. The other people in the room chuckled lightly at his response. They'd known for years that the boy had a knack for trouble, but to hear him admit it was the dearest thing in the world. He walked off proudly, not realizing his mistake until some years later. His mother's response was forever burned into his mind as the last, and possibly worst, thing she would ever say to him.
"Yes, dear. Yes you are."