You know, I've been hoping that there'd be a limit to how much hell a person can be forced through. If someone's suffered in ways no normal person would understand, they have to get a break, right? Some higher power, destiny, fate, whatever, has to look down and say, "You know, so-and-so has had a real s#$% life so far. I'll let 'em win the lottery." It's only fair, right? Right?

Apparently not. If three weeks in hell doesn't tip the scale of fate a little in my direction, then I don't know what will.

And the Reaper's Game wasn't the end of my troubles. Oh no. I'm not that lucky. That was only the beginning of something much, much worse...

Don't believe me? Well, see for yourself. The situation I'm in pretty much sums up my life right now.

I'm in front of the 104 building. The early morning sky is layered in rolling grey clouds, which seeped into Shibuya as a heavy, enchanting fog. For once, the normally bustling square is devoid of people, except for a girl standing a few yards away, and Shiki, who was lying next to me.

Her face always reminded me of a fairy that had been in one of my favorite bedtime books. Soft features, flowing black hair, and a smile never far from her lips. Her glasses, big and round, were a size too big, but she refused to get different ones, no matter how much we bugged her about it. She was wearing her favorite green sweater and a skirt she had bought from Natural Puppy, which meant that it was one of the cutest articles of clothing on the planet. Of course, Mr. Mew, the ever-present stuffed pig (or cat, as she would insist), was in her arms, laying limp as stuffed animals do.

The fog leaking into the city lent the entire scene a certain beauty that made you believe you were dead.

Hazy. Everythings hazy.

But everything was so enchanting, so surreal, so beautiful.

Or, it would be.

If it wasn't covered in crimson blood. My blood.

Wait. My blood? Really?

Yes, Neku, replied my remaining shred of common sense, really.

"That can't be right..." I mutter incoherently.

My logical self sighed. Look down.

I obliged, straining my head a few inches off the rough concrete to get a good look at myself.

I whistled. "Wow," I remark airily "That's impressive."

My chest was crisscrossed with brutal slashes. Barely an inch of my shirt was left unstained by the torrent of blood that had flowed out of the wounds. Some areas of my skin looked more like pulp than living flesh, they had been torn up so much.

Oh look! I can see a bit of my left rib. Thats never happened before. Hah ha ha.

Right about then I remembered how much having your chest slashed to ribbons hurt.

"Uuuuunggghn," I moan as the barbed spear of agony wedges itself through every single nerve in my body. The pain, at least, drove off the fog shrouding my consciousness, allowing me to appreciate just how messed up I was.

Left arm broken. Check.

Right hand mangled. Check.

Pretty sure my foot's not supposed to twist like that. Graaaaaaah. Nope. Immobilized. Check.

I felt completely drained. Most of my pins, my only weapons, were shattered, and even if I had them I doubt they would do much good against the psycho who put me in this state. Check, check and check.

And, speak of the devil. She's standing over me right now. And on my fractured arm, thank you very much.

"Hee hee heeeeeeee. Are you having fun? Is the meanie having fun?" she whispered maniacally. Her face, stained red, looked like it belonged on an eight-year-old's head, but her eyes shone with a light that could only be born from decades of madness. Her hair was pink, fluffy, and bouncy, almost like a wore a parka with bunny ears attatched, the cute imagery clashing with the gross amount of blood covering her torso. Her black dress was ripped and torn, like it had been through hell and back.

"Do you want to play s'more? My friend does," she muttered, shifting her broadsword, black and glistening, into a ready position. "And kitty lady fell asleep already."

Shiki! I strained my neck to get a good look at her condition. What I saw made my heart stop dead in it's tracks.

A ragged, bloody hole stretched across her torso, at least six inches wide. Her lifeblood leaked from the wound, soaking the cold, hard ground around her. Mr. Mew, her prized possession and companion, lay slashed in half on top of her, arms spread wide as if still faithfully trying to protect its beloved master.

Shiki. It couldn't be true. Not after all her sacrifices, her kindness, her faith.

I needed to get up now. I needed to make this kid pay for what she'd done, what she'd taken from me!

I struggled and fought against gravity, lifting myself on broken arms and twisted limbs, every piece of my body screaming for relief. But I had to get up. Now!

But the pain... It was... Suffocating.

I fell back on the concrete, the few inches I'd managed to lift myself hurting like a hundred meter drop when my shattered skeleton hit the street. Tears stung my eyes, and not all of them were from the pain. Why? Why couldn't I get up? Why can't I do anything to avenge my friend?

The psycho standing over me had apparently gotten bored of watching my pitiful struggle. She raised her broadsword above her head, preparing for the executing blow.

"Time to play, meanie!"

The broadsword descended in a swift arc toward my exposed neck.

FML doesn't BEGIN to cover it.

Hello! PsychComposer here. Thanks for taking the time to read my first fanfic. I appreciate any and all critisisms, especially those with advice. Any and all help is appreciated!

Anyway, I just want to say that I don't know when I'll be able to have the next chapter up, so don't wait with bated breath or anything. School, friends, life, it all just gets in the way. But untill then, peace, and psych out!