Death Note
-Natural Selection-
Looking back now, I can't tell you why I picked it up. It was just lying there, on the ground as though someone had placed it in that exact spot with extreme care. As though someone had known that I would come to this particular place at this particular time.
I couldn't tell you why I picked it up, but I flipped the cover open, to the black pages in the front with the white, chicken-scratch handwriting scrawled hastily across the paper.
"The person whose name is written in this notebook shall die."
I also couldn't tell you why I kept it—I, a fifteen-year-old boy in a small town in Georgia, barely able to maintain a C-average and no time to breathe between school and chores and God knows what else. But I kept it.
"A person must have the subject's face in their mind when writing the subject's name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected."
I couldn't answer you if you asked me why I didn't try it out myself, because I didn't. I took it into the school with me—it was morning, and students were just beginning to file wearily into the building. I wanted to test it, but on who?
"If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds after writing a name, it will happen. After the cause of death is written, details of the death should be written within the next six minutes and 40 seconds. If the cause of death is not specified, the subject will simply die of a heart attack."
It was a janitor, and it was after school. I was near the bathroom; he was looking into the mirror. He looked Hispanic, but I could be wrong. Looking back, I think that was the only reason I used him, and I am ashamed of that now. But I tore a sheet of paper out of the book, and, with some lie I can't remember, convinced him to write down his name.
In forty seconds, he was dead.
"A person whose name is written in the DEATH NOTE will die within 40 seconds."
I knew that what I was holding was the real thing, and that I could kill anyone as long as I knew their face and their name. I guessed that I could manipulate the time as well, but I would not be certain unless I tried it myself.
"The DEATH NOTE will become the property of the human world once it touches the ground of (arrives in) the human world."
I knew that it would have severe repercussions if I were caught, but I had a face, I had a name. And at the time, I felt like a god holding the notebook in my hands. I remember thinking, "I can finally get exactly what I want, and no one can stop me."
But I told myself that I would never use it on someone who didn't deserve to die. And Osama Bin Laden deserved to die.
"The person who writes a name in this DEATH NOTE can neither go to heaven nor hell."
I knew that for it to work, however, he would have to be discovered immediately after his death. So I wrote it all—the name, the cause, the time, and specific details that ensured he would be found the moment he died.
"A person who touches the DEATH NOTE will generally be visited by its original owner (i.e. a god of death) within 39 days."
I slept very well the first night, the notebook stashed away inside my pillowcase where only I could get it when the sun went down. Most of the night, I dreamt up different uses for the book, but none of them appealed to me at all, for a number of reasons. First, a sudden surge in casualties in prison populations would draw unwanted attention. Second, I felt uncomfortable with the notion that I would get caught up in writing name after name after name in the notebook. I did not want to think of myself as a killer.
"If the time of death is written within 40 seconds after writing a name in the DEATH NOTE, the time of death can be manipulated, and the DEATH NOTE can take effect within 40 seconds."
I awoke the next morning to a special report about how Bin Laden had apparently walked for an hour to the nearest police station in Iraq and turned himself in. While awaiting transport to a proper holding facility, he had supposedly had a change of heart and began struggling severely against the bars. He had suffered a "stress-related" heart attack and died just as transportation arrived.
"If the cause of death is not physically possible to be carried out by the subject, then the subject will simply die of a heart attack."
I now knew everything I needed to know to effectively use the notebook, and I almost knew what to do with it. Unfortunately, I would have to start something big or I wouldn't be able to accomplish anything. Therefore, I had to wait for the god of death that, according to the notebook, would arrive in the next 38 days.
"At the cost of half their remaining lifespan, a person may be granted the eyes of a god of death and can see the name and lifespan of another human."
It was the following Saturday when I finally met Next. I woke up at about ten o'clock to find him sitting at the foot of my bed. He was grayish-white, almost skeletal, and had red, cat-like eyes. I can't explain why I wasn't startled by the sudden appearance of the strange being, but I said hello.
"Hey," it said. "Name's Next."
"The person who touches this notebook can recognize the voice and image of it's original owner (i.e. a god of death)."
Now that the stage was set for me to make my move, I began surfing the internet, searching for known terrorists. Every time I wrote someone's name, I made sure that they were found immediately, whether they turned themselves in or sent their coordinates to the U.S. authorities. I had a plan to reveal that I had controlled all of this and led to the capture of over thirty know terrorists.
But that was before I knew about Kira.
"A person who has made the deal for the eyes of a god of death cannot recognize the lifespan of other users of the DEATH NOTE. However, it is not really necessary for them to see the lifespan of another user."
He made his first appearance on the news at five o'clock on a Thursday evening. He did not necessarily show his face, but word got out that, in Japan, criminals were dying left and right—all from heart attacks. Instantly, I knew what the murder weapon was; after all, I was holding one at the time.
I remember Next laughing at the look on my face when I saw the story. I demanded to know what was so funny.
"You have some competition," he said.
"If a name in the DEATH NOTE is misspelled three times, the DEATH NOTE will be rendered useless in the case of that person."
On the bus, we had a radio that we listened to daily. Every day, there was more news about Kira and more news about terrorists that were randomly turning themselves in, then dying minutes later. I often wondered if Kira was as worried about me as I was about Kira. If he had deduced about me what I had about him, I wouldn't have been surprised. After all, the notebook was a dangerous weapon.
