The story of Grell's past. This is a new one for me, writing a journal type story. I hope it was easy enough to distinguish between the journal part and the actual story part. By the way, yes I did give young Grell a British accent, assuming he grew up near where the story takes place later.

I've never written a diary before. It seemed rather pointless but here I am anyway. I feel if I can put down my life onto paper it will have meant something. I haven't told a soul the events of what I am about to recall; if anyone is reading this you will have been the first to hear the story of my early life. If you are reading this, I am Grell Sutcliff and this is the story of my life and death.

I was born to a small family in England, to a father who was an esteemed member of the Royal Navy and my mother who was a rising starlet and famous actress of the stage.

They never wanted a son. I was a mistake, in so many words . They always wanted a daughter, someone that my mother could dote upon, someone that could continue her blooming legacy. Why can't I be an actress too? What makes a woman a 'woman' after all? These thoughts continuously played through my mind all the way into my adult life.

The doctors told her that she couldn't have any more children, that there would be complications with her health and possibly the child's. My mother was devastated, she grew distant and angry. Things were never the same after that…the only time I ever saw my parents was when they returned home with another lover on their arm. I knew…I was just a child but I knew.

X x x x X

"Mum, I can be an actress too! Look, look! Isn't it pretty?" Heels clicked down the wooden floor of the hallway as a young child ran into the kitchen, holding up a long, black coat over an elegant gown both of which were far too big on the child who was perhaps five or six. The boy stood awkwardly in a pair of too large heels, pushing some bright red hair out of his beaming face with one dangling sleeve. It was nothing more than 'dress up'…a common children's game. But it appeared to be no game to the woman the boy was trying to impress.

"Where did you get those?! Take them off right now! You'll get them dirty!" The woman stood from her chair in the kitchen. She was a thin and tall picturesque lady with perfectly painted features and vivid red hair that matched the boy's tied up with gentle pieces cascading around her features. She was soft featured with long lashes and full lips. But her visage was somewhat disturbed when she glared at the boy in anger as if one might a stranger that had wronged them.

"But…I wanted to show you how pretty everything looks…I worked really hard! I wanted to look just like Mummy!" The smile from the boy's face fell immediately as he saw his mother's expression of anger. He wilted under that hard gaze, knowing that it was the look he received when he did something wrong. He lowered his hands from his face, letting the unkempt hair fall back over his eyes.

"Listen to me, you are a boy! You cannot wear these things! Take them off!" The woman moved abruptly from her chair and took the boy's wrist with one of her hands and with the other slapped the exposed cheek.

Crying out, the boy fell back onto the ground, small hand moving to touch the stinging cheek. He looked up in shock, tears forming in the corner of wide, green eyes. The red haired woman stepped forward again, anger burning in her eyes as she raised her hand for another blow. Shaking, the boy threw his arms over his head and tensed waiting for the attack.

"Charlotte! Stop it! You can't treat him like this." The unmistakable boom of his father's voice intervened and he took the woman's wrist and stepped between them. Despite what his mother might feel, the man was still the head of the household and all decisions and actions needed to be taken by him.

"Isaac…he—well look at what he's wearing! The boy is wearing a dress!" Lowering her hand once it was released, Charlotte had tears in her eyes as well but they were tears of frustration.

"Dearest you cannot expect him to understand. The doctors have said he is touched in the head. We cannot do anything about it." The man sighed, finally turning to face the cowering boy, "Grell, take off that ridiculous outfit and stop your crying. Go to your room." His father had a very commanding presence even when he was silent. He was tall, well dressed and with a perfect posture. His dark hair and mustache was always kept combed perfectly into place and his eyes were vivid green much like the boy's only sharper. And his commands were absolute.

"Y-yes sir…" The boy hiccupped, wiping his eyes with the back of the jacket sleeve and standing up. He gathered the layers of skirts in his hands, taking off the heels and carrying the entire ensemble in his arms to the room in the back of the hallway. As soon as the door was closed he heard the yelling, the arguments and the sound of his father's hand against his mother. And then he heard the crying. He heard the pain and he couldn't block it out.

