Mmkay, I know I should be working on the other one I have but I have such a writer's block on it, it's not even funny. So I decided to try out a Death Note one. It's about Beyond Birthday. My ULTIMATELY FAVORITE CHARACTER!! x3

Ahem...anyway...Hope you like it!! ^-^

Disclaimer: Trust me, If I owned B, I'd have him locked in my closet right now. That goes for everyone in Death Note really...Wow...I need a bigger closet now...

Stone walls and iron bars hold me away from the world. No, that isn't quite true, these walls and bars are my world. My sanctuary from the shame, my haven from the humiliation of failure. Or...so it was. Now I see it for what it truly is, a prison. My Prison. All because that Wammy's House brat, Mello, told my story or what he believed was my story. Mello, the temper-mental child of Wammy's House that left at 15 to become a gangster in America. Ha. Pathetic. He had more then likely achieved this stroke of brilliance from me. Another temper-mental child of that damned orphanage of detective prodigies. A child who is no longer a child but a 'murderous' and 'dangerous' man. A man deemed evil.

Truthfully, I'm not a bad man. In fact, I'd consider myself very well off. I have, or had technically, dashing good looks, was intellectually elite, and had the charm of an Indian snake charmer. I could twist and warp minds around an idea I thought was good, and it usually worked out in favor of all those involved. I suppose you could say I was manipulative, I would not disagree, but all around I was a good boy. That is, until, already an orphan, I excelled past what normal children should be thinking at the young age I was.

After that, because of my superior intellect, I went to Wammy's House and was deemed B. Backup. The third hand of the great, mysterious L. I had never truly known my parents, them dying soon after my birth, so I never truly knew my name. Most families I had been with named me themselves, but this letter, this B, gave me my name. Beyond Birthday.

It wasn't only the letter that gave me this seeming ridiculous name, it was also the fact that my eyes were not like other little boys' and girls' eyes. Nor were they like any adults' eyes. My eyes were, and still are, special. I can see death. Not to be mistaken by a hooded, supernatural skeleton that comes from beyond the grave to take the souls of the dead, but the invisible numbers above every ones head. Their lifespan, if you will.

I know my time is almost gone; my numbers, invisible to even me, running it's agonizingly slow way to zero. I've known this for awhile now. All because of L. L, the greatest detective of all time. L, the reason I, Mello, and many other children have gone to Wammy's House. The reason Wammy's House was even created. The reason for the pain and grief of all the children residing in said orphanage. The reason I killed three people.

I suppose it is partially my fault. My selfishness, my greed, my lust for the power to make L grovel, even if just hypothetically. All this in vain. I lost to him. Humiliating, no? Either way, I know my time is almost gone. This is a fact. A fact I must live, or rather die, with. With this thought in mind I decided to tell the true stories of the L.A.B.B. Murder cases. What I felt during these. Maybe, with my final dying words, the mass of people reading these, will understand.

L, I hope you understand the torture you force my into. I hope you realize, L, that I hate you. And now, with Kira out there, I'm not the only one who does.