Prolouge:

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

I kneeled in front of his grave, gently wiping away the pollen. The sunlight reflected off the marble, enhanced by the trees ruffling their leaves and the voices of kids playing football near the graveyard. Beside me, Moral shifted uncomfortably.

"How come you visit this grave before Daddy's?" He asked.

"Because Daddy's further away from the gate." I explained. When Moral pouted, obviously sensing that it was not the only reason why I visited L's grave before Mello's (I will always call him that; I never got used to 'Mihael'), I added, "and we save best for last, remember?"

Moral considered, before his pout turned into a mishevious grin. "Can I go see Daddy, then?"

"Sure." I answered, and Moral jumped up, brushing off grass on his Sunday's-best-pants, then bounded eight graves down. I watched him sit in front of the marble grave shaped like an Irish Cross, eagerly striking up a conversation as if it would answer back. Personally, I was amazed that Moral had grasped the concept that he had a father, so much that he had almost an imaginary relationship with him, even though Mello had died before Moral was born. But Moral was different from other kids, just like the others that played by the mansion behind us. He had a knack for imagining, with out using toys, situations that were usually beyond a four year old's comprehension. Two former Wammy residents can take credit for his traits.

I wearily turned back to L's grave. It had been ten years since he had died, and no one really knew where his body was besides N, the current 'L', and no one was stupid or disrespectful enough to dig up one of his 14 graves across the world. As L had wanted, even in death his identity was hidden from the vast majority, yet I still remembered his unusual behaviour and disheveled appearance quite easily. As everyone often tries after meeting him, I sometimes imitate him crouching on chairs….stupid perhaps, but brings back good memories nonetheless.

"Well, L…" I muttered, glancing at Moral. "I'm here, like you said. If Raito hadn't killed you…"

"Things would be much different."Mello's voice from my memory drifted towards me. I looked again towards his grave, my son, who looked identical to when Mello was that young, watching him converse with his father.

"Yes, Mello." I said, standing up. "Things would have been much different." For instance, you might still be living, answering your son's musings over his day, or would he even had been born? I sighed. I was still angry with him, but I couldn't do anything about it, and try as hard as I might, I still mourned him. Besides, I thought grimly, it'll probably end up the same way as last time. I took several steps toward Moral, the wind whipping through my hair, noticing that a car was approaching the gate from a distance, bringing back memories from almost twenty years ago to the present. This end was the beginning of the end….

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Feel free to review or w/e. I have no idea what people think of the story, so yeah...if you don't want to, then I'm not going to glue you to your seat and telekinetically make you write "THIS WAS FREAKIN AWESOME!!" (this is what I get for reading Jhonen Vasquez's website...).