DUN DADADA DA!! HERE IT IS EVERYONE! THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! Let me introduce you to When The Blue Angel Sings. OH! This is all my idea. And if you steal it, you will die a slow and painful death. Here you go!

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I was born alone. When I was born, my birth parents had the full intention of abandoning me. I don’t fully know why, even after all these years. One person told me that they didn’t want me in the first place. That’s too obvious. Another told me that I was too sick to helped. How ironic. My entire name, Yukiko Kiyoshi Niwa, means snow child, quiet, and garden in Japanese. For a guy like me, I had always preferred to be called just Yuki, nothing else.

I was born into a “mixed” family. My birth parents married young, around the age of graduating high school. The Hikaris, my mom’s family, and the Niwas, my dad’s family, were fully against the whole thing and each other. Why do both families hate each other, you ask. It’s because they have been in a riot for ages… since around the 1600’s, I think. Kind of reminds you of Romeo & Juliet, doesn’t it? My parents went against their family’s wishes and eloped. Shortly afterwards, my mom gave birth to my older brother, Ayame. His name means iris in Japanese. Yet the stupid thing about it is that it’s normally a girl’s name.

I was born a month early. I had to stay at the hospital for a few weeks. You know that when babies are born they cry. I didn’t cry. It was more like I was asleep. It was because I was born with a rare incurable disease. The number of people infected is one in a million. I can’t remember the scientific name because it’s too long. I've always called it Death’s Rose, among other names. It’s a genetic disease that gives me an extremely weak immune system, so I’m greatly vulnerable to illnesses including the common cold. The worst part is that I get attacks or “spasms”. Even if I were just fine, I would get an attack with a high chance of being sent to the hospital if it’s bad enough. The attacks would vary from coughing or vomiting uncontrollably to internal bleeding, half the time it’s worse than that.

When I was finally able to go home from the hospital, my brother was waiting at the first step in the house. The minute he saw me, I know that with all his heart he asked, “When can we get rid of him?” My parents responded with a straight face, “Soon.” How sweet of them.

Since then, I was never allowed outside. I was two years old when I asked them why I couldn’t go play outside with the neighborhood kids and they said that they didn’t want me to get sick. I’ve known for a long time that it wasn’t for that reason. They wanted to erase any knowledge of my existence, to make sure I don’t exist in the world at all. And I’ve known that ever since the day I snuck outside to play. It was.. fun. I realized, for the first time, what it was like to smile, to laugh. Even if it was only for a little while. But even that moment didn’t save me. My punishment for that was verbal abuse from my mother and bruises all over my body from the beating my father and brother have mercilessly given me. After that, I wasn’t even allowed out of my room for anything except going to the bathroom and to eat downstairs. When friends of my brothers came over to play, I would always wish I could go play too. It hurted me so much that I would cry. But I always held it in after learning the hard way not to cry.

In other words, basically, the first three years of my life consisted of my brother, my parents, and whatever scenery I could see beyond my bedroom window. I was neglected. That’s it.

Those things and nothing else.

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There you all go for now. R&R PLEASE! I'm begging you. Be patient for the next chapter since I'll be in Michigan next month for a while. During that time, I'll try and edit this since (1) I forgot to put some things in and (2) I want to make it longer. Hope you enjoyed it!