Moth

…So tired I can't sleep

Standing on the edge of something too deep

Screaming inside but can't be heard…-Sarah Mclahan, Remember

"…I hate you."

Three words, all directed at the white haired boy in front of him. The boy said nothing, only continuing to twirl his hair, absently putting together a thousand-pieced blank puzzle. Mello clenched his fists and kept on glaring at Near, his gaze one of pure hate.

Stupid Near…in all our years at this orphanage together, he's beat me in everything. He leaves me second place in all our classwork, acts so prissy and above everyone…who does he think he is?

"…I know."

Near's reply had been resigned and quiet. The younger boy only looked down, face unreadable as always. Robotic.

Mello didn't say anything back, for once silent. Instead, he sat down next to Near, not saying a word, eyes fixed in the ceiling.

Why shouldn't Near hate me as well? He thought furiously. He should know I hate him…but why does it bother me so much? That he knows I do?

He stared up idly at the ceiling, eyes trailing to the stub of the old chandelier, now cobwebbed and dusty. A long time ago, there had been a giant chandelier there, Victorian-style with little tinkling crystals. It had been Roger's favorite part of the house, and he had often warned the children away from it. Many had found if you stood at the top of the stairwell, stretching out your arm as far as it could go, you could brush the edge of the rim. It would tinkle enchantingly.

One night, Roger had lit it up, and all of the children oohed and ahhed at the dazzling display. Roger had repeated the order for no one to touch it, and then left for dinner, as did many of the other children.

Mello had stayed behind, completely entranced by the glowing brilliant star before him. Never had he felt such an urge to touch it before. Touching it would be to know what the very heavens were made of.

He had climbed the spiraling stairs (Jacob's ladder to heaven) and put his feet up on the railing, eyes shining with delight.

Then he saw it.

The moth, fluttering in a daze among the crystal shards, dancing forever in a thousand reflections of light. A sparkling paradise.

Mello paused, and wondered why the moth continued to linger in its deadly glimmering world. If it brushed against any of the candles, it would perish, and all for naught. He watched the moth in silence, musing on the creature's stupidity. It probably had had only a few hours to lie anyway. Why lose yourself among the brilliance, waltzing in time to the clinking of crystal beads of silver joy?

But none of that stopped Mello from instinctively throwing out his hand when the moth wandered too close to a candle's hypnotizing flame, and knocking down the entire delicate structure to the floor ten feet below.

Glass, glass, everywhere.

Never had he received such a scolding. And he got bathroom cleaning duties for three months.

But the moth had been distracted by his swiping hand, and narrowly dodged the sharp onslaught. He had seen it go out the window himself…

Yes, it was foolish to remain so drunk on bliss. The moth had shown him that much. And maybe it had shown him something else as well.

He often wondered who he was to interrupt the moth's glittering reverie, even if it could have ended in its death.

But it would've been happy…

"I hate you," Mello muttered, a little less darkly.

Near looked up with those blank eyes of his, and he put the last piece of the puzzle in its place. His mouth twitched into the brief semblance of a bittersweet smile.

"…I know."

…Will you remember me?

Will I remember you?

Don't let your life

Pass you by

Hold on to the memories…

_Remember, Sarah Mclahan