Okay, I'm making a new story titled cry little sister. It is another MelloXNear but oh well. This is more deep, and it will have POVs'.
I do not own Death Note.
Cry Little Sister
The sun illuminated radiance down onto the orphanage as the day began for children of all ages and types. It was peaceful outside with all the cool wind and trees that provided shade when kids went to play after their studies, and it was also somewhat calm and content. The thing, or should I say person, that separated the inside the outside, was the children that would sometimes cause ruckus, and sometimes chaos between their fellow students. But kids do that, so it would come and pass. It was only natural.
But there was a certain person, a certain blond, blue-eyed boy, who caused the most chaos in the building of geniuses. This boy was, in my opinion, impulsive, loud, and as bright as he was, could be an idiot sometimes.
He went by the name of Mello.
Even I, Near, don't know his real name. There are only four people that are at this orphanage who use a different name than their 'god-given' one. (I do not know why they call it that because your parents give you a name, not God, if there is one.) One is me, the rambunctious Mello and Matt, and the man who we all look up to, that all of us hope to be some day, L. We use different names because what L does, we will do. We are the top three, and to be L material, it is said you should have name of which isn't normal. The name Matt is completely normal; I have no idea why the redheaded boy would pick that name, but L, Near, and Mello? When you say these names to adults, they give questionable looks as if we are playing a prank. I remember when the ice cream man came over to the orphanage the way he usually did every Friday evening and asked me what my name was. When I told him, he just laughed and gave me my ice cream and added it with a 'Kids these days.'
I don't go to the ice cream truck anymore.
Anyway, this Mello boy, to put it bluntly, loathed me. Never a day of my life here at Wammys has been a day without a rude comment, a hit in the head, or the annual 'knocking of the dice tower.' Sometimes I would open a box of one of my favorite puzzles, and about a fourth of the pieces would be chewed up, making the puzzle basically ruined. The boy was only 13, why does he have to be so mean? Where some of the thoughts that would go through my head (and still do on some occasions) when I was still not used to being made a fool of. I was amazed at how brilliant Mello could be, and yet always make me want to just whack him, which is very surprising to me, because I couldn't hurt anything. I'm not able to hurt anything because I'm so puny. My arms and legs are thinner than a twig and my stomach has no muscle on it what so ever. This sadly,
makes me totally vulnerable to any physical violence that is usually given to me by Mello.
When the blond makes fun of my physical appearance, he reminds me of my father, the man that I hated more than anything in the world, and the terrible man that killed my mother and almost killed me. Actually he already did. I'm sorry that probably didn't make sense. What I meant was that because of him, I wish I were dead and he is the reason I am in this orphanage. Every time I think of my father, I feel dirty as if I just rolled in a puddle of mud and unknown filth. I shouldn't even consider him as my father, because an actual 'father' certainly does not have any….se-sexual activity with his son.
Uh, that word makes me want to vomit. And if a father is, then I wish I was never born.
But it is true. Multiple times I was, as some would say raped by my so-called 'father' while my mom was brutally beaten when he was drunk.
Actually, Mello didn't remind me about my father at all. Mello was a regular bully, but only out of jealousy and inside angst, with an angelic face. He reminded me of my
mother a little. I know it might sound weird for me to say that about another male, but he is one of the most gorgeous people I know. His blond hair that I want to feel so bad, those beautiful blue eyes, and despite all the chocolate he ate, he was thin but muscular. Every time I see Mello changing during P.E (we have to take physical education together) my face starts to feel warmer along with the pit of my stomach, but I don't know why. One time Mello saw me staring at him, and before I noticed, he whacked me in the back of the head and called me a….oh what was the word? Faggot? I don't know what that means, but it made my chest hurt so I guess it was an insult towards me.
Needless to say, I still don't know what that means.
My dad on the other hand was dirty, gruff, and smelt bad. He usually had the stench of sweat, alcohol, and…. me on him. Every time he came through the door after 'work' I would sit in my room hiding under the covers as my mother screamed or my dad broke the possessions in our rundown house. Now I know that there was no point in hiding under the covers as if it was a shield from my 'dad', but it only made his lust for scared little boys grow. How stupid was I, thinking that a piece of cloth would make my mothers screams go away, the smells go away, and my dad disappear.
When I think of my father I always wonder, why would a man become lustful of a little boys fear, his nightmares? There where times I would wake up in the middle of the night, in horror from a nightmare, but I didn't go to my parents bed, in fear that I would awake my dad, and earn a beating, or another moment of him telling me to scream his name of pleasure, as I was already screaming but not out of pleasure and not his name. I would cry out to my mom, hoping for her to stop him, but on most occasions, she would just look at me and cry, out of fear she would be killed. The only time she tried to stop him was the last time I saw her alive….
Mello and my father were totally different. Angel and devil, cat and dog, rain and hurricane, day and night.
Even though I acted as if I didn't care that the blond loathed me, I would always feel a pain when he hit me or told me he hated the very sight of me. Of course I could never tell him all these things, but I want Mello to like me, to love me, to hug me, to kiss me. I can't tell him that because what will happen if he doesn't even pick on me after he realizes the feelings that are forced to be trapped inside of my cool exterior. If he can't even insult me, I'd start to feel inhuman. Ever since my mother died, I thought my purpose of living was a tool, or a punching bag for the lustful, the hated, and the impulsive. I still think that only now that it's Mello hurting me, I'm glad with his actions. I just wish he did it out of that one emotion that I heard can destroy you, that takes away pride, and that people usually die for…
Love.
Okay, end of first chapter! Good? Bad? Review!!