Hi this is my first fanfic, so don't be too harsh! Thank you to iheartponyo for helping me get started :)

DISCLAIMER:

I don't own anything that isn't mine, obviously. I don't own death note, nor any other things, apart from my OC! This disclaimer applies all the way through, so you won't see another one again, yay!

Anyhoo, please review!

-Ela

The Worst Things Happen On Mondays

I was suspected as Kira. It had been a completely normal day and then suddenly I was suspected as Kira, my whole world did a backflip and landed upside down.

I worked part-time as a bookshop clerk. It was a simple job, repetitive in the extreme; most of my time was taken up stacking books - rarely would I actually have to interact with others. As an anti-social creature I avoided customers, and would occasionally snatch a book from one of the many creaky wooden shelves and huddle up in a corner. I'd amassed several hiding spots through the shop so none of my colleagues would notice me (essentially) bunking off. Any book would help me escape my reality; I'd delve into fictitious worlds or read up on a wide range of intellectual subjects. I wasn't reading to learn, I was reading to leave my own life.

On that particular day I had wiggled my way into a rather precarious gap between two towering shelves at the back of the shop. I was very aware that every movement I made in that space would potentially lead to my being crushed - but it was the quietest place on the shop floor. These were risks I just had to take to avoid others. I briefly wondered how long it would take for them to notice I was missing, let alone find my dead body. Once more I was flicking through my favourite book of poems; I owned a copy at home, but it was battered from use, this one was fresh off the shelf. Flipping to page 124, I read the familiar verse.

'An honest man here lies at rest,

The friend of man, the friend of truth,

The friend of age, and guide of youth:

Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,

Few heads with knowledge so inform'd;

If there's another world, he lives in bliss;

If there is none, he made the best of this.'

When my shift finished I decided to go shopping. Well, at least to go window shopping; I was sort of frugal with my money.

Snaking between the unconscientious crowd, I made my way to what I deemed to be the best part of the shopping centre (excluding the bookshop of course). I'd take a gallop step every so often during my journey, jumping and using my right hand to pull my jeans back up. These used to be my favourite pair of jeans, but I didn't realise that putting them in the dryer would cause the elastane to degenerate. It felt like I was wearing maternity trousers, and I sure as hell was not pregnant. Every twenty seconds I had to pull my baggy jumper down so my outfit looked appealing, and pull my baggy jeans up so I wouldn't trip over and moon anyone. The only items of clothing on my body I actually appreciated that day were my panda print socks and chunky brown boots. There's a lot to be said for a good pair of boots.

After reaching my favoured area of the shopping centre, I whizzed around the shops. I held my shoulder bag close to my body as I wove through rows of racks, quickly taking in the clothes on display. I worked my way to the trouser section and inspected some possible replacements for the jeans I could feel riding uncomfortably low on my hips. Picking up some bootcut jeans I made my way to the dressing room.

Straightening my arched back and observing myself in the mirror, I was pleased with the result. 'Perfect!' I couldn't believe my luck! They fit well and were strangely the right length for me. Still, I knew to be wary in this shop, 'I swear the lighting they use here is too good. Gives you unreal expectations of how you'll look in the clothing when you're outside of the shop.' slumping back to my usual posture I examined myself. Skinny with muscle, my appearance juxtaposed itself. My feet naturally rested in ballet positions; usually first position - but my back arched like I was eighty. My old ballet teacher would have killed me if she saw me now. '"Stand up straight Michiko!"' I could still feel the harsh vibrations of her voice reverberating through my head, even years later.

Finishing up at the checkout I walked to the toilets, as usual there was a monster queue. Aware of a lady with a stroller approaching, I sneakily slipped into the baby changing room before she could reach it. I mean I was only going to be a minute, I was just changing my jeans.

Unlocking the door, I stepped out. Hastily I stuffed my old jeans into my bag, then swiftly swung the satchel back over my shoulder.

Suddenly shrill screams ruptured through the monotonous sound of chatter. Gunshots accompanied the screams. A melody of chaos.

Before I could even fully cognicise it I was running. Women, men and children all clumped into the small corridor, trying to force themselves out from the bathrooms. A woman got knocked down, without really thinking I shouted at the crowd, "Everyone move calmly, there is no need to panic. Make a space for this woman!". I pulled her back to her feet before she could get trampled, the crowd seeming to only half hear my shouts. 'On second thoughts, when had someone saying 'be calm, there's no need to panic' ever actually worked?' I mused aware that now wasn't really the time to be analysing my word use.

