In a corner, in a dark room, in a poorly lit corner, there sat a blonde. An almost silent, soft curse escapes his lips. He's on his knees, more specifically, huddled in a a dark corner of some room, his hands tightly clenched, resting on his thighs. He seems to be quivering, as his form hunches over more, his shoulders tensing, his shaggy, gold locks hiding his face while he bits at his lips, probably an attempt to bite back another curse that almost slips. Unfortunately for said blonde, this does nothing; he stops gnawing on his abused bottom lip as the curse, he was apparently holding back for some time, escapes, "Shit!" This time, he grits his teeth, almost doubling over in his equally awkward sitting position in the corner.

Nothing he does seems to please his unknown efforts. And so, this time, the blonde lets loose a string of curses. And this time he does not bite his lip, nor clench his hands, nor grits his teeth. This time, he abruptly, suddenly, and swiftly straightens himself from his weird, hunched over form, and is on his knees, facing each of the corner's walls, fists suddenly connecting each time against the wall.

He is repeatedly punching the wall now, drawing back his arm and slamming his fist as hard as he can into the wall, not mindful of his knuckles or hands, and he keeps doing this for what seems like hours, but in reality mere minutes. He finally comes to a stop. He leaves his fists were they were on the wall, his head hanging slightly, that golden hair of his falling around his shoulders.

His shoulders begin to droop as each second pass, his fists gradually sliding down the wall as much as the gloved material would against the wall's material (anyway) and he was back to his awkward hunched over, sitting position. His lips parted barely. One would think, that after all he did, that he'd start cursing again, but no. Nothing came.

He closed his mouth again and it began to form a thin line that was an obvious frown. Then his mouth parted again, this time wider than the other times. Apparently, he found his voice again, because this time he was able to murmur a weak curse, "Shit." But unlike the previous times, there was less anger, and hate to his voice. It almost sounded tired and emotionless.

"Shit." Sounding even less weak and less angry. A small drop trickled down the side of his right cheek, his mouth agape. As if he seemed surprised. He closed his mouth slightly, and the drops become thin lines running down his face. He isn't just anyone. He is Mello. Mello never cries, never shows his emotions. For nothing and for no one. So why now? Another defeat.

And in a corner, in a dark room, in a poorly lit corner, there sat the blonde, Mello.

Samayo, or as I am known as now, Samakuichii (formally Megane Girl Samayo) here ... This was originally a RP journal in which I played as Mello to vent some emotions I just can't get out right now ...

And if you don't like it, oh well. I did not write, or rather, type just to feel better, as I told my friend, nor did I type it just because I can. I had a purpose going through my mind once I felt better. Since I can't display the emotions I want to, I decided to let my words of another character do this for me. Let me know if you think I succeeded in displaying emotion, erm, if any of that makes sense. Hopefully you understand what I'm saying?

A friend commented that it was rather depressing. -coughRoddyTinierMePicarocough- Which makes me want to turn this into a fanfiction of some sort. And so, I purposely made it not clear as to why Mello's crying. (Actually, I did so that if a friend read the RP journal, they wouldn't be able to figure out why I was upset and to keep anyone curious, guessing.) But because of this, I might wrap this "fanfiction" up with a clarification as to why, involving Matt, possibly making this a MattxMello ... maybe. If not, then, yeah this is just one sad oneshot.

Minus this lengthy author's note, this journal, fanfiction thing is only 490 words long.