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DEATH NOTE!! I am completely and utterly ADDICTED to this anime//manga. It's an AMAZING story that by far OWNS Naruto or any other anime out there.
If you haven't read//watched it yet, the FIRST, FULL EPISODE is IN THE RESULTS, as well as a picture of the OC.
I thankblame Xhrae for addicting me and thank her for the amazing banner. This entire series, from start to finish, is dedicated to her.
I'd also like to thank Chel-Chan for bugging Xhrae into making the banner and helping me publish this. Her Death Note fandom, Playing With Lives, is beyond awesome. This chapter is dedicated to you, love.
Well, without further ado, I'd like to introduce to you...
Click!-->
Nothing came out. No audible sound commenced from the hallows of their throats, and no words, noise, passed through their stained lips.
It was a silent agony.
Echoes of the original explosion were still ricocheting off the walls of the cavernous room.
They weren't moving there wasn't so much as a twitch from the two of them.
But he, him!, the monster, the terror, was shaking.
Shaking with uncontrollable laughter.
In rigor mortis, the hatred was all too evident in their filmed over eyes. Blood trickled down in jagged streams, from the corners of their lips as their bodies fell to the bloodstained Persian marble floor.
His eyes glinted with amused, maniacal malice as he turned his still-smoking gun to me...
Everyday was the same.
It was so predictable; the change of the hours, the shift of the minutes, the muted, constant, ticking away of the seconds.
Every morning, at the crack of dawn, I would awake to the chill that accompanied the rising of the sun in a distant, unreachable east.
The bitter cold diffused through the small curtain-less widow, bleeding through my ragged, hole-y blanket that I had slept with for almost a decade.
I had four part-time jobs. One is un-paying, but it provided the roof I have over my head, a worn mattress of a bed to sleep in, and the small drawer that held the little that I salvaged from my sordid past.
At first, it was agonizing, having to live in a miniscule room, seven feet by four, in the cold, drafty basement of the local library. But years went slowly by, and I habituated to the pain, and I gave in to the illusion that this was a home, a replacement for a haven that I never had...
My first job was to do chores around the library. I'd return books to their shelves, start up the computers, and turn on the air condition, or the heat.
I would then leave to attend to my second job as soon as the front door sounded the faint jingling of keys, and the muted click of the lock being released, thus announcing the arrival of the elderly librarian.
Everyday, she would ask, "Did you sleep well, Nori-chan?"
And everyday, I would reply, "Fine, thank you, Sakurako-san."
I had always despised liars, and had a knack for cutting through peoples' bullshit. But my paradoxical tongue-in-cheek secret was my unparalleled ability to lie, to fabricate stories so extensive, and also to be able to remember every single detail.
From there and then, I went to attend my jobs as a computer coder and modifier (in actuality, a hacker), then as a car junkie, and finally a waitress in a local bar.
At night, around midnight, I would return to the library, and clean up shop.
Many times I would enter my room and find it completely trashed.
Afterwards, long past the midnight hour, I would stay up and read a novel from the library, lit only by a handful of candles. Occasionally, I would receive more luminescence from a passing car, outside of the window.
More often than not, it was accompanied by the squealing of wheels, a clash of the garbage bins, and maybe even a scream of fear, of pain, of sorrow.
I have long gotten accustomed to these nocturnal scares, and I would manage to not fall out of the small cot from fright, but I could not control the overwhelming sadness that would drown me I pinched out the quivering flames with quivering fingers, sending incense and smoke into the air, and plunging myself into darkness.
Years ago, I would kneel on the cold, dirt laden ground, with my hands clasped gently, and my head acquiesced in a soft bow. Every night, I would pray to God, hoping that He would send me love... to send some form kindness to this forsaken-ed world.
Many times I just prayed for an angel, to take my soul to heaven; there really was no remaining reason for my existence here on earth.
