Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Death Note, or any of its characters. (But oh, the things I would do if i did :3 ... Kidding ... Sort of ...)
-X:x:X-
Don't look at me like that.
Through the crimson glaze over your eye lurks pity. You see me as a misguided child. So much potential, only to end up playing mind games to stay alive. Like chess, but with death; we are all but pawns in this game. Instead of bragging rights, my life and many others are on the line. All for a stupid notebook.
I said don't look at me like that. So damn it, don't look at me!
You think I wanted it to end this way? That I wanted to be pointing this barrel, this tunnel of steely death, at your beating heart? Your life is literally in my hand, at my fingertip. All I have to do is flex my finger half an inch, put this cold trigger in its gloved embrace, and you will fall like the dead dog you deserve to be. That kind of power shouldn't be at the disposal of a petulant child. Not even a genius like me.
And now you think you can scare me by calling me names? Even the label you have given me, Mihael Keehl, only stirs me for a second. I am not Mihael. Mihael is the runt who played with wooden blocks and toy cars. The little blonde twit who actually thought he could take the place of his hero. No, I am Mello: the runt who plays with guns and explosions. The little blonde twit who had to crush other's dreams (and bones) just to get to where I am now: in second place and flirting with death.
I see you have found the notebook. MY notebook. But that's beside the point. The point is that you have me within a pen stroke of my quick, quiet, neat demise, and yet you still show mercy. Or cowardice. If it be the former, then it pains me to kill you. How convenient, that the only person to give me a break in this world be the one who grips my fate in the form of a pen on that damned notebook. But if it be the latter, I should unleash the rage of my semi-automatic right here, right now. Life may be a delicate thing, but taking life sure isn't. You of all people should know that, Yagami.
I can tell you're new to this. This killing business. I see by the way your finger knuckles flush white around the pen. A death grip, no pun intended. For someone to have experienced so much death, you have never had the shame, the guilt, the need, the pleasure of staining your hands with another's blood. Oh the sweet irony, that I, a little orphan boy, be the one to show you death, Mr. Deputy Director.
And as I watch the sparks fly off your bullet-proof vest, your form crumpling to the floor, the black shapes of your subordinates in the door frame, and the tinted plastic of my gas-mask cover my eyes, I reach for the detonator. Again, the thrill of so much power at my fingertips makes me grin hysterically. I can almost understand why Kira does his crimes, just by the adrenaline flowing through my heart. Something about having mass chaos within your grasp just gives us geniuses that warm and fuzzy feeling inside.
So goodbye, Yagami Soichiro. I hope you enjoy the hell I have created for you. Tell Satan to save me a seat in the real Hell. I think I'm going to be needing it soon.
Checkmate.
-X:x:X-
Yeah, so I dunno why I decided to write this. Kinda random, if you ask me. Please review anyway!