He stifled his own sobs, tearing off the dress and throwing it aside, replacing his nightshirt and looking into the mirror. His eyes were stained red, tears still clinging to his cheeks. No matter how many times he would look into the mirror his reflection would always be a boy's. Anger filled him then and he pounded his small fist against the silver looking glass…crying harder with each attempt until he finally grabbed the candle stick and shattered his reflection into a million tiny pieces. He dropped the object as he felt his hand sting in protest and looking down he saw the diamond shards of glass covered in brilliant red. At first he was frightened, looking at his hand and seeing the cuts that were bleeding all over the floor and the dress he wore only moments ago.

But it was so beautiful…such a deep color. It was relaxing, it was sad…it was constant. No matter what changed the red of his blood would always be red…that would never change. At least it was one thing he could always rely on. That thought alone, of one thing remaining unchanged comforted him enough.

Tears fell freely then as the boy crawled into a tight ball on the floor and cried until there was nothing left and exhaustion took over, fading his reality into a veil of black.

X x x x X

"It's classified as a general case of Gender Identity Disorder, or G.I.D. In time it may pass, a few years…there is also consoling available and while there is no treatment he should still be able to lead a normal life. If not…we can always take him off your hands, Mr. Sutcliff." A man in a starch, white coat with thick glasses scribbled notes down onto a clipboard while speaking to the dark haired man within a small, doctor's office.

"A few years! The boy is wearing dresses! We can't wait a few years…My wife is the lead actress on stage right now, this project is the solution to all our debt! We simply cannot have anyone find out about him. There has to be something you can do, he was kissing another boy! That is NOT normal behavior for a fifteen year old." Isaac Sutcliff huffed, running a hand through usually perfectly styled hair.

"I am afraid there is little we can do. But as I have stated, Sir…our facility is state of the art. Your son will fit right in, and there will be no need to trace records back to your family. If his condition does not improve within the next few years…feel free to give me a call, Mr. Sutcliff. It will be a pleasure to do business with you…" The doctor handed the dark haired man a piece of paper with contact information scribbled on the front, including the name Whitmore's Asylum.

X x x x X

Things did not change. They became progressively worse. I tried to hide it, I really did but there were times when I just couldn't lie anymore. His name was Lewis Mathews. That was the boy I had my first crush on. It was nothing more than a school yard romance at first but I couldn't help but feel he was the only one that understood me. He was also the boy I had my first kiss with. When my father received such news he was enraged. He would raise a hand to me on occasion but never like that. It was a terrible pain for a child to feel, but the feeling of betrayal was a pain far worse.

I was kept confined to the house; I taught myself with father's books when possible, unable to attend a real school. Years passed and I was an adult when I finally saw Lewis again. This time he was with a beautiful woman clinging to his arm. I cannot describe what kind of feelings went through my mind or what kind of hurt it was…I felt utterly alone. I blamed that woman he was with, I hated her. She stole from me the one person I had relied on.

I didn't mean to go so far. I confronted that woman, but when I saw her face I was filled with an anger inside of me I didn't know I had. It really was an accident…but when I saw that brilliant crimson red on the body of the woman in front of me…I knew I had done something wrong. She looked up at me in pain, with fear in her eyes. What had I become?

It was when Lewis came that I knew things would never be the same. He looked at me in horror, with those beautiful eyes of his accusing me. I was as crazy to him as I was to everyone else.

X x x x X

"I'm not going, you can't make me!" Grell thrashed against two men in white coats, holding him securely by the arms. It was not hard to overpower the redhead; he was significantly smaller in frame than the two men beside him. He glared up at the 'doctor' the man that was going to take him away. Take him to a 'beautiful' place, where all the latest treatments were available and he would make lots of friends and be treated very well. He wasn't a fool, he knew those were lies.

