Prologue

Marco remembers that day very clearly. How could he not? The result of that day have taken root in every part of his being.

He had been with Jean. His dear, wonderful, precious friend Jean. How they had even ever become friends was still a delightful mystery to Marco. One day he was friendless loser who got teased everyday because of he had freckles and liked homework. The next a chubby child from his class with odd ash colored hair trotted up to him and pointed one stubby finger in his face.

"Hey you! You're name isn't really 'freckles' right?" he'd demanded.

"I-it's M-m-marco…" was all he'd managed to stammer out, completely at a loss how to handle the situation.

"I knew it!" declared the boy triumphantly, practically scaring Marco to death, "I am Jean by the way. You and I are going to be the coolest friends!"

Jean always teased him afterwards that he cried. Marco always denies this of course, though it was mostly to try and preserve his nonexistent child pride… though whether or not he cried in front of Jean, he knows that he balled his eyes out in happiness later that day in private.

Soon after, the two of them discovered that they lived in the same neighborhood. From then on there was very little that could separate the two boys. They did everything together. Playing with an intensity and innocence that can only come during childhood. They slept at each others houses so often that their mothers soon just started keeping spare changes of clothes at the others house in case of impromptu sleepovers.

Marco had truly believed that they would always be together.

Was it any surprise that they had been together when it happened? Not really. Marco's actually very glad that they were or there might have been a very different ending to their friendship. One that Marco wouldn't have been able to bear.

They'd been racing on their bikes to the park on New Years Eve when it happens. Their parents had been already there, waiting to celebrate with cake and sparklers. Marco had been letting Jean win their race as he often did. Not because he liked losing, but because he loved the excited light that would spark in his eyes when he was determined and the flush of happiness that tint his cheeks when he won. Jean had been recklessly trying to take a short-cut across the street, wind flapping through his ashy hair and puffy jacket. Marco vaguely remembers calling Jean and cheater and Jean laughing gleefully.

Then the car came whipping around the corner.

Later, Marco heard it had been a gang of dunk teenagers who had started the celebrations a bit early and had decided to head out to pick up more booze. In that moment though he had only been able to process that the car was moving much to fast and that Jean wasn't going to make it. He didn't even consciously think about what he was doing, but before he knew it Marco had let forth a sudden burst of speed and crashed into his friend first, sending the chubby child flying over the handlebars and out of the way. Not that he would have done anything different if he'd known how he himself would get tangled in the wheels. Nothing different at all.

Marco doesn't even really remember the impact.

What followed though was probably the weirdest experience he will ever have.

Marco found himself staring at a sky that looked like it was filled with transparent silks that were constantly fluttering and overlapping to create strange new depths and shades. He tried to move but he quickly realized that half his body was crushed and bloody and the other half completely unresponsive besides his one working eye. Idly, Marco realized that he should be freaking out, but strongly enough he could seem to muster up any feeling beyond a deep sense of resignation.

"You're not the one I am supposed to be picking up." a tired voice had sighed. Marco opened one of his eyes to a beautiful person standing over him. He couldn't tell if the person was female or male, for they kind of looked like they might be both. The person's hair and clothes seemed to be made out of a million shades of brown and their eyes were narrowed and colorless.

"Oi, Life! This is your doing isn't it? You were supposed to bring me the other one." The person had said accusingly.

"Oops! Sorry Death! I got a bit carried away!" a gleeful voice had said unapologetically. Marco had strained to look at the other speaker but had quickly realized that he would have had to be able to turn his head to do so…which would have been impossible even if he could move anything besides his eyes. Instead he had to content himself with focusing on the addictive quality of the voice, "I guess you'll have to take this boy instead!"

"You know I can't do that." Death had growled in irritation, "This one's body may have died because you have a cruel sense of humor, but it isn't his time yet. I can't take him on."

"Oops~!" Life had giggled again. Marco had closed his eyes in frustration… he hadn't been able to understand anything they had been talking about and in the presence of Life the strange calm he had felt earlier was quickly wearing off.

"Just take him Life, I don't want to see this kid again until it's his proper time. Play your twisted games, but leave me out of it… And stop cheating me out of the souls that are supposed to be mine!" Death had sighed in annoyance. And with that, the air around Marco had changed and with it came the unbearable pain of Life that Death had been shielding him from. Life was still talking, but he could no longer hear it.