~ What would come, would come… and you would have to meet it, when it did.
…
The dice were normal-sized, six-sided, and white with black dots. The dots were perfectly centered; the dots of each opposing side adding up to seven, just as they should. There was nothing unusual about them. Beside them, the dominoes were in a similar condition; white with black dots and bars in the center to separate the dots sets properly. They were all in order, all perfectly arranged. All of the dies' sides with six dots faced the east wall, the one dotted side towards the west. The dominoes were stacked neatly around the tall towers of dice, almost like a wall.
And in the child's mind, that's exactly what it was. The dominoes made up the wall that surrounded the castle, and the die made up the walls of the castle itself. It was beautifully crafted, stacked up over four feet high, complete with towers, holes for windows, and little bits of cardboard to hold up the 'floating' die where they ought to rest to complete the picture.
One pale hand reached out and pulled one dice from the very bottom corner of the castle.
Dark gray eyes watched carefully as the entire display came crashing down, the noise loud enough to be heard through the white, empty walls. The die and dominoes scattered erratically and without any sense of direction or order. Plastic collided with plastic and sent the individual pieces scattering under the tables that lined the walls of the large room. The papers that rested previously undisturbed on the floors were shoved away from their previous spot without much fanfare, the force enough to push them into the air slightly, and send them fluttering down in a battle of gravity versus air friction and pressure. The die and dominoes mainly centered in the place were they had proudly stood before, and around the child's legs and feet where he sat on the floor, one knee pulled up to his chest protectively.
When everything settled, those dark eyes blinked once, slowly, and the boy's other hand came down from where it had been twirling his white hair. He reached over to his right and those long, spindly fingers grasped a box and pulled it towards him. He opened it and shuffled the cards inside, and when two fell from his hands, his eyes traveled downward.
The death and the tower. Change and death, respectively. While the tower was never a good card to receive, the death card wasn't always so bad, despite people's assumptions. He stared at them, not betraying a hint of his emotions, which were in a whirlwind of grief and hesitant acceptance.
While L's death was an old wound, when Near confronted it again, it flared to life, beginning to bleed almost as badly as it had four and half years before. Coupled with the loss of Mello and Matt, Near had to take a moment to close his eyes from the sight of the death card and the tower, suddenly hating what they represented. Fury was roused within him, at Kira, at Matt and Mello, at L, at Roger, at his team, and most especially, at himself. Oh, yes, the cards were right- thousands of people were dead, and what Kira had done to the world would change it forever. There was no going back.
Near wished, desperately, illogically, that he could. That time could and would reverse, back to 2004 when Kira first rose to power and L left. Or, better yet, even farther back, when B and A were the main competitors at Wammy's House and Near had nothing to worry about except when he would bother to eat next or when his homework was due or how long he had left until the next big exam. When he wasn't so important, when there wasn't this big weight on his shoulders, when he wasn't bullied by Mello and the other students alike because of jealousy. When he didn't feel so alone.
He opened his eyes and stared at the cards again. Since when did those cards not apply, to something, somewhere, somehow?
He just wished it didn't apply to him.
He blinked again, and then sighed. He shifted a little where he sat, trying to get the blood to flow through his legs and winced when it worked. He reached for the cards and they rejoined the others, then were slid back into their box and placed gently on the floor next to the albino.
The time for grieving was over. It was time to get over it and move on. It was time to take up the name of L and rebuild the once glorious reputation that the symbol once bore and Kira tore down ruthlessly and without remorse. It was time to get started. It was time, it was time, it was time…
But Near couldn't find the will or the energy to move from his spot. The room was isolated and plain, devoid of any sort of energy from the outside world. The air was not so suffocating, and there were no people to stare at him like he was some animal that was undiscovered. The air in here was cold and clean and, while not entirely fresh, it wasn't full of death and grief and pain. It was easier to breathe, easier to gather his thoughts and his energy.
The problem was, he didn't even have any will to do even that simple task. It was like, when Kira was caught; finally, every loss and every broken spirit came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He buckled under the weight, because it was such a jumbled mess of confusion that he had no idea where to start rebuilding. He had no one to turn to ask, either, because everyone who might've had an idea was dead. L and Wammy were gone four years ago, and Mello and Matt have been dead for a few weeks now. A and B had died before and in the beginning of the Kira case, respectively. Roger was the only one left to run the orphanage, and Near knew he had enough on his plate, because L, Matt, Mello, and Wammy had been dear to him, too.
Near felt his eyelids begin to fall closed, an automatic reaction to the frustrated tears he could feel prickling in the back of his eyes. Sitting in the blank, empty room, all alone, really and truly alone for the first time in his life, he was forced to admit to himself that while he was certainly smart enough, he was too emotionally and socially crippled to be the successor L deserved. Mello, for all his faults, would have been a better choice. And Matt, an even better one than Mello, had he had the drive to reach his full potential.
But those thoughts were no use to anyone. As much as he hated it, as much as it wished it weren't true… he was the only one left that could clean up the mess that Kira had left behind. It was time to get up and move on. To leave Wammy's House and her occupants behind, his childhood and his dead friends to rest. His demons of the past could no longer haunt him, because though he was hurting, the world was hurting more, and the world needed him more than he needed to wallow him his own selfish, useless emotions. It was time to read on past the chapters of the orphanage and of Kira's horrifying reign, and see what else the book had to provide.
Resolved, Near stood and turned towards the door, stepping over the die and dominoes around his feet with ease.
And when he reached that door and stepped through the entryway, closing the door behind him, if he felt the boy named Nate River die a little bit more than before, he gave no indication, and he did not look back.
Don't you love it, when after weeks and weeks of no inspiration, a plot bunny whacks you over the side of your head while you're cleaning the kitchen? That's what happened to me, and the pots and pans are still dirty because of it. I blame Near. :) Reviews?