Hello, dear readers. I'm Ruler of Dice and this is my first story for something as popular as Death Note. If you happen to like my writing style and are into creepy pastas and horror, then check out my profile and read my other stories. Leave a review if you have anything to say or want to provide some constructive criticism; I'm all ears. I hope you enjoy.
Warning: This story contains Self Harm, Mentions of Suicide, and Mild Language. If you are under the age of thirteen, or are uncomfortable with any of these things, then I do not suggest reading this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. It belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.
Everyone has an addiction, even if they don't wanna admit it. This rule especially applies to the residents of Wammy's House, the abandoned geniuses picked up from orphanages across the world. Kinda makes sense; all addictions are connected to loss in one way or another. And trust me when I say this, those at Wammy's have experienced more loss than anyone else in the world.
Let's start with the best of the best, the most famous product of Wammy's: L. None of us have seen his face, but we all know he has a sweet tooth the size of Russia. All day, every day; cake, candy, and cream. Everyone thinks that eating nothing but sugar is just an idiosyncrasy. Another classic quirk of a genius, just like what we all have.
But they're totally wrong. Can you imagine what being the greatest detective in the world is like? All those cases: murders, robberies, kidnappings, rapes. That poor bastard has seen all the rotting muck this planet has to offer and faced it head on. Every ounce of good has been sucked out of his life, and he hardly had a choice in the matter. And does he have anyone to talk to about all that? No, 'cause all his time is spent looking into crimes around the world. I think it created a very large hole in his heart. What better way to try and make up for it than to fill that hole with literal sweetness, am I right?
Delicious flavor that meets his tongue with ever bite, washing away the sins of the world for one brief moment. A simple distraction from the hell he lives in. Fleeting moments of unquantifiable innocence, soon killed by the bitter flavor of despair.
If he keeps it up, he might just keel over and die one of these days.
Next I'll talk about his first successor, A. I don't remember much about him since I was a bit young when he killed himself, but I do remember that he was fascinated with sharp objects. If it could draw blood, then you'd most likely be able to find it in his room with enough looking. No matter how many times they tried confiscating those items, they'd always end back up in his possession. Obsession had taken over him to the point where he'd cry like a baby whenever his room was searched. Wammy officials thought it was just a phase. I realized the truth when I was older.
Every single day he was given old cases and told to work on them. Night after night he stayed up, solving and solving until he was drained and numb. Maybe he hated that numbness. Maybe he thought the only way to get rid of it was to force himself to feel something, anything at all. Then the day came where that wasn't enough; the stress became too much for him to bear.
Stinging pain, sweet sensation caused by a blade. Finally, finally, some feeling. Proof that he exists, proof that this isn't all there is in life. Then it was gone. No, No, it can't be gone. Just one more time, just one more time, please...
Too bad no one saw the signs and saved him.
After that incident, B was designated L's next successor. I remember him a bit more than A. Funny, though, I don't know what he really looks like. His addiction was pretending to be other people. Really odd, I know. He was so good at it that we'd often confuse him for whoever he was impersonating. Any length was taken to make sure he kept up his illusions. There was more make-up and hair dye in his bathroom than in a teenage girl's. To make sure he imitated his subjects perfectly, he'd stalk them for a whole week. And you wouldn't know it until you went to the cafeteria and saw that your long lost twin had taken your seat.
One day L called him in for a personal meeting; that night, B ran away. Meeting the person he always strived to be probably caused him to snap. Something told him that he's never be able to live up to the standard set by L. So why not surpass him in a different way? Why not become the greatest criminal in the world?
Think of all the time he spent perfecting his plan, mastering the L persona, tricking the FBI. Beyond Birthday might not be a success, but this second, more sinister L would be. Just one last step, then the ultimate victor will be clear.
Unfortunately, the flames of his final battle were extinguished before he could obtain the one thing he always wanted.
Near is now the most likely candidate for L's job. He's a bit of a mystery, mostly because he keeps to himself. The other kids think the little albino's emotionless, but that's just because they're unobservant. He shows off emotion from time to time: a prideful smirk, an irritated scowl. What no one understands is, as one of L's successors, the ability to control his emotions is a good quality to have. Cold calculations can't be done if raw feeling is clouding one's mind, y'know.
