Disclaimer: I don't in any way own any part of Death Note, as cool as it would be if I did, and as much as I wish I did. (Cool, yet mildly disturbing...)
*Warning* Contains spoilers if you have yet to see the end of the anime. You have been warned.
Behold.
Behold God.
God and his Hand of Judgment.
In this World, the Pen is truly Mightier than the Sword.
That is what he calls himself, and who are we to deny it?
Light Yagami: God, God of Death.
You may be wondering many things, questions such as
Why? How? What happened?
There are many various answers to these questions.
Why? It is the Will of God.
How? He raised his Judging Hand and entered our world.
What happened?
This is a hard question to answer. So little and yet so much has happened since that calm, brisk school morning. One small action, little thought, and Hell is upon us. People have died. Are you scared?
Light was not.
He picked up that Death Note on a mere whim, a curious thought. It was all a foolish game, until, that is, he realized the reward for winning. That was the day his fate was sealed. That day, he became a God, all the while nothing more than another piece on the chessboard of a Shinigami's favourite game.
Light was addicted to his newfound power before he even had a taste. In his mind, his fragile, human mind laid a world of justice and peace. He wished to make it a reality.
I ask you, is that wrong? A young man with a dream for a better world, and he aimed to make it come to life, no matter what the cost was. He knew in the back of his mind what it really was, and he was prepared. Courageous, no? Bold? Heroic? Godly? The road to this dream is so much more glamorous until you think of where it goes.
Then again, is everything not give and take in this world? In order to obtain happiness, must not one suffer? To give a life, must not one be taken? A never-ending, exchanging circle. However, not all are ready to accept the price of their dreams. Light was.
One sinful soul after another, it never ended. Ink, paper, blood: these were his only weapons. Is it not amazing how something so small can take so much? How one person can change the world? It truly is. But also horrifying.
Some are moved by this road to a new world, taken in by its intoxicating promises of a fair life. However, they fail to see the truths. Life would not be life were it fair. Justice would not be justice were there no sin. There would be no Heaven were there no Hell.
Others are terrified of this road; they cringe from the bloody trail it follows, the odor of the corpses aligning it. They believe in their hearts they know what can and cannot be done, what should and should not be let alone. They know not to meddle in the matters of a God.
Lastly, there are some who stand still at the crossroad. They are unsure which path is right, which is wrong. Judging one's sins, does our God not do the same? However, rather than death, he punishes with a lifetime of suffering amongst smoke. Is this new way of the Shinigami's treasured notebook a much sweeter way to pay? Especially when a peaceful world follows?
On the other hand, to take the duties of God into your own hands? Who are we to judge another life, to take it away? Who are we to consider ourselves equals among our Creator? A world of fear and hypocrisy: that is all that would truly follow.
The human mind is a fragile thing, do you not agree? It is what sets us apart from all the animals and creatures roaming this world. Our intelligence and emotions: that is what makes us human. However, give too much of one, not enough, or just a change, and all is lost. Tragedy, curiosity, doubts, these factors are some among many that have the ability to twist our very thoughts and warp our beliefs. Despite what you might want to believe, though, they are still human. Society just does not define them so. Once their mind has snapped, all else shatters. It is over.
It is over.
All over.
Over.
The end.
Look here.
Behold.
Behold God.
He who Judges us, who lays along his own staircase to Nothingness. They are stained with his blood.
Gaze into his shadowed eyes as the last flickers of life in them slowly fade. Look at the boy's face, now look past it, into his dying heart, his warped soul. Do you see his dreamland? Do you see his loves and dreams? No? Death and destruction have clouded the window to his spirit. No one now can see his dream. No one can share the bliss.
It is over.
All over.
Far away, yet not so far off, a young woman is gazing upon the site of her beloved's death. She cannot see it, but a voice in her heart tells her the truth. Her heart aches, her mind is numb, but no tears come. For her, her love, Light Yagami, died long ago.
Closer yet, but still far off, a small child sits on the hard, cold floor of an abandoned warehouse. He is surrounded in blood and toys. He had succeeded; he had won. Kira was dead. So was L. This is the cost of victory. Do you think he knew it would taste so bitter? So much lost for one lost soul.
Even closer, but not quite there, a group of men stands. They are searching for Light. No, they are searching for Kira, the killer. One man, a bit younger than the others, stands out, do you not think so? As the others, he is splattered with blood, but he also drips with tears. Those tears, who do you think they were shed for? Light? His father? All those who died? Maybe himself? No, rather, the killer's late father. The only one who was willing to fall headfirst into the lies. He was the only one who refused to believe the truth, no matter how brightly it shined before his eyes. He had loved his son more than he had hated Kira.
Let us go back to the departing boy. Ah, you notice Light is no longer alone. Before him stands the winner of this twisted game of chess. Before him stands his enemy, his friend, L. Two very alike spirits side by side. This will be the final time they see one another, for Light is going to a place few else can. He is going somewhere special: nowhere.
Look up at the sky. It looks like another is leaving for somewhere unique. Ryuk the Shinigami. He was the one who began this game, changed this world. He was the one who poured the blood down the stairs with a mere stroke with his pen. In truth, he was the only player. Everyone else was just a pawn of his boredom.
You are still watching him depart, are you not? Take a good look, for we should never see him again. However, if there is truly a being out there who holds fate in his hands, he is flying off now past the crescent moon. He was merely lingering about to observe his handiwork. He had a small task to complete before he could leave. It is almost complete. The result: Light's death.
Turn back once more to the boy. Gaze upon him one last time. The life is ever so slowly leaving his torn body, dripping down, drop by red, shining drop. His broken mind, shattered beyond repair, lies in a pile of maroon shards at the bottom of the staircase. His hand twitches once more. In the fragments of his thoughts, he is writing one more name down. Kira.
It is over.
Light knows the end is here. He knows it is over, all his hopes and dreams, gone; his whole life is fading away like smoke through his fingers. He does not even attempt to capture it. He knows it is the end. At last, in a world of injustice and unfairness and suffering, he shuts it all out. He closes his eyes one last time. He takes a final, shallow breath. Then it is gone.
Light is dead.
All is silent except for the soft trickling of his blood down the stairs.
Drip.
Drip.
It is over.
All over.
Drip.
Drip.
It truly has been interesting.
But now it is over.
Drip.
Drip.
Over.
Behold our God.
Sayonara.