Seeing Red
The sun filtered down beneath the tree branches, casting bright dapples in the long grass below. A bee buzzed lazily over the face of the sleeping woman who lay on the picnic blanket, before settling on an open jar of strawberry jam. Pigeons flapped clumsily over the park, shattering the peace with their raucous squawking.
The toddler craned his neck to look at his mother. She was sound asleep, book in hand, and did not look like she would be waking up soon. That was lucky; if he was caught she would probably yell at him, as she often did.
He sat up and slid out of his pram, landing with a thud on the grass. He had already worked out how to undo all the belts and straps. They were no problem.
The boy straightened up. He had recently mastered standing, and was now on to walking. He didn't understand why his mother got mad at him when he decided to go for a walk on his own. He was a big boy now, and could take care of himself.
The child took a few wobbly steps away from his mother. He was quite small for his age, and had a shock of black hair that stuck up in every direction, even when it had been brushed down.
In a way, this could also describe the toddler, if one were to read it as a rather clumsy metaphor. He had boundless energy and fierce intelligence, an unfortunate combination which drove his parents to distraction. No matter how much he was shouted at or smacked, he did what he wanted, even if he knew it was wrong. He simply refused to submit to his parents' wishes.
Presently, the boy managed to totter a few steps, before tripping over his own feet. Refusing to be discouraged, he picked himself up and tried again. This process was repeated a few times, before he finally gave up and remained lying face down in the grass.
He stayed like that for a few minutes, letting the sun's warmth soak into him. He closed his eyes, and was on the verge of falling asleep when something landed with a splat a few feet away from him.
He sat up and stared at the object, then crawled closer to get a better look. The thing—or rather things, were red and jelly-like, and reminded the boy of the strawberry jam he loved so much. He picked up a stick and poked one of them, and it wobbled a bit.
The toddler suddenly got the urge to pick the objects up, even though he knew it was dangerous. He grasped the red things in his chubby fingers. They slid about in his palm, smearing his hand with a gloopy reddish liquid. For reasons he was unable to comprehend, the little boy was overcome with the irrepressible urge to bring the things up to his eyes—
The streets of Los Angeles were swarming with people, all oblivious to the young man who watched them from the shadows. He scanned the space above their heads, trawling through the seething sea of names and numbers for a suitable victim.
It was, Beyond Birthday supposed, fortunate that his favourite colour was red. It was the colour of blood, pain, anger, hatred, and strawberry jam; all the things Beyond craved and thrived upon. It was also the colour of everything—at least for him. He viewed the world through a film of crimson. Once, he had asked his best friend, A, if this was normal, and A had responded that no, it certainly was not. That had told Beyond thing: he was special. Not freakish or weird or strange. Special.
He could not remember when he had become special and acquired the power to see names and lifespans—he just assumed he'd been born with it. All he knew was that his world had become one hell of a lot redder after A had died, even more so since the murder of Believe Bridesmaid.
None of that mattered anymore, though. Soon, the serene crimson and simmering anger would turn to searing scarlet and flaming rage, and L would be beaten and the fire would consume him and he could be with A again. It was slightly frustrating that he couldn't stick around to see the results of his handiwork, but he had more important things to worry about.
Beyond's mouth curled into a twisted parody of a smile and he fingered the knife in his pocket. A girl named Quarter Queen had just walked past, and she had one day left.
A/N: Didn't I say I'd write a fanfic for B since I was so mean to him in the last one? :D But this morning I realised I had made a huge mistake with "Mistletoe"-if Mello and Matt are thirteen then A should be dead and B should have run away, so I apologise for that. x) Anyway, this is how I think B got the Shinigami eyes, because I couldn't see how he could have been born with them. Isn't mini-B a terrifying concept? 0.o