Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note; it rightfully belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I don't like to spoil my stories, but I got inspired by Bloodshot Eyes' brilliant fic 'Genius is A Curse' which has an overall theme similar to this one. I would like to thank him/her for their work.
He knew exactly what his situation was. He was well aware of his mental state and his position, but he chose to ignore it regardless. What is his situation, you may ask? He was bored. Boredom with every literal sense of the word. He was bored with this world he lives in and with its cynical and fruitless occurrences. Sometimes he even felt that he was above the human thinking, all these things that his peers did and talked about, it was all so very mundane and stupid, all of it. At times, he wasn't even sure what to make of it. If he starts hating his surroundings, that won't get him anywhere. If he plays patient and bears with it, that would only make him grow even more uninterested. Damn it! Everything is just so boring, rather so disappointing, it disappoints his expectations and alters his whole perspective of the world.
At some point of his life he told himself that the thing he was experiencing -whatever that may be- is nothing but a phase, a precise state of his mind that would soon vanish and be stolen by oblivion like the rest of the worldly things are. Little did he know, he was wrong. But how would he make sure? How would he know that this endless loop he's trapped in is ever going to stop? Obviously, there are no signs or hints out there that would provide him with answers, like in the movies. Answers. He needed answers. There have been several questions circling within that thing he calls a mind. Questions like, why is he trapped in this hell? Why him? Is this the play of some being, some creature who deliberately chose to make him suffer in such way, or is it God's actions alone? Is this his fate? Does such thing as fate even exist? Is this a test to his capacities? If so, how can he pass it?
...
Silence.
The only answer he's ever got is mere silence. No signs, no evidence, nothing to prove his claims right or wrong, and most importantly, nothing to guide him through a certain path of thinking, to tell him what exactly to think about and what to believe in. He was sick of it, this silence, rather the sounds of those who could hear him but do not listen to him: the continuous sounds of this life that is clearly not willing to wait for him, no matter how much time it took him to wait for its answers.
Some days passed by when he took the role of a judge, and he whole-heartedly judged whatever came into his peripheral of vision and hearing: all those empty conversations people around him were having, all those shallow concerns they indulged in, all of the hollow formalities they insisted on sticking with. It was all so void, so meaningless, so purposeless. Would he end up like these creatures if he were given more time, or would he simply attain insanity? What was bound for him to live with, to believe in? How can he be assured by any means possible that he will be okay?
Their empty laughs, he could hear them. His mind is fully functional to distinguish between sorts of matter, therefore to detect humor, however, he can never understand how they can laugh at such trivial and ridiculous matters. It was sad, sometimes ironic, the way everything around him had already taken such a wrong path, that he even feels joy and pleasure at times for being able to find entertainment to his mind so easily, by internally mocking those who are beneath him.
Did it even have to be so difficult? He had the trait of complicating things in him, which made his issue all the harder. Nonetheless, he was a teenage boy like any other teenage boy of his age, regardless of whether he is gifted or not. He never regarded his ability to actually think into matters as a gift, but it would seem that having a developed mind like his is quite rare, something that he had personally attested to. They have always complimented him for being quick-witted and talented, and it would be an understatement if he said he didn't particularly enjoy it, for he did, but he certainly didn't want to believe that his mind is rare, because that will make him all the more desperate: it confirms that everyone he encounters will never make it to his level, and that deeply saddens him. A sense of competition is all he has ever asked for, a challenge to his being and his potential, a purpose he can firmly hold to and be proud of spending all his time and effort on. Only then he can confidently say that his existence is worth something he can attach himself to, and fight for it with all his blood and sweat. He knew he is capable of beholding the perfect battle, but what stops him is that he doesn't have anyone to hold that battle against. No one to motivate him and to remind him of his true power, no one that'll make him taste sweet well-earned victory thanks to them.
...
How does he escape this void? The shadows of this feeling are haunting him and giving him the impression that they will smother him anytime soon, if he doesn't manage to find his way out. Sometimes he just wants to scream at the top of his lungs, but he withholds it because he knows that even that won't be a radical solution to his problem. If he ever gets asked about his current condition, he would simply say that being permanently turmoiled is certainly not very fun to experience.
His family and some of the people who are close to him have assumed that he was merely being negative, pessimist, or even depressed. He didn't know what to make of their assumptions. Did it even matter? If their theories aren't confirmed nor justified by any means, wouldn't believing them be in vain? At some point, his mother told him that he would one day fall in love and that will put colors to his life, and he did nothing but laugh at the idea.
