Yes, I'm BACK!! Thank you so much to everybody for the kind support I received on my last fanfic, and now onto the SEQUEL!! I am majorly looking forward to this one for many, many reasons I cannot divulge yet, but mostly because I get to give the child of Kira a voice. And I love writing in her style - she's so fun!
I hope I've got plenty of people who want to read this and find out what she gets up to.
I do not own Death Note or any of its characters, just the OCs. And I do mean ALL of the OCs.
For Akai-M
You know what I hate? Fucking family trees. They grow, spread out, and then one tragedy, like a lightning strike, kills it. It only leaves a stump with no way of actually growing again. And nobody wants to go near the ugly little stump; they prefer to the swing on the big branches of the taller trees. Don't deny it – you'd probably rather climb a huge, sturdy tree with loads of branches to cling to than go and perch your butt on a stump covered in moss.
That's me. I'm the stump. I've always been the stump. Hey, fuck it, that's what happens when you have no parents and you're most likely the goddamn most antisocial kid in a house of forty-three major geniuses. I mean, it's boring to try to fit in, isn't it? Why should I when I'm not even going to impress anybody? I'd rather be myself than be a clone of someone else. When writing my report (I did steal it from Roger's office), one of my personality traits was 'individuality'. Anyone in Wammy's House could be called 'individual', though. We're not exactly normal.
Okay, some rules you may want to know about Wammy's: we are all ranked, every single one of us, right down to the tiniest kid here (that's Enid or something stupid like that, and she's two). Since there are forty-three of us, most of us hormone-riddled adolescents, you can imagine just how competitive things get. Damnation, an aggressive fifteen-year-old example of the faults of the Y chromosome, has been nipping at my ankles like a pissed-off puppy for the last term because I beat him in the tests again. I feel like screaming, 'Fine! Take seventh place! I don't fucking want it!' Of course, that would only appease him, and since he ticks me off most of the time, I don't want to go down that road.
Another thing: every kid has a right to their own room, though most prefer to share, for some reason I still cannot fathom. I have my own room, as in I don't share. I don't want anyone else in my private space – is that such a crime? I mean, on the whole, my life is dictated by other people's routines, and I want my own quiet retreat for the time I'm unconscious. I don't want to be woken by others' snoring, rolling over on squeaky mattresses, snuffling when they have a cold or muttering in their sleep. I don't crave company. In fact, I repel it at every opportunity.
That's one reason I seriously can't stand the girl in fifth place. She goes by the name of Fall, and she's the biggest pain in the ass you could ever meet, largely because she is always in your face. Over the past few months, I've perceived it as my job that I keep her cloudy blonde head out of everyone else's personal space. Since there were no protests at my doing this, I assumed that it was totally fine for me to do it. That was until I got yelled at by Roger for it. I just stared coldly at him until he'd got it all out of his system and then I said very calmly, "Are you done?" He wanted to murder me, and by that, I mean cold-blooded, brutal, not-caring-how-painful-it-is murder.
I'm seventh out of forty-two, which I don't think is bad at all, considering I don't give a shit about rankings. It's basically a way of putting kids down. I feel sorry for number forty-two. It's like, 'Jesus, yeah, that's great for little egos.' These people have no sensitivity towards the youth of the future, do they? No wonder we're all so fucked up.
I can look out my window, sitting on my cushy black window-seat, and I have an overview of the courtyard through which everyone has to enter in order to get into Wammy's via the front door. I can see everything that's going on. I suppose you could call me the eyes and ears of Wammy's. You could, but then I'd hit you.
I don't think of myself as a violent person, despite the fact some may disagree. The thing is, I only think you're violent if you start picking fights. If you're defending yourself, then there's nothing wrong with it. If I were to go up to Fall randomly and punch her, I would basically be, in my own terms, 'digging myself into my own shit'. I wouldn't hit someone without a reason, unlike Damnation, who is just out of his freaking mind.
As I stared out of the window, I watched rain begin to fall. I liked the rain, but my mind was telling me that to go outside in the rain whilst wearing your pyjamas would be a very silly thing to do. Saying that, they're not really pyjamas. They're a pair of grey pyjama pants and a baggy shirt that I could wrap around myself three times and still be snug enough to move.
