AN: I don't own Death Note (duh). First chappie is short, I know. Bear with me, I'm building to something here.
cheers
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/Hello, Nathan…/
/You know he can't understand you, yet. You know that, right?/
/Bonjour, Nathan. Je t'aime…tu es ma vie…tu es mon monde…tu es mon univers…/
/Lee…now I don't understand you./
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-Marseille, France-
They had been upfront with him when she died. They had not minced words, they had not sugar-coated anything, and they certainly had not been understanding. They told him that his mother was dead and considered themselves cleared of their responsibility for him.
The boy, being but a year old, could not recall his father's name or whereabouts, and when all options at contacting other family members were exhausted, the authorities made the child a ward of the country and shipped him off to the closest orphanage. They sold the apartment and most of his possessions at auction, and subsequently forgot about the small, cowering child they had rescued from near abandonment.
The boy did not forget. He remembered the people who had come into his home when the other tenants had finally complained about the smell of his decaying mother. He remembered clinging futilely to a figurine and a blanket as they picked him up and carried him out. He remembered them explaining to him just what was going on, and he remembered being irked because they seemed to think he did not understand the situation. He remembered it all.