Summary: BB's thoughts on the whole issue of Kira, a letter found after his death. And spoilers for LABB.
Rated: T for extreme profanity.
Disclaimer: GOD I DON'T OWN DEATH NOTE. HOW MANY TIMES MUST THIS BE REPEATED?
Author's Note: Well... I was bored. Don't judge me for not having anything to do on snow days! SPOILERS FOR LABB.
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"To whoever the hell finds this,
The whole issue is retarded. Yes, retarded. Kira is retarded. The criminals are retarded. The wardens are retarded. This entire country is retarded, and not to mention fucked as well.
The U.S. is the country with the most inmates. Or at least close to it. I'm one of millions, lost in a sea of ne'er-do-wells and idiots. If I die, who will care?
L will. The man who I was raised to be like. I hope he dies with all of these criminals, because if anyone's a criminal, it is most certainly him. You don't raise children to be like one man, to the point of commiting suicide, like my first friend, A. You don't do that. I have blamed him entirely for all of my life, and I will carry that to my grave. I hope he feels guilt. I hope that he is unable to sleep at night because the guilt eats away at him.
He drove me to madness. He drove A to suicide. What other children have been broken to pieces because of his reckless need for an heir? Many, I would assume.
Kira should kill L. Kira should kill all of these other inmates, the ones so stupid that they eat all of this glop and kill and rape recklessly, not knowing or caring what the consequences may be. But he should not kill me. I am anything but a criminal, I should have been praised just as Kira is, the sick bastard.
I was supposed to go out in flames, and show the world that L is in fact a criminal. That he indirectly abuses children to the point where killing themselves is the only way out of the pressure put upon them. The last image in my mind was A, of his hanging, and how I would soon be in the same place as him, may it be heaven or hell, or maybe even just becoming something else. I wouldn't mind being a stalk of celery left to grow in the warmth of spring, left to bask in the bright sunlight of the day.
But it wasn't really the last image. Misora had burst into my room, put out the flames just in time, feeling betrayed, but on the inside she laughs at me and how pathetic I am. I couldn't slip past even a simple FBI agent. I couldn't fufill the need to prove L wrong, that he wasn't the greatest, because of a stupid woman.
Hah hah... get back in the kitchen.
But still... there's already been one man who's died here at my high-security prison. This curse of mine, it showed his numbers, that were normal, and then, they just suddenly flashed to forty, and then they spiraled down from there.
It is something I will never forget. Killing people is something I can forget, although the adrenaline at the time was insance, but this was beyond disturbing.
Of course, it's always likely that I'll die. In fact, I'm 100% sure that I'll be dead within a month... it's December, so at latest, February. It's alright with me. The day is always the same for me. Nothing happens here in high security - hell, you sneeze, and the guards bust their chops making sure you haven't tried to escape. Take a shit, and they gotta sniff it to make sure you aren't smuggling drugs. Or something like that.
But when Kira takes L down with him, I'm going to laugh and spit on their graves. Both of them are motherfuckers. They don't deserve the ground they'll be buried in.
Soon, very soon, another of us will die, and another, and another, until I'm one of five left in the whole damn prison. And if I die, I'll be sure I'll go out in flames. If you've managed to find this letter, whoever the hell you are, I've already gone down in flames. Now spread them. Add wood to the fire, spread the word. L is a criminal, L is de"
And that's where the letter ended. L knew that several people had already seen the letter, but he crumpled it in anger, and later burned it. What was on the page shouldn't be shared with the public.
The letter glowed a frusterated orange as the edges began to catch fire and burn. L didn't know why Beyond Birthday had stopped writing at "L is a criminal, L is de" but he knew it wasn't because he had died. BB had died out in the recreation yard, while the note was found in his room. He assumed the "de" was the beginning of a word like "demonic" or "deadly" or even "decrepit." L would never know for sure, but it didn't bother him; BB's feelings were conveyed throughout the entire letter.
Go down in flames, he thought absently. He didn't go down in flames. He died in the ashes of the flames, just as I may as well.