Here On Out
Written May 22, 2007
You know those stories that refuse to leave you alone until you've written them? This was one of them. I haven't written in a while, and I cringe to look at some of my older stuff, but hopefully, this will be at least passable..
Or not. Your choice.
Fanfiction seems to like messing with how I had this set up, so if something looks funny, it's probably because of that.
Here On Out
He was walking through a park. It was one of his favorites. There weren't very many places as pristine and perfect as that one any more. The trees bloomed with life, bushes rustled in the breeze, and ducks squawked from a nearby pond.
To think he should have been in school.
He didn't need it anyways.
There was a wooden bench up ahead, and just beyond that, a green painted garbage can. He knew this place well. There weren't often many people here. It was an opportune place to just sit and think. If there was no one around (and there usually wasn't), he would stay at the bench for a while and watch a squirrel family that had taken up residence in a large tree across the path.
There was somebody there today though. At first, he had been going to treat the person the same as any other. Walk past, and forget they ever existed.
But something was different today.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
She sat quietly on the bench, and pencil in one hand, and paper in the other. A pair of headphones rested lightly on her brown coloured head. The music flowing through them wasn't loud; it created only the gentlest of hums in her ears, fitting of the serene environment she had found herself in. She heard clearly the crunch of shoes on the gravel path as they neared the bench. She gave them little notice. 'Twas but another passerby, enjoying the wonders of nature.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
He walked a little closer, curious. His little feet crossing from the rough gravel to the soft and inviting grass to come to a stop in front of her.
Her shoes lay forgotten on the ground, stocking feet placed firmly on the bench in front of her. Her knees would have been at her chest, were they not angled forward to make space for her paper.
She did not acknowledge his presence at first, but he knew she was aware of him. A subtle change in posture. A brief flick of the eyes, It was all he needed.
Then she looked at him.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
It took her a moment or two to realize that her mysterious 'Passerby' had not left, and was not intending to leave.
She let a hand, the one holding the pencil, slide down to the music player and press pause, simultaneously pulling her headphones off with the other. She looked to her strange visitor.
He looked to be about six years old. His posture was only slightly slouched, and he looked like he hadn't slept well the night before. His clothes were non-descript, and his shoes were tattered; at least one size too big.
"Hello." She said in greeting. Her voice was light and inquiring, with a definite curious undertone.
"Hello." He replied. His voice was softer, but not shy. There was a short silence.
"Can I help you?" She asked. He seemed startled by the question, and shook his head. Slipping out of his overlarge shoes, he sat beside her on the bench. He brought his knees up to his chest, leaned forward, and offered her a small, child-like smile. A moment later, he said
"You sit like I do."
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
At first, their friendship was tentative, neither really knowing the other, but as the day went on, they found out more, and they began to bond.
It started with their names.
"I'm L." He said. He did not reach a hand out in greeting, merely stated it, as if her were commenting on the weather.
"Just 'L'?" She asked, for clarification. He nodded.
"Shyrstyne." She said in answer.
"That's a funny name." He'd never heard it before. It was difficult to pronounce, and the way it was spelt made little sense, but it sounded pretty.
"I like it." She smiled.
Then she found out he didn't have a birthday.
So she gave him hers,
"Why the same one?" He'd asked.
"It's convenient. We can go do fun things, eat sweets, get presents, ice cream, all sorts of things." She answered.
Two weeks later, they celebrated.
He was turning 7.
She was turning 18.
Life went on.
The next year, her parents from overseas wanted her to visit. She went. He waited. When she came back, she was 19, and he was 8. They celebrated with ice cream.
L wasn't really fond of crowded, public places, she found. He much preferred the park, or his own room. They often met and stayed in the park. He had once visited her apartment. It was nice, but boring. Things soon returned to routine.
Time passed.
She was fond of most foods, and especially loved sweets, but even she was amazed by the amount that L could pack. She once asked him how he could stay so little the way he ate. He didn't answer. The smile on her face and the laugh in her voice told him she didn't want him too.
The world bustled around them.
He was 10.
She was 21.
He waited by the bench.
She was supposed to be there already.
It was a sunny day, though there were a few clouds in the sky, and large puddles leftover from the rain the previous few days.