He glanced in vain to his parents, both of which were standing off to the side. His mother was crying but certainly not for him…and his father standing as perfectly still and remaining as stoic as ever. Neither seemed opposed to the idea of ridding themselves of the redhead.

"Now now, Grell. Calm yourself my boy. This should do the trick…" The two men on either side of the redhead held tighter and kept him still as the doctor came forward with a large, metal syringe. The needle tip looked particularly painful and felt even worse as it was jammed into his arm and whatever was within the syringe was injected into his body. Then there was blackness and it covered everything and stole away his reality.

X x x x X

I had never seen so many horrors in one place before, I awoke to a nightmare. Patients were treated like animals…perhaps even worse. They weren't considered human, they were merely pawns that were used to further research. I kept mostly to myself in my room…I was afraid. I had seen firsthand what kind of 'treatments' were used. The girl across from my room was perhaps only a few years younger than me, she was sweet enough and seemed perfectly harmless. However, she was terribly afraid of the dark and whenever the feeble lighting was diminished for the night she would scream terribly so late into the night. The doctor considered this unacceptable behavior and she was sent to the treatment room. The patients called it Hell. When I next saw her it was with a terrible metal pick from her eye. They called it a lobotomy and it was supposed to heal her fear and make her 'normal' again. Her eyes were bruised and puffy, features swollen and distorted. Even after the device was removed she would do nothing but stare blankly into space, drool on her lips and chin as if she was trapped in her own body unable to do anything. I didn't sleep for a long time after that.

I was in that facility for three years and I witnessed more hellish things in that place than any other on earth. I really didn't even know at that point if I was still within reality. I thought perhaps they had dragged me into another world, or perhaps this was Hell and I was suffering for all the sin placed upon me. You hear something so many times and you start to believe it. I was slipping into my nightmare, I believed I was crazy.

I tried to stay alone, away from others. However, despite my attempts to stay secluded from other patients sometimes I would slip. I was only human after all and being alone for so long was a terrible feeling.

"Well, well…if it isn't the fag that thinks he's a lady." Gregory Muller was a rather large and intimidating patient within the facility. He did what he wanted, when he wanted and he somehow got away with it. Rumor was that he came from a very well-off family and he was treated better than the rest because of it. It was possible…but at that moment Grell did not care. The man was approaching him with two of his cronies behind. The redhead had gone to the recreation room that day, rather fond of following a rather handsome newcomer named James around just to pass time. It seemed his attempts at affection did not go unnoticed although they were noticed by all the wrong people and he appeared to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"What do you want…?" Grell turned from the table, green eyes looking up warily at the much taller manin front of him, "Look…I don't see how my actions are any of your concern really." Drawing his lips into a thin line the redhead flipped some of his long hair over one shoulder.

"Awfully mouthy for a woman, aren't you?" Gregory sneered and the two men behind him laughed. He reached out without warning, slamming one hand against the wall behind the redhead and the other moving to forcefully grab his face and force the man to look up, "You're too pretty to be a man…Better than any of the women in this ward at least."

"Let go! Who gave you the right to touch me like that?" Grell lashed one hand out, trying to pry the taller one away, glaring at him as if such behavior would scare him away. It had the opposite effect and the larger man laughed, gripping tighter to the point where bruises would undoubtedly form on that pale skin. Grell winced, trying to pull back but merely succeeding in touching his back to the wall behind him. Trapped.

"I don't need anyone's permission, Red. I can do whatever the hell I want." The larger man bent down, one hand wandering until it successfully found the latch of the man's belt and gave a rough tug.

"Get away!" Grell hissed, pushing the man back with surprising strength and managing to get at least a few inches away before he felt a hand against his arm and felt the slam of the wall against his back and head. For a few long seconds he was dizzy, staring at the large man in front of him. And then he felt a prick against his arm and made a pained noise, green eyes widening as he looked down and saw the syringe half inserted into his skin.

