[[A/N Ok, I said I had a fic in my head and this is the beginning of it. The idea roughly came from Living in Fantasy's story, Saviour. Please don't expect updates to come as quickly as they did with The Hardest Thing In The World because I had a plan for that one, this just popped ito my head one night at stupid o' clock in the morning. This first chapter is in the POV of an OC that I made up (one of the only things in the story other than the plot that I hold claim to) the rest will be in 3rd person(no POV). Enjoy! xx]]

Disclaimer: Not much has changed. I obviously still don't own Death Note or there would be spin off series with Matt and Mello as the main characters.

Chapter 1 - The Boy Named Mail

Cascading.

Erasing.

Falling.

Sprawling.

Life goes on.

Time doesn't stop.

My life is crumbling, cascading around me. I don't know what to do. A small child cries on the floor below me, the shockwaves of pain that float up through the floorboards make me tremble in fear.

I hear a man scream at the baby. "Shut the fuck up," he yells. I hear the sound of an open hand slamming against skin. The baby is quiet.

"What have you done?" a woman wails. The answer is all too obvious.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pull my knees to my chest as I sit behind the door.

The man is my father. The woman, my mother. The baby was my sister. I couldn't protect her. I look across to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. The door opens slightly.

"Don't," I say. "Stay in there. No matter what, you have to stay in there. When daddy falls asleep, you have to go. You have to run. You have to get out of here."

A pair of scared green eyes looks out of the small crack in the doors. My little brother is the one I need to protect now.

I hear the clunking footsteps coming up the stairs. I know I'm next. "Don't watch," I say. "Just stay in there." He closes the door of the wardrobe. My heart is racing. I pray he doesn't come in here. I pray he walks straight past and forgets he has two sons. My prayers are falling on deaf ears. A few seconds later I hear him walk towards the door and stop on the other side.

"Open the door," comes his drunken growl.

I stand quickly and open the door. My father is a tall, imposing man. His red-brown hair is wild and his brown eyes are cold. The brown eyes he didn't pass to any of his children. The red-brown hair was all he ever gave to his sons apart from black eyes and split lips. My eyes grow wider as he backs me into the room.

"What do you think you're staring at, boy?" he asks. His voice is harsh from smoking too many cigarettes.

"N...Nothing... Sir..." I answer, terror evident in my voice. He doesn't care. His hand collides with my face. Tears sting as they run down my face.

"Stop crying boy!" my father yells as he slaps my face once again. I force the tears to cease, my mind is racing and my heart beat is escalating. The only thing I can focus on, think about, is keeping my father away from my brother.

"You worthless piece of shit," he says to me, his face isn't even an inch away from my face, the alcohol and cigarette smell is making me feel sick. I try to keep the tears that threaten to fall at bay. He hits me again, this time with a clenched fist. I'm shocked and a flood of tears fall from my eyes. l know this means he's going to strike me again and sure enough within a few seconds his steel capped boot has hit me in the ribs and thrown me into the wall. I hear a crack; I'm guessing it's one of my ribs. He grabs my arm just above the elbow and yanks me towards him. I feel a surge of searing pain shoot down my arm and hear a small pop.

"You weak, stupid child, I should have done this a long time ago," He says as he kicks me again, this time in the leg. I feel my knee pop out of the socket. I know this is it. This is my final day alive.

He hits me until I can no longer move. He beats me until breathing is hard. His punches rain down on me until I can no longer tell if it's day or night. Time looses all meaning to me. The hits seem to slow down.

There's darkness.

I can hear sirens in the distance.

I hear my mother cry.

I hear a gunshot.

There's screaming.

"Where's Mail!" I hear.

I struggle to open my eyes. The wardrobe is still closed. I black out again.

***

The boy named Mail stayed shut in the wardrobe until he could escape unseen. He left in the middle of the night and headed towards the countryside. He didn't watch, he didn't leave until he knew he could escape.

The boy named Mail slept that night under the stars in a field. He cried himself to sleep over his lost baby sister. He cried over his older brother, lost trying to protect him. He cried over his mother, the poor woman who had lost her sons and daughter at the hands of one man. The man who she had swore to love forever. The man who had gave her children to begin with.

The boy named Mail was just 8 years old and he had lost his entire family in the space of an hour. He would never have a family again. He would never have an older brother to protect him and a younger sister to fight for.

The boy named Mail would no longer be called Mail. He made a decision, a decision no child should need to make. He decided that from that day onward, he would be known as Matt.

The boy named Mail died that day. His body would never be found, all that would be known about him is that in the short time he lived in the world, he suffered more than any one person should suffer in a lifetime.

The child named Matt sat up. He had to find somewhere to go. He had to find food. He had to leave the boy named Mail behind and escape.