I do not own Death Note. I do, however, own the unknown character "I".

A Cellist's Revenge

My fingers wrote out every curve in the name. The paper absorbed the ink, letting it set in. My fine tipped pen scratched ever so slightly against the rough paper, bleeding emerald ink in the notebook. I could see the features clearly in my mind. Every curve, every dip, every rise: I could see them all.

The pen stopped. The name was finished and my maniacal smirk uncurled and faded. In its place I spoke to myself calmly. "The news shouldn't have much about this. Why should they? No one would see any connection…"

I placed the black, leather-bound notebook into a compartment for music in my cello case. The pouch was unknown to everyone; even I hadn't discovered it until its possession had been mine for a year.

The corner of my mouth curled, dragging my nostril with it and displaying my sinister teeth. I laughed a smoky chuckle that evolved into a hyena's cackle.

"This is what we have been waiting for."

…

I turned on the national news. For a week my grin had faded and for a week my eyes had lost all light. The announcer came back on with a subtitle in bold, white lettering appearing on the bottom scroll. "Famous Composers and Conductors Worldwide Found Dead."

My lips curled back, a wolf that had fooled all by dawning sheep's wool. I turned on my computer and plugging in a black USB drive simultaneously. The windows loaded and I followed the same steps I rehearsed so many times. Though this time, lead actor was missing. Hazy laughter erupted in my throat as I reached for a CD.

Tremulous hands placed it into the disk drive and shoved it closed. My fingers twisted the knob on the speaker until it could move no further. I clicked play.

There was no sound, no tracks. It was a blank CD.

For my final test, I opened a bright blue link. The screen flashed white and an Error 404 overtook it. The page was not found because it didn't exist. Or at least, not anymore.

I was in hysterics. Nothing could ruin the moment; absolutely nothing. My eyes welled and my cheeks hurt but nothing could end the laughter. It was sinister and disturbing, but so was what I killed.

"Farewell, Pachelbel's Cannon. I'll see you in hell."

Writing time: 20 minutes

Want to see a song with a worse cello line? The first movement of Cappricio Espagnol, bottom line. The only note I get to play through the entire movement is the low A.