Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters that are incorporated into it. I do, however, own my own original characters. They may not be copied without the consent of the author.
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I never knew much about the 'real world'. I heard that it was a filthy place, filled with pain, lies, desperation, and suffering. They would tell me stories about it too. One after another about what was happening outside. The stories told of things like blood, war, and violence. They told of deceit, betrayal, and conspiracies. Black hearts and silver tongues were as common as the hairs on my head. And I believed them.
Every.
Single.
Word.
And because of this belief, I never questioned them. They told me it was unsafe outside. I was confined. They said I was dirty. I bathed in front of them. They told me I was ugly. I owned no mirrors.
I clung onto their thoughts. I agreed with their actions. I strongly supported their goals. I would kill for them. I would die for them.
I am living for them.
And yet, although many years had passed by, I never felt that I should go against it. It was natural to me, almost comforting, like the familiar smell of a mother's embrace or a father's cologne. Of course, I didn't know about those things, what it felt like and such, but I have read about it in books.
But one day, I asked him to tell me a story, another story about what was happening in the outside world. And he told me that someone was massacring a large amount of people without political process. He told me this man was evil. He told me this man was corrupt. He told me that the newspapers called him KIRA.
When I heard I was fascinated, and horrified at the same time. But instead of leaving the subject be, I asked more and more.
'How interesting' I thought, 'How does KIRA know if the people are good or bad?'
I asked him this
He told me that KIRA killed the ones who have done bad things.
I asked, 'What kind of bad things?'
He didn't answer. Then He left.
I stared at the white ceiling and the white walls of my room, my world. It was all I've ever seen, and all I remember. Sometimes I wondered if I was born in here. How did they raise me? Where did I come from?
Sure, I've thought about leaving, but I didn't want to.
'The people here are kind to me,' I thought, 'It's not nice to think such thoughts' I scolded myself, 'Besides, the people out there are the bad ones. They aren't nice.'
I never doubted. I liked living in my room. I liked my books. I liked my conditions. I even thought I loved Him. He was everything to me. He talked to me when I was sad, He read me stories before I slept, He protected me, and He comforted me. I never knew what love was, but one book I read talked all about it, and I wondered what it was.
I wanted it.
"'Bittersweet' is the perfect word to describe it," the book said.
As I aged, and I began noticing changes in my body, She began visiting me. She was not very nice, and always gave me a bad look which didn't suit her well-balanced face that I considered pleasant to look at.
One day I asked her why she was unkind to me. She said nothing.
That night I asked Him why people were unkind to others. I asked him, are all people the same. I asked him many things.
He could not give me an answer. Instead, he gave me a pen and paper.
I asked him what I could do with such materials.
He told me to write a letter to a boy he knew.
I had never written a letter before for I have never contacted or spoken to any one other than Him and Her. I found the concept strange. I asked Him why I should write to a person I didn't know.
He told me it would be a good experience.
That is how I came to know Mihael Keehl
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TBC
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A/N: Review please.
I've always wanted to do a fanfiction about Death Note's Mello since I could never find any good ones about him.
Oh, I know i should be working on the Harry Potter/FMA story, but i'm kinda stuck. sorry. I'm thinking about handing it over to another author if they want to continue it for me.