New FanFic :) I don't own deathnote, please Read and Review 3, Duckie x

As long as he could remember, Mello had never been able to sleep through a thunderstorm. On the night of June 20th 1995, Mello was five years old, awake and on edge. A storm had pulled by, a bad one at that, so the boy was residing upon his window ledge, watching the world pass by behind the glass panes. That was the strange connection between storms and Mello – he could watch one for hours yet the sound, the sound scared him beyond recognition. That was how he'd come up with this solution: he would sit by his window while the joy which was his MP3 player would block out the fear factor.

On that Tuesday night, the day of the summer solstice, a storm had pulled into Winchester at round about half eleven. Mello had gotten in a few hours sleep before the rumbling of thunder had awoken him. With the dreary expression you expect from most sleep deprived youngster. His half open eyes guided him across the room until he reached the thin white ledge and hauled himself onto it. The heavy curtains were rarely shut so Mello needn't bother any more than necessary with them. It was very dark, although blade-light had found its way to caress his left side, courtesy of the moon. The night was a shade of indigo which was a quality only the sky could possess, and not a single cloud tainted its beauty that night. Over once and over again, jugfull after jugfull of intense white light cascaded from the sky. The rain waited, in the hidden clouds, ready to strike when the moment was nigh. Although dear Mello couldn't hear it, thunder tore through the eerie silence every so often as if to try to disturb the peaceful war of the skies.

Wammy's house wasn't far from the eye of the storm, but it was being hit fairly badly by said storm. When the rain fell, it bounced from the driveway like rubber bullets causing a noise which even Mello's headphones couldn't block out. The driveway stretched back about a quarter of a mile where, at its edge, a pair of cast iron gates broke up the brick wall. Wammy's place was a difficult fortress to break if it didn't wish to be broken. The gardens leading up to the house were an array of many colours and plants. The pride of the garden, especially in Wammy's own eyes, was the rose-bed which unfortunately was suffering at the hand of this particular storm. Yet, there were more troubling matters within the grounds of Wammy's house that night than an over watered rose bed.

About fifteen minutes before the witching hour, the gates were flung open with a matter of urgency which they hadn't witnessed for over a decade (upon the date of the infamous L's arrival). They slammed against the bricks of the guardian wall causing a great shudder to spread through their hinges. From where he sat with baited breath, Mello couldn't quite see what was going on but as it began to draw closer, he could work out what was heading closer and closer towards the Wammy house. Coming into view was a black van; it was small but defiantly a van not a car. Rain water was flung from its wheels as if dust and the van was travelling along at speed which should not even be legal upon a private road such as that which lead up to Wammy's house.

Mello stared out of his window in wonder, curious to why a van was proceeding down the driveway with such haste. He'd never witnessed anything with nearly as much determination, no that's probably not the right way to phrase it, haste making its way to Wammy's. The van came to an abrupt halt about ten feet from the entrance to the orphanage which was good for Mello as it was just within his sight range. Any closer and it'd be impossible to view from his own window. Yes, he was very lucky indeed… He was about to witness an event which Rodger and Wammy had been very careful to prevent anyone from witnessing. Yet, they hadn't counted upon a storm which would awaken one of their most observant young ones. He also hadn't counted upon how intrigued young Mello would become if he was awoken by the storm.

From the cabin of the black van, two men emerged. They were swarmed each by a black cloak which just managed to hide their faces from Mello. One of the men, the taller and more muscular of the two, headed to the back of the van to unload whatever its cargo was. The other man leant against a van, a cigarette limp between his lips, while he watched his partner drag the doors of the van open. The man looked as if he was being pulled around by the wind, although when his partner returned with his arms engulfing what seemed to be a pile of blankets, although what looked to be red hair stuck out from a gap between the blankets. The cigarette man seemed to ask a question to the one holding the blankets, who simply nodded to the previous man.

A few seconds passed before Rodger, protected by a grotesque yellow raincoat, exited the orphanage to greet these peculiar visitors. With the familiar limp-like waddle that had always plagued Rodger – much to the amusement of his house guests – he headed over to the men stood besides the van. Cautious were the arms which received the bundle of blankets, yet they were still secure enough to avoid ruffling the precious gift even slightly. With a shrinking hand, Rodger brushed aside a few folds of the blankets at just the right angle for Mello to witness what was hidden beneath their protection.

Inside the blankets, Mello could see a face. It was the face of a child, innocent and pure, with hair the colour of fire trucks and eyes hidden by a flung arm. His skin was ashen, marred by bruises and scabs. The boy seemed to be a little younger than Mello, although he was finding it hard to tell. He looked incredibly sickly though… As if he'd never seen the sun in all his life. There was something about him which had peaked Mello's interest. This boy, this boy hidden in the blankets, he didn't quite look suited for life in the orphanage. Surely someone that sick couldn't be as clever as the kids hidden away in the house of horrors? It didn't seem plausible. From what he could tell, there was no chance that this kid had ever been to school as he just seemed so ill… It couldn't be possible; could it?

Before Mello could dwell in his thoughts anymore, Rodger and the mysterious child disappeared from what he could see leaving him to watch the buff men clamber back into the tiny black van and speed back out of the grounds. It was clear this had been intended to be a private encounter – no words said, no time wasted, just deliver the goods and leave. It all seemed very planned out, as if every step made had been accounted for. Mello could hardly remember the day he was brought to Wammy's house (he was probably barely conscious from what he'd pieced together) but he doubted such military precision had been used for his arrival. There must be something unique about this boy – something Rodger and Wammy had wanted to keep hidden from their own students. That was hardly conceivable… The children locked at Wammy's were sheltered geniuses so it was hardly an ideal to try to hide something from them. The kids had even noticed when Rodger bought the wrong brand of strawberries – they all knew what L liked and smart price strawberries would not cut it.

The rain and the wind held up for a little while before it was light enough for Mello to sleep through its wrath. Well, maybe if he left his mp3 player on…. With that fleeting thought, Mello clambered down from the window ledge, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before padding back over to his bed. His head was aching from so little sleep and from how loud he'd had to turn up his mp3 player. He knew he'd struggle in school the following day – a fact which he resented. Hoping to salvage what he could, Mello clambered underneath his dirty yellow bed sheets and forced his eyelids together. He wished he could turn of his mind and sleep but the boy haunted behind his eyes like a ghost of a nightmare lingers once you have awoken. He couldn't free his mind from the boy. Yet, he knew he must sleep. After a few awkward attempts that A had made, it made sense why Rodger had taken away Mello's sleeping medication yet now the boy was left with the awkward problem that he had no idea how to fall asleep.

Yet, as they must, weary eyelids fell shut, the brightest of brains became dark and the strongest of hearts must slow to make way for the resting period of our lives that we all require just as the sun takes her time to rest as well. So as the final breaths of moonlight shrunk away from the room, all consciousness left with it as although Mello was of superior intelligence, he was still only five years old and needed sleep just like the rest of us as Mello isn't a star, burning constantly, he isn't a firework, glowing from birth to death, no, Mello is just a child trapped in an adults mind…