"Here's a little something to calm you down. I stole it off the cart this morning…You won't feel a thing. Probably. We're just going to play with you a bit, Red." Gregory laughed loudly, grinning like a madman. He took the syringe away and waited but what happened next was not what he had anticipated.

Grell fell to the ground, on his knees at first, clutching his stomach. His body was feverish, and his breaths started to hitch and come out shorter. His eyes widened, feeling as if there was not enough oxygen in the room, his body felt like it was on fire. He whimpered, feeling a wave of nausea overtake his body and then a shiver ran through him that shook his frame. He started coughing, a hand over his mouth removed to see that brilliant red again staining his hand. It was coming from inside him…something wasn't right.

"The hell did you do, Gregory?! I thought it was just a sedative!" One of the smaller men growled at their leader, all three were looking at the redhead in horror as the blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"W-well it was supposed to be! How was I supposed to know?! Let's just get out of here!" The man made a run for the door, and the other two wasted no time in following. It was dark then, and silent. And again, the redhead was afraid. His body wouldn't stop convulsing…shaking like someone had him by the shoulders. Again, for the first time a quite a long while tears stung the corner of his eyes. And then the wave of fire disappeared and he was cold, freezing. And everything seemed to stop. He collapsed on the ground, eyes fading out as he stared unfocused at the pattern on the floor. This was it…he was dying. He was going to die on the floor in the middle of this nightmarish hospital without a single person beside him.

Suddenly there was laughter, a low musical kind of sound that came from the shadows somewhere. Laughter…someone was laughing at him! If he had any kind of strength left, Grell would have been enraged. But he didn't. No, all he could do was stare at the floor until he saw a pair of black boots move swiftly towards him. His eyes glanced up and through the fog that was his vision he saw…Death. Certainly it wasn't how he imagined he would appear. It was a man in a black suit with long, silver hair and a rather large scythe over his shoulder. Oh…perhaps he really had gone crazy.

"Quite the mess we have here. Let's see that pretty little reel, shall we~?" The silver haired man grinned, swinging the scythe around the redhead tensed and waited for it to slice through him. But it merely grazed the skin, and he barely felt the pain. What startled him most was the golden reel that poured forth from his body all around him. It was a movie of his life, and he almost couldn't believe the pictures of his past that were flying past his eyes. He saw his life as he remembered it in every vivid detail. If he could have shuddered, he would have.

"You have quite the soul, Grell Sutcliff." The silver haired man chuckled again, kneeling down beside the redhead and poking him gently with the dull end of his weapon, "You really don't want it to end like this, do you, hmm~?"

Grell could not answer. He felt his hand twitch, wanting to push away that insubordinate man and his weapon and his strange words. Why couldn't he just die in peace?!

"That's what I wanted to hear." Without warning the man stood up, fluidly swinging the weapon over his head and bringing it down to cut the pieces of reel free from the redhead's body. He felt as if someone had him constricted, tightening his body in some kind of pressure. Something inside of him stirred, and the chill came back with a violent shiver. And then he gasped; short, pained…the last breath of one that was to die and it was a sound that was unlike any other…so final. But…he was still conscious.

Suddenly there was a warmth that overpowered the man's form, the chill had disappeared and for a brief second he assumed it was death. It couldn't be, his body was trembling but he could feel. Yes, unfortunately he could feel pain and a lot of it. But his vision cleared, his heart rate sped up and with a painful intake of air he bolted up, raising one hand to his head as the room spun briefly around him. He felt like he had been crushed, his body was screaming in pain, every fiber of his body hurt. But he could also feel some kind of rapid warmth speeding through him, numbing the pain very slowly.

When it stopped, he looked up warily at his silver haired savior. Strange man that he was…he did seem to save him. Grell blinked, noticing the man had a silver aura around his body. An aura…wasn't he Death? Confused, he rubbed his eyes, noticing for the first time his vision was absolutely deplorable! Everything was blurry and unfocused.

