I'm BAAAACCCCCCKKK.
Well, that was, without a doubt, the creepiest first sentence I've ever done.
The reasoning behind my hiatus is simple. I had no sugar, thus I had no inspiration. That has changed. I'm quite literally sitting in a mountain of sugar packaged in 2x2 inch squares of plastic. AKA candy.
I must thank The Epiphany of All That Is Grace(less and short…but very, very, VERY loved) for helping me with this. We beat our heads against the proverbial brick wall that is my imagination. The result was DEFINITELY worth the concussion I now have. She is amazing. Love her. Love her NAO.
This came about when I was first watching the series (and reading it, since the two go hand in hand). I found a few things that just pissed me off to no end. I ranted and raved at my sister about it and she suggested I refine it and post it here. That is exactly what I have done.
Warning: This thing is gleefully spoiler-ridden. If you are unprepared, I would suggest you not read this. (Unless, of course, you like spoilers. If that is the case, then go for it! Full power ahead!)
Disclaimer: If I owned Death Note, Light would have (SPOILER ALERT!!!!) died looooooooong before L did.
And now, with no further interruptions, I bring you the things that piss me off about Death Note.
With death, there came a curiously frightening bird's-eye vision of life. Was this true of every soul that has passed on, or only true for those killed by way of the Death Note? While my curiosity was piqued on this question, my mind remained plagued by other things.
Light Yagami.
Brilliant, beautiful, insane. The beauty of his physical appearance held the stunning capability to blind most to the psychopathic murderer that lay beneath. But not me.
No, I suspected him nearly the moment I laid eyes on him. His entire demeanor was too perfect to be anything other than an act. Nothing more than a mask.
With death, there comes a sensation of emptiness, one that felt as though it should be called 'guilt', but was more reminiscent of accountability tainted by anger.
The anger, I know, was – and still is - directed at Light. It had been Light all along, just as I had suspected, but had no proof to prove my gut instinct to be correct. Light, all along was the killer I had put my – and precious other's lives – on the line to catch.
Only I could only be held accountable, in full, for that sudden – and shocking – burst of semi-trust that led to an inevitable face-plant into the murky pits of my own death. Self-blame that was only amplified by the loss of two of my protégés in a most untimely fashion.
Light's steadfast determination was unwavering. So long as he did not pay the price, why would he bother worrying? In all, Light's dream started out as a noble and righteous idea that was quickly corrupted by the very thing he had hoped to eradicate.
Soichiro Yagami was an innocent who stood in the way of that child-like dream. After all, it didn't matter who stood in the way of Light's dream. He was only another sacrifice given to the altar of that all-consuming corruption; a corruption that had snowballing its way into a god-complex worthy of documentation.
Brilliant minds, wasted. Some demonic, some angelic, and some, rare though they were, both perspicacious and devious. B. Beyond Birthday. A mind that, while shrewd, could not handle the pressure of a transcendent legacy; a mind that did not possess the exceptional ability to turn madness into genius.
B's unexplained desideratum to upstage me led ultimately to his own destruction. It was an unfortunate chain of events that Naomi Misora was caught in the crossfire; caught by my doing, and later destroyed by the dementia of Light's dream.
Had my focal point not been so finely acuted, I would have seen it; the simplest and yet most obvious clue. Misora had gone to the police station with information she hoped to give to our task force. It was maybe a cruel twist of happenstance that Light arrived a few spare moments after her to drop off a change of clothes for his father.
No matter how Misora insisted, she was continuously denied. Light and the gentlemen at the front desk exchanged a few friendly words as he signed in, the mask in place, the act begun.
Light lured Misora with the knowledge that it was his own father leading our investigation, and made the lure all the more appealing with the sharing of information he otherwise wouldn't have known. The die was cast; Light's lie had begun.
Misora was caught. Hook, line, and sinker. She followed Light out of the building, away from the prying eyes of aptly placed security cameras and the inquisitive ears of two receptionists blinded by the inexplicable charm of Light.
Light's charm then turned its bewitching sights on Misora, beguiling her with enticing proverbs of fate.
Enchanted, she handed him the key to her death: a valid driver's license. An otherwise bored shinigami's laughter split the frigid air as pen hit cursed paper.
A light snow had begun its descent to earth; at the very same time Aizawa was headed for the very same location Light and Misora had not long ago left.
In order to avoid some errant snowflake's assault on his perfectly quaffed locks, Aizawa raised his umbrella at the most inopportune of times.
Had my focus not been torn from Kira in my search for answers, I would have, without fail, noticed that particle of evidence so carelessly neglected in the direst of moments.
Light's nearly blinding presence was difficult to ignore. Misora, a woman in the prime of her life, demanding something she was not given, was another thing that was hard to overlook. However, had any human eyes failed to notice them, the security camera's eyes silently scrutinized their conversation, then their calm footsteps out the front door.
Misora was, by standard barometer, a pretty woman. The two men working the front desk that day would have been able to give a description of her should the security cameras have failed.
Light, with all of his overflowing charisma, was not easily forgotten, but it certainly helped that he left undeniable proof of his presence with the receptionists in the form of a hastily written –yet still neatly written - name, followed by the date and time.
I had sent Aizawa back to the station that day to intercept incoming calls. Having an empty office at the NPA – more specifically, the Special Investigation Headquarters – was a bad idea.
Conceivably, it was a lack of luck in terms of random selection that had me send Aizawa that day instead of, say, Light's father or Matsuda. Maybe it was the simple fact that the Japanese are, as their upbringing demands, polite to a fault. There was no such thing as a fact-finding instinct that led to an inevitable peek over another's shoulder.
Certainly not.
As a creature of logic, I must admit that while I rather wish I hadn't overlooked so simple a matter, I did.
While death brings with it a certain sense of lost hope – and certainly the none-too-shocking realization of the obvious loss of life – it is a many-faceted creature. In my own death, I find that my only vexation lies in the most unacceptable and deplorable lack of cake.
Do be forwarded. With death, there is no cake.
Aaaaaaaand, complete!
With this came the realization that I know Death Note far too well. The whole thing was completed by memory. That's the scary part. I can has life now, please yes?