(Matt P.O.V)
Most of you know me as Matt, but at one point I was known as Mail. Mail Jeevas, the little street urchin who barely lived past three years old.
You see, I come from a long line of a poverty based family. I lived in a bad neighborhood, with a horrid father. My mother left shortly after I was born so I never knew her. And my father? Well… I suppose he's not really my father. Just a man I lived with under the same roof, with the same blood. He was a hopeless druggie, who usually passed out in a haze. He also had a thing for knives… how do I know this? He used them on me.
My father carried a knife with him wherever he went. He used to tell me he was a knife thrower at a circus before throwing it at me during his tweaked stage. I could usually dodge them with ease, but I got nicked a few times. There was only one instance where he went too far… and I still carry the scars it left me with.
It wouldn't surprise me if he were part of the circus. The guy was a nut job and an addict, but almost on target with his knife throwing. And, unfortunately, my father. And I had to live with it.
There was more than one instance where I had to leave the house for fear of my life being cut short. But I always went back. If anything, because I had nowhere else. Well… until I met Mello.
But that's for later.
My house was more like an apartment. It had a roof and some heat, so I couldn't complain too much. The only thing I wished I had was better clothing. If at least to stay warm. I always had to find my own clothes in either the garbage or on the street.
Winter was already here in Romania, and I was still in my summer clothes – if you wanna call 'em that – so I had tried to go out and find something to wear for my shivering body. Eighteenth times the charm, right? However, my father stopped me and pushed me against the wall.
"I need a target." He had said in his rough voice.
Now, I wasn't afraid of my father – more annoyed if anything – and I knew he found me useful. I was able to tap into the camera system through our old computer so he could dodge the landlord during rent season. So, I knew I wasn't going to die… but I didn't know he'd go so far.
He grabbed my red hair, un-cut and mussed up, and slammed my head into the wall. This caused my vision to go blurry.
"Alright, try to dodge now." He said as he threw his knife. Thankfully, he missed by a hairsbreadth and I was able to escape while he was getting his knife. The man was insane to say the least, but I had no other choice but to stay.
Well, I suppose that's not fair. I had a lot of chances to leave and never return. But the simple fact remained… I was alone. No one wanted me, not even my own mother. Hell, I barely wanted me. I was a filthy street kid with no ties to anyone or anything. Nothing in my name spelled worth, so I never even entertained the idea of leaving.
That isn't to say people didn't care.
When I left for richer parts of the city, I would usually find a kind soul or two to give me food. I remember some kid even befriended me and asked his parents if I could stay for dinner. The very first time I had pizza… oh how I remember the taste now.
But those feelings are moot now. I usually have pizza on a day to day basis now… considering I can't cook.
But back to my story.
As I was out on the street that day, I did manage to find some warm clothes for myself… though they were a few sizes too big. The rest of the day was spent looking for food. Since my psycho father never fed me I had to find a way to feed myself. This was where a mom would usually come in handy. Oh well. I had to make do with what I had.
Although, I was picky when it came to mold and – or – anything of a funky stench. I still am.
It was near noon when I was rummaging through the trash to find food. No one really paid attention to me. Most of them were in worse shape than me, if not doing the same.
I suddenly heard talk happening from around the corner and I instantly cringed; it was them. My father's 'buddies', for lack of a better word. And they loved to torture me. I think they were a little more psycho than my father, if not bordering on being so.
"Well now, looky looky boys! It's the little rat of apartment 12-1. Still trying to scrounge up some food?"
I ignored him. He wasn't worth my time and was probably high off his rocker. Unfortunately though…
"Hey, I'm talking to you kid!"
I still ignored him. I had actually found something decent to eat when I felt myself being lifted and thrown onto the ground. It only took a moment for me to figure out who it was who did that.
"What's wrong with you!?" he screamed at me.
I tried to get back up but my head was spinning too fast. I almost felt sick from the pain in my head. It wasn't long before one of them kicked me in the skull and I fell unconscious. I had heard them running off when a siren blared a ways off, but I didn't see them. The last thing I saw was a snowflake landing on my nose. Then… nothing.
When I awoke, there was a strange blonde kid looking at me. My first encounter with Mello.