I tucked my knees up to my chest, hugging them. It was getting a little colder due to the time of year. My birthday was tomorrow, so that would mean summer was definitely over. I'm not complaining. I'm actually not a huge fan of summer. Bright light? Ugh. Sunburn? Not in my room, you don't. Mosquitoes? Kill them all.
My birthday's fifth of September, meaning I'm a steady Virgo. It means I'm apparently intelligent, rational, practical, calm, hard to convince I'm wrong, shy, critical and I have a habit of putting myself down. It also means I can't understand why people don't think the same way I do. I don't know what the stars are telling these astrologists, but they must be on some pretty hardcore drugs.
"K?" whispered a voice from behind me. I spun around and scowled, seeing Roger standing in the doorway. "Oh, you're still awake? It's very late."
"What is it, Roger?" I sighed.
"I just wanted to warn you, a new girl will be arriving in a few days' time," he said. "I was wondering if you would let her room with you for her first night."
"No," I said bluntly. He skittered back a few steps, blinking in surprise.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" he gasped. "She's only young; she'll be very frightened!"
"Obviously, you don't understand the word. How many languages must I say it in before it sinks in? No, non, nein, het, nee, ei, hapana-"
"What language is, 'hapana'?" Roger asked, shocked.
"Swahili," I shrugged.
"You see, you're such a bright girl! If only you'd apply yourself..." He held up his hands, hopeless. My arms went sharply across my chest.
"Roger, if you're here to lecture me about my grades, your effort is futile. I am seventh. There are thirty-five other people here you could be preaching to grades about," I snapped. "I don't care if you're not angry, you're disappointed. I work and I get on with what I'm asked. You don't need to go on about it."
"K, you don't understand. You have so much potential. If you worked harder, you could become fifth, maybe fourth," he pleaded uselessly. "Think about how proud your parents would be if you were placed fourth!"
"Why the fuck would I try to impress people who saw me and then died?" I growled.
"K, language!" he scolded. "And it wasn't their faults, or yours, that they died! Your mother became very ill, and your father..."
"Was a great hero, I know, I know," I finished dully. "If my parents were so wonderful, how come I ended up here? How come I'm not living with any relatives of theirs?"
"K, you are still loved here..."
"No, tell me!"
"Well... these relatives were not ready... for a baby..."
"You see! They didn't want me! I've been in Wammy's nearly fifteen years, and apparently, they're still not ready for a kid! They probably have children of their own now!" I spat, seething. "I have no future except being stuck in this shithole for the rest of my life!"
"K, wash that mouth out!"
"How about you get the hell out of my room and try shoving your good-grades, you-are-loved bullshit down something else's throat? Somebody who's a big enough moron to believe it?" I yelled, running forward from window-seat and slamming the door in Roger's face. Once he'd gone, I took a deep breath, steadied myself and went back to the window-seat.
Ugh. I'm loved? That was the biggest load of crap I'd ever heard Roger spew, and seriously, I'd heard some major spewing before. I didn't need this. Another child? Forty-three? That would be too much. If it was somebody smart enough to get into the top ten, the others would have some humongous problems against the new girl, and that would mean they would turn into bigger jackasses than they were already, and that's saying something.
Number one was Slo, or, 'Sophisticated Little One'. He's not what you'd expect a number one genius to be. In fact, if you saw him on the street, you'd probably want to smash his face in. He was just too perfect. He was my age, tall, blonde, tanned and, dare I say it, conventionally attractive. According to everyone else, he was a friendly enough guy, but I'd never spoken to him, so I didn't know. And so I carried on with my 'wanting-to-punch-him' theory. It was more interesting, anyway.
I sighed, picked up the book closest to my window-seat and began to read. It was Jane Eyre. When it got to the part where Jane finds out Rochester's already married and she's going through this whole angst-y part, I bit my lip and skipped until I'd gotten to the bit where she returns to Thornfield to find it all burned up. I don't like to cry. I don't like anyone else to go through really bad bullshit, so I usually miss those bits out in books. I missed nearly all of Wuthering Heights.
I can usually figure out how stuff ends, anyway.
All of you who think K's a bitch - I totally agree with you. Still, you've got to admit, you kind of like her. No...? Okies, then. Moving swiftly onwards.
Please review telling me what you think and I hope you enjoy my new story's beginning. *Crosses fingers and prays that you can get a sense of K's character*
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!
C.