He had no means of explaining his cause to her, because he was certain she would never understand him. He wanted to tell her that he would not be satisfied by these concerns, this simple human understanding the rest of his kind possessed. The ability to be happy with insignificant matters, that was what separated them from him, the way he sees it. His mind was created for better purposes; for ambition, for power. He felt that he deserved it, so why isn't there a way for him to obtain it? There must be someway, somehow, somewhere he would find all of the answers necessary. Sometimes he fantasizes about one individual that would put an end to his misery and free him of all restrains, to finally show him the real world he has been forever desiring; even though he knows deep inside that the probability of it actually happening is little to none, his natural instincts impose on him the need of connecting his thoughts to something he desires, regardless of whether it's close to the truth or not.
He needs a key, a message assuring him that he will be fine, that he will be able to move on regardless of his situation. This horrific boredom is consuming him and destroying all his motives to survive one by one through each passing day. He keeps telling himself that he will be alright whilst there is no doubt in his mind that he is but lying to himself. He had resorted to multiple types of self-gratification and ended up by mastering all of them then getting bored of them and eventually abandoning them. His father once told him that creational activities such as writing or painting don't have any boundaries, therefore it's impossible for him to reach the highest level the way he always did concerning other activities, but he didn't possess any artistic skills by nature and he simply grew tired of writing. His mind wasn't intrigued by other people in any way and he never found them interesting enough for his liking, which is why he never possessed any feelings of any kind to anyone, other than the natural feelings he had for his small family members, which weren't even that huge. Once he tried typing "motivator" in the search engine out of curiosity and that experiment turned out to be a negative because all he had found was solutions to lack of sexual arousing. He wondered why did people even bother worrying over matters of no substance, and the only conclusion he'd drawn was that they were simply wasting their lives. He was too apathetic to be critical and too smart to be oblivious and that worried him. He had witnessed that many people before him resorted to killing themselves as an escape route from their problems, and he ended up only despising their ignorance and their weakness for not being able to carry on. If there was one thing he had never accepted, it was disability. He could never bow down to incompetence, and he always likes to think that he won't ever go down without a fight. He hated giving up on a goal until he had fully achieved it, and he had always believed in his capacities. This thought is solely what's keeping him going, what's keeping him alive and away from walking into a train or throwing himself out of the nearest window, and he would like to hold into it with all his might.
...
Time.
Time runs fast and awaits no one. In fact, the only exception he can make to this issue is time itself, because time treats all individuals equally, so if some stopped moving on because of their problems, they might as well hit their heads on the nearest wall because time won't be there to wait for them. He knows that better than anyone else, that he shouldn't waste his time worrying over things that don't exist or else he'll end up a loser. But he also knows that if he were to keep moving on without giving some time to speculation, he would be as useless as the rest of the people around him.
This position he's been put in is indisputably pathetic, the feeling of being confused and not knowing what to do and what to decide on, he has always scorned such feeling because it reflects weakness and indecisiveness, and he knew he was above all that.
That is why he felt entitled to proving to the world what he's capable of, and the only way of doing that is to continue in this pace of his, simply because he didn't succeed in finding any other way.
He clearly sees how people around him are constantly running, how everyone in this world is constantly running in circles, and after what? He wasn't sure. Whenever asked, they all say that they're perfectly happy and satisfied with their lives, but if they truly were, then why do they feel obliged to gathering things of unclear nature? This is one of the many topics his developed mind has contemplated through the years, and he didn't find enough stimulation to actually carry on his observations. Whatever concerned these empty beings, he wasn't interested in finding out about it. Nothing in his life has truly piqued his interest, and even if he found some particular hobbies to be interesting, he grew tired of them eventually because they no longer provided him with challenge. His worst moments were when he finally considered giving up: giving up work, life, everything. He then quickly got up to his feet because he couldn't take it in his pride to lose to this anonymous force he's fighting against. The superiority that being in control provides, he liked to keep that. He liked to think that no matter how awfully twisted his mindset currently is, maintaining control and the upper hand of dealing with things was never beyond him. He had never expected life to be fair to him because he fully knows that it is not, however, he would have chosen pain over void if he were given the chance. Pain would ensure him that he is alive, that something is fighting him, encouraging him to fight it back with all his will, and to actually win the battle. Pain would be there to remind him that something he could retaliate against is ever present. On the other hand, being unable to discern exactly what he's experiencing is truly one of the worst feelings ever. It steals away his humanity and his emotions and leaves him with a confused look on his face. Furthermore, not being able to find what will make him happy is equally frustrating. He knows that some people steal away their own happiness by wanting to achieve some imaginary goals they never succeed in achieving, and he also knows that his case is completely different. He is capable of achieving many great things, but he doesn't know how. He needs a chance. Something that will fully test his abilities with every sense of the word. He needs a glimpse of light that illustrates his final hope, and running after it seems to be his only solution..
A/N: If you have fully read this, thank you so much. Please do not hesitate to review, as reviews are most of the reason why a writer shares their work.