Thanks to ShaCha for helping me with the damned poem thingy at the end, that was an ass to write. And yes, I wrote it myself with her help, so no stealing kkthxbai.


A gunshot.


Sixteen, twenty, maybe even more. He didn't know, he'd lost count after the first bullet ripped into his shoulder and he thought he was on fire. Numb now, the pain was gone, he was floating away. He could still feel the cigarette between his teeth but it was a distached feeling.

Somewhere, a blackbird screamed.


Matt was dead. He'd seen it on the small tv screen beside him as he drove, Takada locked in the back. He was next, he was sure. Wherever Mello went, Matt would follow, and where Matt went, so did Mello.

The blackbirds watched from the trees as the truck slammed into the church.

Mello was already dead.


The flames ripped into the wooden church, and the blackbirds in the rafters shrieked.

One blackbird, two blackbirds, three.
One for Matt and Mello, and one for me
One for the driver, one for his reaper
One to be my brother's keeper.
Seven in the morning, eight at noon
Nine blackbirds by the full moon.
Ten little blackbirds all in a row,
Nine are dead, and one's left to go.