-'-Blood or Jam-'-: HELLO!
Kit-Kat Punk-lover: Welcome evil children of hell...
BJ: We have brought you...
KKPL: SINFUL BLOOD!
BJ: There will be death, blood and gore!
KKPL: And lot's of B!
BJ: And Mello...
KKPL: Idea by me but BJ did ALOT on this!
BJ: ^.^, you're too nice KKPL
KKPL: Nope. You're just modest.
BJ: Well...we own nothing...we'd both like to own B though (and I'd love to
own Light)
KKPL: And I'd love to own Mello!
BJ: But sadly we don't, so we're just using Mello and B for our own personal
enjoyment!
KKPL: YAY! WE ROCK!
BJ: We dooooooo indeedy
KKPL: So you know there will be religious references in here, MY IDEA XD.
BJ: And this is an AU if you haven't already figured that out.
KKPL: Set in the Great American Depression! Woot!
BJ: Let's get on with the story now!
It was a foggy day in the busy city of New York. Death shadowed every inch of the urban air while people crawled out of their sleeping places, awakening from their deep, yet troubled slumber to go and work for what little money they could obtain. The Great Depression had fallen like a thick blanket on the people, people who had been starved and sick since the day they were born. It was amazing they were still alive.
A petit, blond teen stumbled through the alleyways of the bleak, murky weather. He clutched his rosary tight in his hand as he turned a corner; it was only a few measly seconds ago he had barely managed to outrun the cop who'd seen him steal food from a local stand.
Out of breath, he leaned against the grimy wall and let his body slide down to the ground. The food he had stolen was like a weight in his pocket, a small, yet constant reminder of how he had to survive.
A constant reminder of how wretched he felt.
The teen, whose name was Mello, had no place to go. Nothing to eat, except the food he had to steal, and more importantly, no one to love. He was all alone in the world; he didn't even have parents, ones of which he only vaguely remembered in the dim memories he had.
Mello ran his hand through his messy, blond hair as he bit into the stale bread. It tasted like a solid rock in his dry mouth, but he forced it down, ignoring the urge to puke.
Even before the depression hit over a year ago, he had been living like this, like a starved animal. Mello hung his head low as guilt washed over him in a vast ocean.
Thief.
That was all he was and all he ever will be.
A sinner.
All he would ever be.
The rosary hung from his sickly pale neck burned into his fragile skin, it screamed out, "Fake! Thief! Sinner!" over and over into is mind, heart and soul, acting as if he didn't already know what he was already.
Not being able to stand the eerie alley any longer, he got up from his spot on the ground and walked further down the dark pathway, his blue eyes trailing over the shadows. Paranoia seeped over him as one shadow moved from its spot.
He turned his head rapidly, only to find nothing there. Nothing at all.
He quickened his pace, eager to get out of the alley and reach the hectic street traffic, but a loud crash made Mello flip around in the direction of racket. A trash can rolled across the path, but the cause of it was nowhere in sight.
Mello paused and for a second thought he was dreaming.
Dreaming a nightmare.
A split-second later he was running down the alleyway. Mello was not an idiot; he knew someone was following him. His first guess was the cop from earlier, but then the thought crossed his mind, 'Why didn't he arrest me when I was on the ground, gasping for air?'
That choice was out.
Mello then thought it was another thief who was in search of food as he was. If that was true, then why would he or she go after Mello of all people? Why would this thief try and steal Mello's stolen, revolting food?
Another choice was out.
So whoever it was following him, it was someone he did not want to meet. You did not want to meet a stranger in the alleyways of New York ever. The word killer ran across his mind in large neon letters, taunting him. Was this the price he had to pay to his Father in heaven for all the sins he had committed for the last twelve years of his life?
Mello was strong, but not strong enough to where he could defend himself from a knife or gun. He was skinny, very skinny from the years he spent starving on the streets.
When he narrowed down his options, running was the only logical choice.
His hand reached up and gripped his rosary. His legs felt like they would give out at any given second. He silently prayed to God the next turn would lead to an open street, while at the same time, asking for forgiveness for whatever crimes he had committed, promising God he would never commit them again unless he had to, as long as it got him out of this situation.
His prayers were not answered, and his repents were not forgiven
A slim hand gripped him from behind and the stranger quickly covered Mello's mouth to prevent the blond from screaming. His other hand held Mello's wrist together behind the Mello's back.
Mello was caught, but by who?
His blue eyes tried identify what he or she looked like, but darkness covered the stranger's face. Mello struggled to get his hands back, but the mysterious person only gripped him tighter.
Mello's fears heightened when he, for he was sure now that no girl could be this strong, leaned down. His breathed hiked over Mello's ear and all the possibilities of what could happen and what was to come rushed through Mello's head, causing him to shiver at the thought. The blond shut his eyes tight, preparing for the worse.
And that's when, with a whisper the stranger spoke the words that sent shivers down Mello's spin, words that a killer would say before slicing his victim into shreds, he spoke, "Hello there my pretty, little stranger! What's an attractive blond boy doing in these dangerous alleyways?"
Time to die, Mello thought, holding his breath.
KKPL: Well, that was intresting....
BJ: REVEIW! If you know what's good for you....
KKPL: We will give you yummy muffins!!!! With chocolate chips!
BJ: Yum! Also check out one of our other fics!!
KKPL: That is if you love us!
BJ: Bye for now!!!!