"A god of death cannot be killed, even if he is shot in the head or stabbed in the heart. However, there are ways of killing a god of death that are not generally known to the gods of death."
It was Next that finally gave me Kira's true identity. On YouTube, there was a video called "Light Speaks". I found it intriguing at the time, simply because the boy's name was Light. When I got to watching it, Next grunted as though he had spotted something.
"What's up?" I had asked him, pausing the video.
"It's Ryuk," Next had responded, "but why's he—oh!"
I know knew who my "competition" was, but how was I to get rid of him? I wasn't simply going to write his name in the notebook—that would be too simple. So I decided to play a little game.
"If a god of death uses the DEATH NOTE to save a person they favor, the god of death will die, and his remaining lifespan will be added to the person they saved."
I looked up his name on the Internet, and it led me to a Japanese phone book site. There was only one Light Yagami—a cell phone number in Kanto. I dialed the number and waited.
Ring.
Pause.
Ring.
Pause.
"Hello?"
I smiled. "Hello, Light Yagami. I know you're Kira."
There was a deadly silence, and then he laughed. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about." He sounded genuine, but I knew better, and I smiled even wider.
"Light, the person whose name is written in this notebook shall die."
There was an even longer silence, which I broke.
"Ah, so you do know what I'm talking about," I said. "Well, then, I don't have to explain when I say you have 40 seconds to live."
"What!?"
I knew that he would doubt that I had a notebook if he didn't die, so I continued. "So, Light, how's Ryuk?"
"How do you—"
"Tell him Next says hello." There was another pause.
"Okay, you have a Death Note, I believe you."
"Good," I said, "because I did not write your name." I paused. "Yet."
"If the DEATH NOTE is stolen and the thief kills the original owner of the DEATH NOTE, then ownership will transfer to the thief."
Over the next few days, I kept in touch with Light, and the number of criminals dying slowly declined, while the number of terrorist casualties steadily increased. And both were being blamed on Kira. Light asked me every day what I wanted, and my answer was always two words: My half. I never elaborated.
Every day, I recited the rules to myself, searching for something that might implicate me as Kira. There was nothing, but there was one rule that troubled me.
"A person who writes a name in this DEATH NOTE ceases to be a victim."
It was the rule that ensured immunity—to the notebook or to weapons and diseases, I did not know. I asked Next; he didn't know. I even asked Light; he didn't know the rule existed.
Somehow, though, I had to get rid of Light Yagami. The second he knew my identity, he would put my name down, I was sure of it. But I didn't simply want to write his name in the notebook; that didn't seem justified. Perhaps I was being stubborn, but I decided to wait.
"If anything needs to be omitted from the DEATH NOTE, it should be crossed out with two horizontal lines."
I decided that if I was to confront Light to negotiate, I should appear in person. That meant that I had to go to Japan, which also meant that I had to get my parents to let me go. And there was no chance of that.
So instead I requested that Light come meet me at the Atlanta Airport. Twenty-four hours later, he responded that he could.
"Anything can be used to write in the DEATH NOTE (blood, make-up, etc.), as long as it can create legible letters."
I remember Next asking me what my plan was, and I remember telling him that I was making it up as I went. Maybe I was being careless; I know I was being hasty. But I had to act, or Light would figure out who I was.
"If a user of the DEATH NOTE forfeits ownership of it, he/she will lose all memory of ever owning the DEATH NOTE. If they made the deal for the eyes of a god of death, they will lose the eyes, but will not regain their lifespan."
I went to the Atlanta Airport thirty minutes before the plane landed. Next was beside me, and I watched the plane touch down. It was easy to see Light; he got off first, and was the only one on the plane with flame-red hair. I went to a very remote area around the other side of the building and waited.
"A person who writes a name in the DEATH NOTE will be possessed by a god of death for the rest of their life."
Light stepped around the corner of the building nearly twenty minutes later, and I asked him for his notebook. He held it out. I touched it, but did not take it. I responded to his confused expression by saying, "I needed to see Ryuk."
The god of death next to Light was tall and black, quite the opposite of Next. I remember imaging if Light trusted him like I trusted Next.
Yes, I trusted Next. I knew that if there was anything I absolutely was unable to do myself, despite not being obliged to, he would help me. And what happened next was something I could not handle alone.
"The DEATH NOTE will not take effect if the subject is under 728 days old."
I think the worst part of the next few minutes was the horrible smile I saw on Light's face. I knew the second I saw it that he was two steps ahead of me. In less than ten seconds, the entire area was surrounded by police cruisers. I smiled right back, though, and pulled out my own notebook. That made Light step back. He wasn't smiling anymore at that point.
I didn't say anything, but I flipped the book open to the black pages in front, turned to Next, and pointed at one of the rules. I looked at the officers climbing out of their cars and began to write.
John Newbark. Dead.
Dylan Arceul. Dead.
Bill Cross. Dan Done. James Oron. Dead, dead, dead.
I had destroyed the entire force, obtaining their names with the eyes I had just traded half of my lifespan for. Then I turned to Light.
My words to him will echo in his head until he dies.
"Kira, I win. Get yourself out of this one."
And I wrote my own name in the Death Note.
"A person whose name is written in this notebook shall die."