Memento Mori (MikaYuu)

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A fact:

Yuu lived in a foster care system.

Another fact:

He hated it.

Last fact:

He also got beat the most, despite being the most silent.

He couldn't tolerate the kids he roomed with, the scheduled food, the hours of prayer, and most importantly, he couldn't tolerate the nuns. Not one living person paid him a decent amount attention (unless he was getting beat), showed affection, saved him a plate, anything. Maybe a wave, but that was on a good day. A very good day. Probably Christmas.

They were way out of his age range, anyways. Some were four years older, others five or ten years younger.

He was fifteen. Almost sixteen, but not quite, as he'd often think to himself.

His birthdays were the only days he couldn't get beat, meaning Christmas was still an option to be spanked, quite frankly. His birthday was on Halloween, the cursed day for the nuns. But they made an exception for Yuu. That was the day where the minimal amount of affection was shown most to him. Only for the cake, though. They bribed over the biggest slice. He occasionally got a handcrafted origami present from the little girls, or a half-used cologne bottle from the older boys.

It was still something.

The towering doors closed behind him as he arrived in the area of prayer that was thick with the scent of aged, vinegar-stained books and wax candles. As he stealthily crossed the room, the floorboards creaked underneath his worn down shoes - fresh from donation. He pulled his hood tighter in towards his neck, the awful scent of porridge filling his nose.

Not that again, Yuu thought to himself, his stomach already drowning in a pool of nausea. See, he wouldn't have minded it if it were ever cooked properly. The sisters just couldn't cook to save their lives, and he was always left with the rations at the bottom of the pot which were burnt and always tasted like the pot.

But there he was, making himself a seat at the dinner table, all by himself, doing his habitual prayer. Then, he "feasted", sadly scraping the bottom of the pot for the burnt, salty remains.

He imagined himself like one of those ghosts, probably having food served to him by servants. Or maybe that was an over-exaggeration. At least they didn't have to eat porridge. They probably got delicious fast food every night. Or maybe went out for Chinese. He could only dream.

After thirty minutes of sobering in his unluckiness, he set the pot in the sink, letting the faucet spray cold water in the metallic cooker. He was just about to escape to his room for the night, only to turn around only to have a hard hand cracked against the side of his face. The sound echoed down the hall like a voice - a cry for help. It hit him so fast, he didn't have time to even create a reaction. He blinked twice, pain sporing his cheek that he held as he stared in bafflement at the assaulter.

One of the nuns, Sister Anna, punctured a glare of hatred right through his skull.

"Why're you coming home late again?" she snapped in a spit-flying whisper, about to reach for that ever so famous whipping spoon.

"I was at the library! I was studying," Yuu defended himself, backing away from her only to be tripped by a chair. He tumbled to the floor, the godawful furniture crumbling underneath him.

"You disgusting little boy! I tell you everyday to stop going there! All you do is risk your curfew and make us look bad!" Her spit rained all over Yuu's reddened face. He wiped it, scooting himself into the corner.