"Thank you." Remarked the woman, surprisingly unruffled.

"No problem." I replied, and with a flick of black hair she had once more merged with the jumbling crowd.

More shots rang out, kids started crying.

"Everyone please make your way to the main exit, don't use the elevators as this is an emergency situation." I could be quite dominating when necessary, I knew I had it within me, but I didn't often act on it.

For a split second I thought of hitting the fire alarms, but those sounds were gunshots; what would happen if someone with a gun in a public place heard alarms? I didn't know what would happen.

Once a small area had cleared I started running.

I ran. I ran fast, but not away from the gathering commotion, towards it. I was thankful for my change of trousers. My fast pace would have been impossible if I were pulling my trousers back up every two strides. My survival instincts were screaming at me to flee. My brain wanted to fight. And always mind over matter. I turned right, forcing my feet to keep me moving towards the sound of a gruff voice yelling. Reaching the entrance I saw a man holding a woman of twenty or so in a headlock, her mouse brown hair sticking to her tear streaked face.

This wasn't right.

More shots rang out, the sound reverberating in the lobby. The bullets pierced the ceiling; dust filled the air, choking the small crowd that had huddled together. Huge chunks of the plaster crumbled, falling onto the shiny floor. Nobody was doing anything about the situation. I elbowed a plump woman to my right and whispered. "Call the police." She removed her mobile phone from her bright pink handbag with an unsteady hand, her head nodding up and down shakily, scared out of her wits. She did as I said, as though I was the voice of reason.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"My name is Fujioka" Her voice was timid.

"Well Ms Fujioka, you tell the police to come straight away, okay? And tell them to bring firearms."

Her head started nodding once more. When I saw her start dialling the number for the police I submerged myself into the crowd, silently pushing people aside until I reached the front. Thoughtlessly I stepped forwards, approaching the mad man with the gun.

"Sir, please put the gun down."

"Who are you? Get back into the crowd or I'll shoot! Get it punk? Bang and she's dead!"

"Yes I understand, so I take it you're not going to put the gun down?" I said slowly, clearly. The man looked like a frightened animal. I cautiously took a step forwards.

"No, I won't, now get back in the crowd, not a move further or else!"

"Please, just-" Bang!

The body fell to the floor. The tear streaked face was now spattered with blood. She looked so peaceful, her expression so different to the fear that had encased her entire being, only moments before. Her hair had fallen around her head, like a halo. She could have appeared asleep if you glanced at her. Although in a way she was asleep, and she wouldn't ever wake up - she didn't deserve that.

I stood staring, that wasn't the first dead body I had seen, but still...

He took one big stride towards me, and then all of a sudden I was in a headlock with a gun pushed up against my head. I never would have imagined this happening. Although it was a Monday, the worst things happen on Mondays. I should have worked out that finding jeans that fit perfectly on the first go would be a bad omen; my day had officially peaked at that moment, and now I was stuck here. I am not scared of death. Even when the barrel of the gun was pressed against my temple, my mind was preoccupied with the well-being of the people surrounding me.

Just then the police filed in, aiming their guns at my captor.

"Don't come nearer or I'll shoot!" He yelled at the police, his voice wobbling, pitch alternating. He knew he wasn't going to get out of the situation unscathed, he was panicking.

"Feel free to shoot at him officers, I don't even care if you hit me! Just please, if you do hit me, aim for the head, make my death painless..."

Steadily annoyance started to build up in me. 'Why on earth did this bastard have to put everybody in danger? Surely he knew that the chance of him pulling off a heist and getting away with it were so minute, that it was hardly worth the bother? Waste of space, garbage human being.'

My hatred towards the man holding me around the neck was increasing, steadily rising, boiling, bubbling, until it finally erupted.

"On the other hand why should I die?" I turned my attention towards the man holding me in place. "You should you piece of trash! You killed an innocent young girl! Give up! Let justice be served! Go and die in a hole!" I spoke confidently, and then lifted my foot up scraping down his shin with my heavy brown boots, then standing on his foot. "DROP DEAD YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

He screamed, his hands retracted from my neck and I stumbled to get behind an officer. When I turned back I saw the mad man clutching at his chest, clawing at his rumpled shirt, his face portraying agonising pain. 'Well serves him right.' I thought. His limbs went limp; body collapsing as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. He was dead.

In a flash the officers had their guns trained on me, as if I was the criminal. Me! They thought I caused him to have a heart attack. They thought I was Kira.