He has sent nothing. He has simply abandoned this world, as a child would grow out of a play thing. Deaths spread across the globe, more often by murder than that of previous years, decades, and centuries. Nowadays, having one die of sickness or accidents would be such a far fetched and wholly uncommon occurrence among the waves of murder.
I had no God, and neither did the world.
And every night when I closed my eyes, my belief in that grew stronger.
No light was strong enough to save this world from the overwhelming darkness.
None.
And in the morning, every morning, everything mirrored that of the day before.
It was as if my life was a tape and some-one... somewhere... was taking some seriously sick pleasure in replaying it, torturing me so. The sadist.
My life was stuck on rewind.
Rewind and repeat.
Rewind and repeat.
The autumn weather that swept biting gales through the abandoned streets of this city was a petulant child that took great pleasure in torturing me. The harsh winds bit at my tall, emaciated frame, prompting my pale skin to shudder as I hurriedly walked from the warmth of the auto body shop to my next job at the restaurant, fifteen minutes walk away.
Reaching into the breast pocket of my worn black trench coat, I fished out a small mp3 styled radio, a little something I 'relieved' from my number-cruncher job this morning.
The padded ear buds provided false warmth as I fumbled around the buttons, hoping I would turn something on rather than breaking it.
"--killed and injured six people yesterday in downtown Shinjuku remains cordoned inside a nursery school with eight hostages: young children and their teachers." The radio spluttered scratchily as I continued down the street, once jumping out of the way of a rampaging storm of motorcycles.
I still managed to get wet.
"The police have been able to identify the man. His name is Otoharada Kurou, currently forty-two years old and unemployed."
Rotten.
Just rotten.
This world was full of murderers. Their victims, hearts bitter and hell bent on vengeance, turn into killers themselves.
A vicious cycle, this thing. And God isn't here to break it.
He simply doesn't exist.
Stiffly, I turned the corner and forced my frozen legs to move the rest of my body down a dark alleyway, where the beck entrance to the bar I was to waiter at was located.
Lining the grimy walls were the varying scourges of the world; prostitutes, both male and female, drug dealers, homeless people of all ages, and other various forms of scum resided in the darkness.
A short, stocky man, his small dark eyes filled with malicious intent, his hair seemed to be dripping with his natural, filthy oils, extended an arm and precariously placed his hand upon my posterior.
My ass, in other words.
I stiffened, becoming even more plank-like than before.
Without even a backwards, glance, I delivered a rapid kick to the groin, another boot to the face and stomach, and finally driving his face into the dirt with the assistance of a nearby broom, which effectively silenced pervert, and pedophile, mind you. I was hardly 17 years of age.
I continued to make your way to the door, effortlessly stepping around and over bodies strewn across the ground. Some were clothed, other not. Most were breathing, and others... utterly lifeless.
I tried to ignore it, I really did. But the sight and smell could not be masked by the report that was blaring so stridently into the tympanic membranes within my ears.
Rather, the news report made it worse.
"The police are currently trying to negotiate the release of the hostages."
Everyday, something like this happens.
The innocents dies. Innocence just fades away.
White is such a pure color, but any hint of color, any hue of darkness makes it irreversible.
Negotiations never work. There was no compromise.
Unwillingly, moisture formed at the corner of my eye. The dark lashes that held the tear there gave way, and the droplet fell slightly, landing on my arched cheekbones.
Weakness branded my face, and slid to my chin, where I furiously wiped it away.
Never show weakness in a world where the slightest shard of it is fatal.
"And that is my report from the scene."
I stood in front of the door, and hesitantly withdrew my clenched fist from the rather warm pocket, knocking the wood and hearing its hollow sound transfer to the other side.
Innocence will always die in a world like this...
The man, tainted by evil, will ultimately kill the children.
Divine intervention was a myth. It was ingeniously un-genuine.
God just didn't exist.
The door slid open, and the cold eyes of the bartender stared back at me, appraising me.
