After a long period of complete and blatant disregard for anything fanfiction-related (school was going on, and suddenly fanfiction seemed stupid, as did anything that didn't relate to my grades), I return with something short and sweet.
Dear Mello,
I hate your guts.
I hate your guts, and I hate your face. I hate your eyes that were always angry, I hate your nose that was always turned up (at me), and I hate your mouth, always spouting some nonsense or shouting (loudly, and again, at me) or arguing or saying things that were anything but nice.
I hate your guts, your face, and your arms. Shoulders that propelled your wiry arms in every direction, elbows that were sharp and bony (when they jabbed me), and hands that made fists that hurt almost as much as the lamp your arms once launched at me.
I hate your guts and your face and your arms and your chest. Lungs that heaved your chest in and out with the greatest force you could bear, just to prove you were alive. Lungs that filled with air and then emptied in the longest single-breath rant I'd ever heard...until you did it again and beat your own record. A stomach that could digest just about anything, though the mp3 player you swallowed once did pose a problem when it had to come out.
I hate your guts, your face, your arms, your chest, and your legs. Long, powerful legs that moved you much faster than my short ones could carry me. I never tried to outrun you, because I never could. Knees that were almost as bad as your elbows, and feet that always kicked over my towers. I didn't mind that much; they could always be rebuilt, but after you threw the lamp at me, you kicked it, and it broke even further. You kicked me the day I nearly broke face watching you walk like you had something up your...well, the mp3 player wouldn't let you sit down.
I hate your guts and your face, your arms and your chest and your legs.
Your bones are fine, though; sitting in an urn hand-painted in vibrant hues of red and blue, they don't bother me at all.
Near