A/N: I actually don't have much to say about this. The idea just occurred to me, one day, so I wrote it. Plus, iddy biddy Raito is freaking adorable.
DISCLAIMER: I dun own Death Note! No, really, I don't.
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It was bedtime, the time when most children were feverously peeking inside of their closets and underneath their beds for the lurking terror that could lie beneath. Monsters; they were something most children feared. But Yagami Raito was not like most children. He had rarely spent a thought on the existence of these 'monsters'. The idea seemed silly to him. Surely if monsters existed, they would have been able to 'get him' before he reached his current age, six?
It was silly – ridiculous, really.
Besides, Raito was sure that his parents had better things to do than comfort fears of monsters.
"Goodnight, Raito," his mother said, smiling at her little boy as she tucked him into bed.
"…Goodnight, mom," Raito replied after a moment's pause. His mother seemed satisfied and kissed the boy's forehead before making her was towards the door. There, she paused at the light and had to glance at the unafraid little boy before she switched it off and shut the bedroom door behind her.
Allowing himself a moment to stare at the surrounding darkness, Raito sighed and turned over. His last thought was of monsters before he fell asleep.
Scratching; there was scratching. Startled, the boy's
eyes peeked open. He could hear his breathing grow uneven, heavier.
There was something… there. There was scratching and, as Raito
opened his eyes wider, a light. There was a light. It was a dim
light, hidden by his closet door. Only a small stream could make it
out of the crack beneath it. It was in his closet – his
heart was pounding – it was Taking
short, rasping breaths, the boy slowly pulled the taut blankets away
from his body. He would have to investigate, wouldn't he? He would
have to do this… if… He inhaled deeply. Why was he getting so
worked up? It was… what could it be? A No, of course
not.
Gathering all of his
courage, Raito slid himself out of his bed. It was only a few feet to
his closet. Just a few feet, he thought, as his legs moved forward,
almost of their own accord. Then – then – all that he
needed to do was pull open the closet. Small, trembling hands reached
out to touch the door handle, before pulling away. The scratching was
getting louder. Why was he so nervous? Just open it! It was
just a closet! All he would find were clothes! 1, 2, 3. Raito
swung open the door.
And there were no
clothes – no closet. It was… his room. His room lit by a small
television and something else, something that looked like a
television. He recognized it as something that his father's work
had: computers. Only this one seemed far nicer than any other he had
seen. The scratching now seemed unbearably loud.
But now he could see where it was coming from; it was a pen. A pen scratching and moving its way across paper, the writer hunched over it in fervor; the writer had not yet noticed Raito's presence.
Raito was grateful for this, as the closer he moved towards the writer, the more crazed he seemed to become. He wanted to stop. To stop moving forward towards the writer, but, he found himself drawn to the scratching, to the growing madness of the writer.
And, all at once, he found himself wondering what the writer was writing. Why the thought hadn't occurred to him before, he didn't know. Carefully, and as quietly as possible, Raito continued forward, trying to sneak a glance at the paper - no, it was a notebook.
There were names,
hundreds of them, one right after another. Why would this person
merely be writing names down? It didn't make sense. As he looked
down the list of names, he found one that was different. Something
was written next to it: "Death by…"Death? He –
this person - he killed people, didn't he? There was the notebook
and… something just told Raito that this was what the writer was
doing as he scribbled more and more names down.
Suddenly, the writer
stopped, pulling Raito's attention away from the notebook. He was
looking up at the computer screen, and from Raito was standing, he
could see a smirk forming on the side of his lips. "Heh," the
writer exhaled, and Raito jumped, thinking that he had been spotted,
but the writer just continued, "God?...They're saying I'm a
god, Ryuk. Kira, God of the new world." Kira? Was that the
writer's name? He was a god? He didn't act like one, if anything
he acted like a - "Monster?" the writer, Kira, finished
for him, looking amused. "I am …And who was he
talking to? Raito could see no one else there but the two of them.
After a pause, he grew closer to the writer. He was curious about
him. And then, he saw, as Kira turned to face whomever he was talking
to. And Raito knew who he was. He knew who the writer, this
And he screamed.
The boy thrashed in his bed, trying to escape from the cocoon of blankets that had wrapped around him during his sleep. He was in a cold sweat, shivering as his mother rushed into his room.
"Raito!" she yelled, shaking the child, "Raito!"
Shuddering and with uneven breath, Raito finally came to. He couldn't seem to find words at all, but instead lay, staring forward at his mother's concerned face.
"Raito! Are you alright?" his mother asked, horrified, "You were screaming and-"
"Do monsters exist?" Raito suddenly asked, his tone unchanging.
At this question, his mother seemed relieved, and sat down next to him. Sighing, she pushed some stray strands of hair out of Raito's face. "Of course not, Raito; monsters don't exist."
Raito didn't seem comforted in the least, quite the contrary, in fact. "Then what about gods?" he insisted, "Do they exist?"
For a moment, his mother seemed perplexed, apparently finding this an odd question for a six year old to ask. "Well, yes," she responded, thinking carefully, "I would say they do."
"…Oh," Raito said, slumping back down onto his pillow as his breathing became steady. "Alright…"
"…Are you sure you're alright, Raito?" his mother asked, getting up from off of the bed. The answer she received was a small nod. Clearly not satisfied, she didn't appear to want to leave the room, hovering about before she finally bade her little boy another goodnight.
Again, Raito was left alone in the darkness. And, looking forward at the blank ceiling, he thought that there was only one main difference between monsters and gods:
One of them existed, and the other did not.