AN: Hello and Welcome. This is a short little story I wrote just today. It was made as an assignment for my english class, but it fit so well with the Death Note story line, that I thought I would share it with you all. It is extemely breif, merely because it was an english assignment, not necessarily a fanfiction. However, though the content is not long winded, I do hope you enjoy it none the less.

The story is basically what I believe might have given Kira his inspiration to do what he does. It is set before Light becomes Kira.

To be completely honest with you, I do not agree with everything in the show Death Note. Being that I am of the Christian Faith, there is some material that I find to be incorrect. However, having said that, I must say I was beyond impressed by this story line and the character development. The creator of this series was –in my humble opinion- an absolute genius.

Disclaimer: Being that I have informed you how I disagree with some of the stories content, it would be terribly hypocritical if I did in fact own the show. Moving on...

The Vendetta

The silence of the night was surprisingly welcome. It crept through the room towards the man sitting in a rocker. He felt a shiver trickle down his spine as the silence reached his perch: guilt, it seemed, had finally caught up with him. He knew the time had finally arrived when he would allow himself to feel once more. It had been only a month since "that day", and until now, he hadn't felt anything: he couldn't. Emotions were useless for the achievement he strived for; they would merely hold him back.

He sat in his chair, watching his hands tremble. Though his mind was calm, his body still couldn't fathom the deed committed. He looked at his hands and was reeled back into the moment. The adrenaline, the excitement, the fear: all his emotions from that moment rushed through him. He saw his hands around the mans throat as he lay, prostrate and helpless underneath the death grip now forcing his life to flash before his eyes. He remembered the utter joy he felt in seeing that villain breath his last, and the relief when he finally let go and watched his head flop to one side. If he didn't know any better, he might think he was enjoying himself.

After that moment, there was no rest for the weary. He was forced to run and hide from those cowards who put him in this situation in the first place. If they had done their job, he wouldn't have been required to do it for them. Cowards though they were, they held the guns: and so he ran. To his advantage, they're blue uniforms stood out against most surfaces, allowing for him to make a quick getaway from any situation without being seen. But his luck wouldn't last forever. It wouldn't be long till they tracked him to his current hideaway, and he was all through running. Now that the world had seen what true justice was, there was no need to hide. He was not proud of his methods, but his accomplishment was something to be admired. After all, it took considerable skill to kill someone so high in stature as-…footsteps. He heard footsteps.

They had finally come. Had he been the man he was a month ago, he might be frightened. But after that fateful night, his fear had left; along with his guilt. All that was left now was a broken man. A man with no conscience to speak of, and barely the strength to suppress the guilt that, even now, tugged at his heart. He was a man who, bound in grief, finished the vendetta owed to the heartless creature that took life without reparation.

The man didn't move as more footsteps were heard coming up the apartment stairs. He didn't even flinch when the door was broken down. He made no attempt to escape as the policemen held their guns up and shouted for him to put his hands in the air. He did nothing to resist as he was read his rights and put in handcuffs. Upon reaching the squad car 4 levels down, he made no objections to being shoved into the back seat, and gave no final plea as the door was slammed shut. As the car drove off to what the man was certain to be his demise, he kept his eyes lowered allowing his long, black hair to cover his face. In that moment, a small smile crept across his lips as he muttered his final words.

"I win."

A young boy with short brown hair turned on the television. It may have seemed odd for a 14 year old to enjoy watching the news, but he didn't care. The news reporters voice came through the speakers:

"In other news, police have finally managed to capture and detain the criminal responsible for the death of a high stature, wealthy philanthropist accused of buying and selling slaves in east Indonesia. Though the case against him was severe, he was never detained due to some apparent obstructions of justice in attaining some of the evidence. Police state that though this wealthy donor may not have been the generous gentlemen he seemed, it is still not the job of citizens to take the law into their own hands. According to reports, the murderer, only known by the name of Kira, had snuck into the mans office just as he was leaving and knocked him to the ground where he proceeded to strangle him. Though there has been no word as to why the murderer committed the crime, or how he is related to the victim, eye witness' state that they have seen him perform his own acts of philanthropy over in impoverished locations such as South Africa and Indonesia. Police believe he may have…"

The news anchors voice trailed off to silence. The young boy stared as his eyes grew wide with admiration. Then and there, his mind was made up: he would bring justice to the world in the same manner as this man. Kira….he would remember that name.