He had to grow up. We all did, really. Childhood was taken from him the moment he stepped through the gate surrounding our little world. So to try and retain what he had lost, he constantly plays with toys. Usually, when we turn thirteen, our childish toys get taken away and replaced by textbooks. Near was clever enough to say that keeping his hands busy "helped him think". And far be it from Wammy's House to get in the way of one of their brightest's thought process.
Back and forth, back and forth, the wheels of a small car go. Piece by piece, a blank puzzle is put together. Eyes closed for a second, he finds home. And it's far away from this place. Two different desires pull at him; it's the success as L versus safety in childhood. It is a tough choice, but one that doesn't need to be decided right now, thankfully.
Sometimes I wonder if he really has what it takes, or if he'll just become nothing.
Going down the line, we're finally at Mello. He's a friend of mine, though we're not too close, but whatever. I try to avoid him when he gets angry, which happens a lot. The blonde absolutely hates the fact that Near gets more respect than he does. Might be because he's a temperamental little shit while Near doesn't openly antagonize anyone. Although lately everyone's noticed something different about Mello. A chocolate bar seems to be taking constant residence in his hand. Rumor has it that he eats chocolate only because he wants to try and imitate L's sweet tooth. I personally believe that's a load of bull.
Everyone should know that chocolate is a symbol for love. Now this might sound far-fetched, but I think Mello sates some instinctual desire for love with chocolate. Being in this god-forsaken institution won't net you a lot of love, so that's the only way he can get any. His need to be loved is so strong that he'd do anything it took to become L, to earn the admiration of all at Wammy's House. Until that day comes, he'll just have to make do with chocolate bars that leave him after a few minutes.
A single bite brings that unknown rush in. He doesn't know what the hell it is, but it feels good. For that moment he can be happy, not angry or depressed because of some stupid test results. Being L will feel like this, only it'll be permanent and a thousand times better.
I hope he doesn't end up like B or, even worse, A.
Lost innocence; lost feeling; lost sanity, childhood, love. Now you all are probably wondering about me. What am I addicted to? What have I lost? Why do I try to regain what I had with my addiction?
Stop asking those stupid questions and just listen already.
I'm Matt, but since we're getting into some deeply personal stuff, you guys can call me Mail Jeevas. To be honest, my life has been fairly decent for a Wammy's kid. I was never in the run for being L, so I was trained in various technological fields in hopes of becoming one of L's tools. Before coming to Wammy's I was in and out of foster homes in the UK. My school grades were good enough to get me transferred to the House, so here I am.
But let me tell you a little secret. I've always been an observer. I watch people and analyze them, partially because it's fun. But the main reason I do it is so I can find the answer to what makes them go on. Whatever it is, I don't have it. Each day I listlessly carry out whatever task is asked of me, dancing around like a marionette controlled by some messed up puppeteer. All this observing is what made me notice all the addictions around me. So I came up with an idea: start an addiction of my own and I might find that spark of life.
The first thing that came to my mind was cigarettes. Nicotine is of the most addictive substances, so why not? I snuck out on a cold winter's night and found a bum selling loose cigs for a warm meal. He was even kind enough to provide a lighter.
From the very first drag I was hooked. Every week I sneak out and buy more, even though it doesn't give me exactly what I'm looking for. It provides something so much better. I don't even know how describe it, all I know is that it's satisfying.
Seeking that special piece of life I see everyone else carry is pointless. I now know that I'll never get it. My addiction isn't fixated on something I lost because you can't lose something you never had, can you? No, my addiction surrounds the idea of something I want to lose: my life. If I die, I won't have to deal with this emptiness anymore. I'm too much of a coward to straight up off myself, so I'll just slowly shave the years off my life. Each cigarette is my ticket to paradise, and boy do I enjoy the ride.
The filter in my lips, I let the smoke wander into my lungs and stain them black. An exhale lets me see a piece of my life drift off, and I can't help but smile like an idiot. The cycle repeats, breath after breath, and it'll keep going until Death finally decides to visit me. I'm almost there, man, almost there.
With any luck, this cigarette will be my last.