"Get in, Jouteiko. You're late."
"Good evening to you too."
The radio signal had significantly weakened once I stepped into a structure with insulation and a roof. The static became unbearable, and I made to take it off.
"Wait! There's movement!!"
I paused, holding the ear bud close to my ear, listening intently...
Almost... hopefully...
"The hostages are coming out!!"
My scraggly black hair contrasted vividly with my pale white skin that showed the veins and arteries that ran across my shocked faade.
"It seems as though everyone is safe! The police are rushing in!!"
My eyes, a dark shade of lavender, a dull plum, contracted, eyes quivering brightly as I listened to the excited reporter.
"Will they be able to arrest--"
The rest of the sentence was lost in a storm of static, and with a soft cry laced with unwonted trepidation, I attempted to fix the radio, and decipher the words through the white noise.
"is dead!"
All movement came to a standstill.
"The police are strongly expressing that they did not shoot him."
Then... what could have possibly...?!
"Could that mean he committed suicide because he was surrounded?"
Would he...? Would this man have just....?!
"According to the hostages, he just collapsed."
Divine intervention, doubtless.
I had no qualms in that belief...
"Kouteiko!! Stop slacking off!! There are gentlemen here in need of your service!" the bartender yelled from his post, beer overflowing the cup he was filling up, and splashing everywhere.
God still is non-existent.
However... maybe... a new god, a new savior... might, just might.... have risen...
The elation had long worn off over my hours-long waitress-ing shift.
One drunkard had gone so far as to offer 50 yen for a lap dance.
I was promptly fired seeing that by forcing a broken beer bottle down the man's throat scared away business.
I gladly left, stealthily taking the secret stash of money kept in his pocket with me.
I was approximately fifty thousand yen richer.
I was unfathomably annoyed. Words would fail in the harshest way possible to describe the snarl that craved to erupt from my cracked lips.
I was losing a game of pinball in the local one-stop-shop dime store.
The prize was a discount card that would allow me to purchase anything in the store for half price and a plushie.
I hadn't owned a plushie or anything remotely squishy and comforting for nearly ten years, and when I saw that oversize, overstuffed mauve elephant, I knew, I just knew that I wanted and needed it.
But, as fate would decree, I couldn't.
With a defeated sigh, I helplessly watched the small metal ball sink into the hole, and the neon wiring in front of me arrogantly flashed, "GAME OVER."
I turned to the elderly man that sat feebly at the cashier, and paid for the small wrap that I now tensely clutched and will voraciously devour. Soon.
After muttering a word of thanks and before exiting the store, I stole a look at the comic books by the window. Indeed, I had a pretty sum of money on my hands at the moment, but I would forgo the ephemeral pleasure of reading in place of a decent meal and adequate nutrition later in the upcoming weeks, months, or year.
The door allowed chimed slightly as it slid open, and tentatively took a step into cold, bustling streets. Women milled about in groups, chatting about their dates, and men swore since they could not locate them.
Ignoring this, I walked off the curb, and waited for the traffic to subside, thus allowing me to pass.
I allowed myself a rapacious bite of tortilla? Fajita? Something foreign that had Japanese ingredients. It had pacified the great growls of my stomach into gentle mews.
"Hey gorgeous! Wanna come play with us?" A voice roared from a little ways away, accompanied by the aggravating sound of a motorcycle screeching to a halt.
I found myself surrounded by a group of men. Very ugly men.
"Wow, Taku-san, this one's a hottie!"
I snorted with disgust as I motioned them away. Of course, the pigs being their utterly unintelligent selves took the waving of the hand as a gesture of liking.
"My name is Shibuimaru Takou," A repulsive man donning shades and leather leaned forward, completely invading my personal bubble. With his gloved hands, he slid down his sunglasses, his eyes making evident trips up and down my body, "Shibutaku for short."
Disgusted, I tried to step around the barbarous beings. One of Shibitaku's cronies stood in my way.
