Happy Birthday, Jack.

                                                             .:A Death Note:.
Noise and sound. It's a big thing in our world. The sights and lights of things as we pass them by. The noise of music that plays, or the sounds of the animals-or people- make as we move along. Noise can be good, for it can give us inspiration in times of need, as well as hope when we are lonely. In a bad way, however, we can be oblivious to the things around us, such as one speaking. Noise and sights are good for some forms of entertainment, but some of those-
Water splashed onto the journal. The young man's eyes grew large as he tried to wipe the smouldered page from the liquid- only to smudge it more. He growled underneath his breath and looked up at the person who passed.”Watch it next time!” He was not going to insult the murderer of his journal-for this young man was a gentleman, and must act as so.
The older man, however; He was not too fond of this young and tall fellow. He took the young man's journal and threw it into the spilled water on the table. The young man gritted his teeth but did nothing.  “What of it, Jack?” The older man sneered. Jack still did nothing, but his gaze was enough to upset the other.
“You do realize that is violation of one's property.” Jack's voice was a poetic sound-and very formal. He was raised to be a gentleman by his parents, the Skellingtons. He was the son of the Skellington counts, who almost owned the town of New Holland. Jack straightened his neck-tie and still showed no sign of wanting violent intentions.
The older man, who was known as John Butcher, another of the citizens, still kept his sneer fixed on his face. For, like many of the young adults Jack's age, he was not fond of the young Skellington. In fact, he resented Jack with pride.
Being the rich one did not let you get anything you wanted. Jack sighed as the man still held a firm hand on his journal. With politeness, he asked a simple question. “May I have my journal back, John?”
John by now was sick of Jack's manners. He grabbed Jack by his pumpkin orange tie, which also matched the Skellington's hair color, and got him to stand on his feet. Jack's eyes did widen at this abrupt attack, but made no action to strike at his fellow man.
Everyone in the bar stopped to watch the scene.
The chair Jack was in knocked over by the sudden actions. John sneered at Jack's face, both roughly the same height. His black eyes bore into Jack's golden ones. “I've got 'nuff of your behavior, Jack. Like many of the guys 'round here, we aren't that fond of you.” Jack managed a nod. John was obviously annoyed how Jack managed to bottle up his anger as a normal citizen was harassing the son of the Skellington counts.
Then, Jack asked a most absurd question in this situation. “What's the date?”
John actually found himself stuttering, because of his sudden surprise. “It's 1845....Uhm, October the 30th.”
Jack grabbed John's wrist and forced him to let go of his pumpkin spice tie. “Thank you, John. As you might know or not- tomorrow is my birthday. I turn 25. My parents will be worrying for me about now- because you know adults. I shall be on my way home- good day, or night I should say.” Jack grabbed the journal from John, who was too much in a sudden shock. He straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his ginger hair as he walked out the bar's entrance.
John sneered as the Skellington made a leave.
“Just run on home, boy.”

                                                                  .:Full Moon:.
The graveyard of New Holland was on the usual route that Jack Skellington took to make it home. He always was fond of graveyards. His father told him that the dead were always fond of the Skellingtons.
Of course, the dead can't wake.
Or could it?
Jack opened the gate to the Sematary. His usual slip in and out each night. The moon shone like a beacon, almost like a torch in a deep dark night. It was full, with it's silver milky surface reflectant on the lake that stood in the middle of the sematary. Jack slipped the still damp journal into the back pocket of his trouser pants. He flicked the dust off his waist coat and white shirt, straightening his hair and tie-almost like he was visiting someone important.
The dead were important to him.
He approached a grave-the writing in graved Edward Skellington.
Kneeling down, Jack pulled out a slightly bent but still beautiful, blue flower. He placed it on the tombstone. “Happy Birthday, Grandfather.” For He and his grandfather did share the same date of birth.
He looked down at his pocket watch-the time was 12 AM.
Bats squealed behind him as they flew. A cat off in the distance let loose a distinct meow. Owls in the trees sang their song in the hoots they had known all their life.
And Jack Skellington rose to his feet. “I hope you, as well as I, will enjoy this day. It's daytime now, Grandfather, it's Hallow's Eve.” Hallow's Eve, or the Eve of all Saints. The night of scaring and tricks, as well as prayer and reverance.
It was Jack's favorite Holiday.
The moon was his light as he hurried out of the Graveyard and through the sematary's gate. Onward to home.
                                                                  .:Melody:.
The sun was rising. Jack made it home in a longer time than usual. He dropped his satchel and journal near the Piano. Sitting down, he stretched his long boney fingers and cracked some of his joints, ready to play.
A long note rang through the empty corridor. He stopped, as if hesitant, but then let his finger press down on another. Then another. Then another, till he had started to play music.
A long and hollow meoldy, filled with sadness and loneliness, yet rising at times out of bursts of joy.
Jack's smile stretched ear to ear as he played. Another note rang out long and sad, but quickened into a bright joy. Then another-
“Son?” Jack let loose a sudden yelp as he felt his father, Jaques Skellington, touch his shoulder. The Count of New Holland helped his son steady his balance as Jack rose.
Both shared the same height and hair color. Though, Jaques had a small beard, and of course, looked much more wiser and older than his young son. Jack had seemed to lose the will to speech for a moment, but found it again. “Yes?” His  voice was quick, showing his still surprise. His father did have an act to sneak up on him, though.
Jaques straightened his eye-glass. He wore his fine suit- a top hat, pin stripes, and classic black shoes. It took a moment for Jack to click on.
“You play beautifully, but the clock has struck half past Five. You need to get ready for Church.”
Not only was Hollow's Eve a feast day, but Jack's birthday landed on a Sunday this year.
“Oh-Yes, Yes sir.” Jack straightened his tie with his shaking hands and walked from the piano.
Jaques watched his son make his way up the stairs soundly. It was obvious Jack was in a gloom- a gloom he did not understand.
Everyday, each year, Jack seemed to develop a depression on his birthday.
Though, Jaques should know, for each year, this certain day meant something big besides his birth date.
His step mother was kind and loving, but nothing still helped Jack with the fact that his true mother, Amanda Skellington, died only when he was ten...
...ten on his Birthday.
No one exactly knew how, but there was a murder. She was stabbed through the heart, found dead in the graveyard the next morn. Jack's father was in such a depression, he locked himself in his room for days at a time.
Little Jack, however, didn't understand. Was mommy just asleep? Won't she wake up?
Then he learned as her coffin went into the ground.
That they were burying Mommy because she won't wake up.
Jack lacked friends since he was young, and even then, he had no friends until now. He lived with his parents-yes, because he knew even with his Step mother, Emily Skellington, his father would not bear lose him.
Jack straightened his bow-tie in the mirror. It looked like a bat, which always amused him greatly. His black pin stripes he was so fond of, and his classic shoes were always his favorite.
He brushed his hair back, now looking like the formal gentleman he was raised as.
He smiled ear to ear in the mirror.....
….but that faded in an instant.
His hand reached and stroked the glass surface of the mirror. Then his hand balled into a fist as he slammed it against the mirror. The surface cracked on the impact. He gritted his teeth, with a small growl escaping through his pale lips.
He Hated his birthday. Hated it with all he had inside him.
If, he told himself,  if he had anything left inside him.
He hated his beating heart. He hated his flesh, his bones, his mind, even his soul. He slammed his head against the cracked mirror, letting loose his choked sobs inside him.
….Happy Birthday Jack.