Pairings: Matt/Mello.

Warnings: Language, possible (slight) sexual situations, the use of drugs, and that cliché stuff.

Rating: PG-13 [May veer to MA

Disclaimer: Being that I am of the age of sixteen and lack the mature thoughts, I am not the creator of Death Note. I am only toying with the storyline.

Summary: [Matt-centric, Matt/Mello) He wasn’t used to being trapped in one place. He remembered being free. He remembered a time when this place wasn’t the only thing he had and, at times, cherished. And he wasn't exactly sure why he had fallen. [Wammy House days)

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Imprisonment

Prologue

By Baka Orange Neko

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Sounds of children playing, crying, whispering circulated the entire establishment, a ringing of sensations and emotions filtering through the heated air. It had been snowing pleasantly outside, the crystals of misshapen proportions dangling to the Earth steadily and without fail; they stuck to the cold, metallic heating units lying next to Wammy House.

The ground was covered with the white purity, a landfill of endless flakes that kept attached, almost in a mutual relationship, though the weather was definitely killing off the grass that some children wouldn’t mind seeing for a while.

It was winter. Some embraced this as a festivity of sorts, while others gave a morbid analyst of it—a dreaded season of death. Everything was dying at a slow, consistent speed. The trees no longer held any leaves, all once a bright mosaic of colors left to crumble as fall came and went.

Clack. Clack.

Feet, some covered with socks and boots, others bare, pounded the hardwood floor as children sought to play inside. It was too chilly with their clunky, ill-formed sweaters and coats that could barely keep the heat within their skin.

There was only one child outside.

A mass of tasseled red hair that showed through the hooded sweater that was wrapped around small, insignificant shoulders hung over dulled green eyes, a contrast of Christmas colors (which to mention, Christmas wasn’t that far away). Red and black stripes decorated the upper body, while ragged, faded jeans constricted the blood flow (basically) in the young one’s legs.

The glowing screen, which was owned by the Game Boy, illuminated his facial features brightly, the shadows creeping up on his visage and highlighting the blankness of his eyes. Click. Click. Beep. He was lost in fantasy once more, the reality of this world dissipating into the back of his mind. It didn’t exist.

Nothing existed, except for the proud fighter glaring down his opponent in an absurd game warped on desires.

He wasn’t sure when he became loss; when life dwelled into boredom, and he found nothing appeasing about it. Matt didn’t like the slow-paced reality anymore. He reminisced when once everything was just a blur, a blur of nothing, and pain didn’t hurt, nor did life really even matter. It was just a game.

The game of life, some acknowledged it.

Lips parted as teeth did a frustrating chattering; the cold was getting to him, his cheeks almost the exact color of his hair. He didn’t want to go back in, though. He never wanted to venture back into the facility that tied him to outrageous hours of studying. He wasn’t gifted in intellect; so then, why was he here? It made no sense whatsoever to his thirteen-year-old mind.

Dead, he voiced in his head as the imaginary bullet whipped through the skin of his character’s opponent. Just like his life. It was dead. Just like the trees, the grass, the stirring of individuals outside. This truly was the season of absolute death.

His tennis shoe-clad feet struggled to keep close together as he narrowed those emerald hues and gazed soundlessly into the air, his screen blaring a victory slogan in giant red letters; he cared not if he won. The game of life was over in his opinion. Now he was just a rat trapped in a cage, not willing to go back to the rigid system of classes that stared directly at him in only a few more days.

Matt was forced to choose a couple of classes. None were grand, though, to him. A few computer classes he collected, and a small load of sciences and math classes he decided on. He wasn’t going to use much knowledge in the future. Why bother choosing classes that only weighed him down? Did he even have a future?

Did one even exist?

The snowflakes collected on the fine strands of ruffled hair, clinging to them droplets of ice-cold water, and snapping the adolescent gamer from his morbid thoughts. Time had flown like nothing. “Bored,” he stated, his voice raspy from hardly any use, the game now forgotten in his cold hands, left to dangle in his numb fingers.

And back into the enormous housing for gifted children he went.

Only to linger on the thought if a more exciting game would intrude on his nonexistent life.

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A/N: This is obviously the prologue, so don’t expect this to be good. xD It’s just supposed to give an introspection of his life at the moment, and how he feels about it. You readers aren’t going to know about his past until later, though. Heh.

So, I ask for reviews or constructive-criticism. This being my first ever Death Note fanfic, I wanna know if I got Matt’s character down well. (He should’ve been in the series more. D:)

The next chapter will be extremely longer. I just didn’t want to rush everything in a prologue. Well, studying calls. I’ll try to update to this as soon as I can.

-Bon-Bon-