"I'm sorry, but I really don't want to go anywhere with you."
The idiots howled, my face flushing dangerously from anger. "Ya hear that? She says she's 'sorry'..! How precious..."
And who, exactly who, were they to mock me...?
In the next second, I found a freezing cold steel rod pressed against my throat, cutting off my supply of oxygen if I struggled. I was effectively temporarily motion-arrested.
Damn...
"Take off her clothes!"
"Oh? Can I...?"
Shit-fu-!
I felt a man's, and I cared not who exactly, hands undo my belt buckle, and tear it away. Greedily, he continued and tried to undo my pants' actual buttons.
"No!! Stop!" A pleading screech, one put on to mask the veritable anger, sounded from my larynx,
The men, the animals, sniggered perversely.
"Please, stop!!"
I struggled, twisting my head from side to side, calling for help. I ignored the fact that my neck would be black and blue with bruises in the morning, as I contorted, trying to evade what would seem to be the inevitable.
Whenever I turned left, all could see was a boy, perhaps a little older than I, reading the manga book I had picked up earlier to inspect. He was all too aware of it, and instead of attempting to aid... he just stood there, jotting something down within the book.
After his pen had stopped moving, he checked his watch, and lifted his gaze to face me.
My dark violet orbs met his fairer burgundy irises. My slightly panicky semblance faced his. One that was filled with curiosity, impatience, and... intrepidation as well...
I cannot fully explain what happened next. I am simply unable to.
By some means, I had broken away from the group of animalistic men. I had not even attempted to such degrees, or was even completely conscious of such actions that I took.
As I ran across the now desolate road, I could hear Shibitaku's moped fire up, and give chase, heading my direction.
Another noise reached my ears, coming not from behind, but from the side.
I was only vaguely aware of the brilliantly white light that came ever closer as I sprinted across the street, cursing the waitress-ing job for forcing me to wear heels.
There were faint yells from behind me. Screams, shouts...
I took no notice of that. I just ran.
I can say exactly why I fled fervently so, but... I just did.
It happened all too quickly.
Something behind me rushed me by, and was followed by a sickening crunch.
I tripped and fell, but managed to push off and regain balance. I stumbled along, and felt the... external control recede from my body.
But as the unconscious power drain from the bottoms of my feet, I was slowly filled with a shock.
As if I was in one of those soap operas, or suspense movies, I torturously turned my head to look over my shoulder.
His body was twisted, mangled in the worst possible way. I was completely unscathed.
He was dead; his eyes showed me such was evident. Cold. Empty. Disbelieving.
I trusted reality no further, either.
To me, God had rotted away. The God whose hands I had put my entire being into for the former half of my life had vanished, discarding me to darkness.
Now, however... something has changed...
It was now something completely undeniable.
A new GOD has risen.
Of that, I'm sure.
A God who would bring light to this darkened would.
Wrenching the world from an eternal night, to a new era, one of light... of day...
A new god has risen.
Rewind. Repeat...
No more.
Click!-->
I can hear your brains thinking, 'WTF IS SHE THINKING?!! ANOTHER FANDOM?!' Yes, I can hear brains. They talk to me. Especially mine. At night. When I'm trying to sleep. It gets really aggravating, y'know? So that was CHAPTER ONE: Rewind, Repeat. The OC goes by the name of Nori Kouteiko, meaning... oh go find out yourself. =3 Nori-chan here is 17. This is how I envision her, almost exactly.  Black hair, dark eyes. Purple, actually. She has this big, fat history, but you'll have to read the next few chapters to find out what. < !-- BEGIN CBOX - http://www.cbox.ws --> < !-- END CBOX --> Here is the first episode to Death Note, copyrighted to Tsugumi Obha && Takeshi Obata. Together, they are the true gods of this world. And, again, no offense to all religions out there. No malicious intent whatsoever. Its just how the story rolls. =] |