"What's going on…who are you?" Grell muttered, finally bringing himself to stand, or rather lean upon the table until he could stand by himself. He placed his hands on his hips and glared accusingly at the strange man, demanding answers, "I…I should have died! What happened to me?!"

"Heehee~ so feisty for a new recruit. William! Come here, we have something interesting on our hands." The silver haired man continued to grin, quite amused with Grell's reaction, "I am a shinigami. A death god." He ghosted beside the red haired man one hand curling around his shoulder while the other moved around to press a long, black nail against his cheek. "And you did die…in so many words~"

"Yes?" Another man appeared from the hallway, stepping into the room he looked around with a clear expression of distaste. The facility was filthy after all, covered in blood and grime and not to mention the patients…but his boss had ordered him to follow along to attend a 'special case' as it were. Glancing up he immediately met eye to eye with the…special case. Raising an eyebrow he looked to his superior incredulously.

"Take care of him, William." The silver haired man pushed Grell easily into the other man, who caught him just as easily and with a twitch of his brow he removed his hands and set the man aside.

"HEY! What do you mean, take care of him?! I am not some child to be babysat!" Grell protested, hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared at the silver haired man that was obviously some kind of leader. But the man was already leaving. Attempting to follow, Grell felt a hand on the back of his shirt pull back and he let out a short yelp.

"Stay." William ordered, as if talking to a pet. He adjusted his glasses with his free hand and sighed. "Honestly…what was he thinking? There is nothing special about you." Frowning, the dark haired man stared at Grell a moment taking in his appearance, everything from the long red hair that matted to his face to the tearstained eyes and the blood on his lips and front of his shirt. He was filthy…and really, had they come to pick up a man from an asylum? Not that sometimes he didn't wonder about their leader's mental state but really. The Shinigami Association was not a loony bin. Though perhaps the man was wrong, he was surrounded by strange company all the time.

"Follow." Another one word answer and William dropped his hand, moving out of the room. Agitated, Grell followed behind.

"How dare you treat a lady like this?! Did you hear me? Listen to me! Hey!" Grell followed along quickly beside the man, his stride slightly shorter than the taller man's but his voice all but accompanying for the distance lost.

"You will speak only when spoken to, do you understand…" William paused, looking down at the clip board in his hand, "Mr. Sutcliff? And you shall treat your superior officers with respect. You shall refer to me as Mr. Spears and nothing else—"

"It's Miss Sutcliff, Will." Grell countered, crossing his arms and drawing out his lower lip. This was enough to stop William in his tracks and look at the redhead in shock.

"It is not and you shall not use that name for me. My name is not Will it is William T. Spears—"

"Well he called you William, and it sounds so much better than Mr. Spears. William is too long~ Will is so much easier." Grell flashed a perfectly innocent smile, though the effect was somewhat lost considering the smile was now rather sharp, a fact the redhead had yet to realize.

Sighing heavily, William muttered to himself and scribbled something else down on the clipboard. By death gods…he really needed a break from this kind of work. Without another word, the dark haired man quickly continued out of the building with a flouncing redhead in tow behind him.

X x x x X

I later discovered that these beings were called shinigami, gods of death and that they reaped human souls. Technically I was dead but it was only a human death. I have an entire afterlife to consider now. And really, it doesn't seem like it will be so terrible. Fate has a funny way of turning things around. I ended up working for William as an agent in the London district, reaping souls as assigned. Time passes quickly for us reapers. But that is another story all together.

If you did manage to get all the way through my entry you have my thanks. I grow so tired of this now, really how can anyone have the patience for writing down their thoughts in a little book? No, I don't believe I will be doing this again, I think I might go tease Will! It's a lovely way to pass the time you know. And really, have no sympathy for me…it isn't the end. If anything this is the beginning and it's going to be one hell of a ride.

Yours truly,

Grell Sutcliff (The one and only Red Reaper)