Mello:
As I finished my prayer, I could hear the rumble of feet in the corridor. How do you get over your parents' death and go back to normal life activities like eating?
Hm, how can I ask myself such stupid questions now of all moments? It was really strange realising that whatever TV or my mind had made me believe until now, you just don't cease to exist when you lose someone close to you. You're still just your normal self, with the same needy body, the same mind, the same process of thinking... Nothing to do with a soap opera fake mourning where people just stop being people, staying in bed all day, not eating, not thinking, just crying their pain all day long. Well, maybe that's what I would have done, after all, if I hadn't been forced here.
That's what I wanted to believe, at least, because it made me feel less of an insensitive brat for just keeping on living and thinking like I was doing. Did I have the right to go on with my life when my family was dead?
My stomach growled, reminding me that mourning or not, my vital needs were still there. But even if I needed to eat, there was no way I would follow the crowd. It scared me. I wished I had someone to hold out a hand to me and make me feel like I wouldn't be left on my own.
But I could probably starve myself to death and no one would care, or even notice.
Since I wanted to die, that option appealed to me. It would be long though. Well, maybe not, after all, I was already skinny.
Yes, I wanted to die... but wanting it and killing myself were not the same thing. Was it enough for my guilt to just want it, or would my parents be mad at me for not trying? Was I a bad son for not letting my pain overwhelm me?
I've been served that shit about how my parents wanted the best for me and would never have wanted me to be sad or stop living, from some of my father's faithful henchmen, from the social services, from Mr Wammy... but I know it was just a way to tie me to the living world and make sure I wouldn't do something stupid.
I was alone, no, I felt alone. I usually liked to be alone, but the kind of alone when you know your family is just next door and caring and you can get out of your solitude whenever you feel like it. I used to spend hours in my room, reading or writing short stories that only my mother would read, and I knew that she was always on the other side of the door, watching TV in the living room, painting in her office, or arranging flowers in the hall, never very far, within reach. Now, I was really alone.
I shared a room, but I would be alone in my mourning, in my loss. Surely, that other kid, Matt, probably lost his parents too since every kid here was parentless, but that didn't mean our common experience made us close.
I didn't believe in the fact that living the same nightmare helped people befriend each other, because in the end, you just want to talk about your own pain, so does the other, and you end up waiting for your turn to talk when you fake listening. No one cares about what you have to say, unless you are of some usefulness to them, then they look like they care, a fake attention just to stir something out of you. Or use against you.
So I'll shut up.
I dreaded what was waiting for me. Mr Wammy had made it clear that I would have to work hard in order to rank the higher possible, and that we were in constant competition, all of us. I wondered, since we were 47 here, as he told me, how the lower ranked people did. Did they still try hard to get a higher rank or did they know they were useless?
That's what I had understood. Only the three highest ranks had a chance to succeed L. Did they want to? And who were they?
I knew that the students here were all geniuses, like me. I didn't dislike that. I wouldn't be the main attraction, the little monkey that teachers like to use to show off, that adults question just to see if I can answer correctly to difficult questions. I was in a cage, but I wasn't the white lion.
Right now I only felt like a stray cat that was given food and shelter. How long would I stay here? Would I see L someday? All I knew was the letter, that he was very busy and working somewhere that no one was allowed to know. I bet Wammy knew.
Would I rank in the top three? Or even first? It seemed appealing to try to rank first, maybe it would help me think less...
Sometimes I wish I had a button to switch my mind off. It's tiring me, I can't stop processing informations, analysing, scattering pieces of events to fix them together again in an order that makes them understandable, scrutinizing people and read their mind, determine their facial expression and discover what they hide. It's exhausting.
I don't even know why I do it. My father always told me I was too curious, that it was sometimes better not to know everything about everyone, you love people more if you let them have their dark secrets. When you know them, you just tend to use these secrets against them. That's what he did on a daily basis, that was his job, as a Mafia boss, after all. Know people, use their weaknesses, reduce them to ashes so himself could continue to burn.
The night had fallen and it was pitch dark outside. I remembered seeing a night light outside, somewhere near this window, but it was obviously broken since I couldn't even distinguish the faintest outline of the trees and bushes I was staring at previously.
Only the raindrops and their little glassy noises told me the weather hadn't changed since I arrived here.
The sky was crying all the tears I kept in me and didn't allow myself to shed. Or was God pouring sorrow on me, just like my parents showered me with love? Just to show me I would never be happy again?
God... As much as the belief was anchored in me, at that moment, I really wanted to imagine a world without faith, because I was there, orphan of parents I cherished, cut from a life I loved, lonely, unwanted.
Unwanted. That was what hurt the most.
My parents wanted me really hard. My mother couldn't get pregnant at first, and they had told me the story of my conception. The many doctors and treatments and such, and the finally welcome birth. That's probably why I've been so spoiled.
And now... Oh, that wasn't true, I was wanted, my brain was wanted. All I had to do was work hard, right? And maybe, maybe... they would love me? Maybe that's how it works here?
I shook my head, getting rid of imaginary droplets as the rain continued its ticking on the window. I was so lost in my thoughts that for an instant I almost believed I stood in the rain.
But no matter how deep I buried myself in my train of thoughts, the pain was still stabbing at my chest. God, please, don't let me like this! It hurts too much, how am I supposed to take it?! How will I go on alone? Why don't you want me to be happy, why did you have to take everything I had?
Ten years old, and already disillusioned. Had I sinned?
That's the thought that came to my mind all of a sudden. That was it. I had made a mistake. That was my punishment.
But as much as I turned the idea in my head, I couldn't find out what I had done wrong. I never stole, never lied, I was too scared of disappointing my parents or God to ever think of doing something bad.
Just as I refrained a sob, the door open and Matt entered. I slid my rosary under my shirt as fast as I could, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"I brought you something, in case you feel hungry later..." he said, and from the corner of my left eye I saw him deposit something on my night table.
The rain stopped. And the lump in my throat disappeared.
I looked at him, but looked away quickly and resumed staring by the window.