It wasn't uncommon for her to run a little late, and was known on occasion to be held up very late, but as a rule, she tried to be on time. Feeling's of unease panged withing him. His instincts were uncannily accurate. Sometimes he wished they weren't.
The unease grew.
He began to walk. He did not know why, or where. Something drove him to walk somewhere, anywhere.
The day slowly came to an end, and the pinks and purples of sunset filled the sky. He had found nothing.
He trudged home, a feeling of despair knowing at his gut.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
She was driving towards the park. Normally, she would have walked, but she had been held late by work, and if she drove she would only be a couple minutes late, rather than hours.
She didn't want to worry him.
There was a brand new truck in front of her. It was tall, and it's paint shone in the light. It wouldn't stay like that though, with the way it swerved in and out of lanes. The thought made her nervous, and she began to scout the next lane over for a lane change.
There was a highway truck behind her, a sleepy eyed driver rubbing at his eyes, trying to stay awake. She began looking for a space with renewed vigor.
The truck in front skidded, slid sideways and slammed into her front. A last glance up into the mirror that miraculously remained intact revealed only the grill of the truck behind her.
She had no last thoughts.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
L wandered the city. He had not slept, had not even eaten. He grew more frustrated as time went on.
Reading. Reading something would take his mind off the unexplainable feelings of unease and despair. A newspaper. A book filched from the recycle. Something.
Ah. A newspaper. Perfect.
The front page held the headline 'Eight dead and Several Injured in Highway Crash'. It wasn't uncommon. Crashes happened everyday. He skimmed the article for the most part. There was an ariel snapshot of the wreck on the left of the page.
But then he read the listings of those dead or injured.
'…Bryan J. Himer, age 18,
Shyrstyne M. Young, age 21,
Jessica S Maltney, age…'
At first, he simply stood there in shock. He felt nothing. He wasn't sure what he should feel, how he should react. Maybe it was a different girl, or maybe there was a messup..
And then there was the denial, the anger. It wasn't her. Why did it have to be her? What did she do?
The tumult of emotions running through him confused him, swelled him up and made him feel as though he were going to explode.
He stood there a long time.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
He looked down at the casket. Her face almost peaceful looking, with closed eyes looking up at him.
He looked down at the paper in his hand, looking it over, absorbing its detail.
Then he set it; face down, atop her hands crossed above her chest. He placed it carefully, with gentleness only a child can muster, before he turned… and left.
He never looked back.
The family were, beneath their grief, confused by this strange boy. They didn't touch the paper though. The date, and messy scribbles on the back, made it clear whose it was.
On the side facing down, there was a picture.
"You're pretty good at that." L commented, peering over her arm at the paper. On it was a dragon, fierce and proud, it's claws outstretched.
"Thanks." She replied, smiling.
"Do you think you could draw me?" He asked, purely out of curiosity.
"I could try." She answered. Flipping to a new page, she adjusted her position to face him. She moved her knees to the left, so she could see him better, and leaned back against the arm of the bench,
They spent hours like that, talking as she drew. She spent extra time on it, making sure every detail was in place before declaring it finished.
She showed it to him, and told him that she was going to hang it in her aparetment, so that she could see him if they could meet in person.
He nodded, and she scribbled the date on the back, like she did with all her pictures, and took it home that night.
L realized only one thing.
He'd never cried for her.
That was okay.
She didn't want him to.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Lights face appeared above him, a smug grin plastered on it. L cursed himself. For not realizing, for being that one, crucial step behind, for not catching the killer.
His body began to shut down, and his eyes, despite his fighting, slowly slid shut.
Strangely, he felt no pain.
He had to hand it to Light though.
He was one hell of an actor.
He was weightless. Floating. There was something beneath him, supporting him, but at the same time, nothing at all.
Where was he?
A halfway point.
He was dead then.
Yes. It's time to go.
But Kira needed to be stopped..
It's alright L. Others will come. Everything will be all right from Here on Out.
Here on Out-Finished
If you thought this was bad, you should see the rough version in my notebook. It's scary bad.
A 'Friendship-only' fic. It is a tad AU, as it's been a while since I read Deathnote, and it's hard for me to keep facts straight. A What-If scenario, if you please.
Yes, it's basically a self-insert. Don't kill me. I was literally losing sleep over this (because I wasn't writing it), and in the end, I deemed it good enough to submit (not that it takes much).
IAWDWI