The computer is sick. L sat on the floor looking up at it. He was on the floor because his chair had broken. It didn't actually break, but rather Light had thrown it down on the floor in some absurd fit of anger. L had called him Kira again, true, but to break his chair….? There were other chairs in the investigation room, but they didn't spin around. So, he sat on the floor.

He could hear the popping noises the circuits were making. The gentle whirring was no longer there, replaced by snapping sort of sound that digital popcorn would make. His were the only ears privy to this sound; everyone was asleep. The night glow of the screen lit the underside of the desk, to reveal a spider. L doubted it cared what kind of noise his CPU made. For all it knew, that noise was from its young being fried. A malicious feeling came to him suddenly. It once was unusual for him to experience things such as those he spent his time catching, but it was becoming more frequent. If your spiders are there, they deserve to be electrocuted. Did you send them to slow me down? A pause. Perhaps you are working for Kira.

L stopped himself from continuing further on this train of thought. He squeezed his eyes and shook his head. L's eyes felt cold and stung when he closed them. His neck and back were sore from fifty-three hours spent sitting crouched, rarely stretching, over his computer, staring up at the monitor. It didn't run as quickly as it had a few days before. Perhaps it was their fight.

Light knocked him over as he had been tracing patterns on the tiles. L stood and remarked that the tray he had hit held numerous knives, any one of which could have fallen and either seriously injured or killed him. Light grabbed his shirt and kneed L in the chest, sending him backwards into his favourite computer. So many violent tendencies…. L began to wonder if he was purposely provoking Light into attacking him. Why? he asked himself. When an individual intentionally provokes another individual, it could be a sign of- wanting to prove a point. Another voice interrupted him. What point would that be? That Light is, in fact, Kira. He is. Why would I need to provoke him? Before his other side could bring up an irrefutable point, he stopped listening. If he was going to cause a problem for himself, he would do it through his poor health. As he stared at the web page that had just loaded, his eyes became unfocused.

What if I were in the Internet? What would it look like, I wonder? A tunnel of blue and purple and white, swirling about like wires, smears of green gracing the background.

Would it be sweet, I wonder, If I could taste it? It would taste sour and sharp, like a nine volt battery at first. There would be an aftertaste that would be not altogether sweet, but far from bitter, like watery fruit tea, or maybe coloured milk.(blue milk…)
Flavoured milk?
Flavour is too specific. Colour is far more ambiguous and better to describe with.
They never taught us to describe taste with colour.
Nor will they. The colour of the taste is the colours you see when you close your eyes while eating.


How would life be if one could live there? (Don't we?) There would be many alleyways to rest in, no one there. They wouldn't see you unless you wanted them to. There's no one to hurt anyone but themselves. They have justice of their own kind to apply to themselves, so they need no one to wrack himself dead, living without sleep or food or breaks or trust. No one need die to keep others safe, unless it is there wish.
What do you mean?
It is a death planned to make one's life seem purposeful.
Isn't that a lie?
Not to those who lie to themselves. It's an inner truth.
But not all inner truths are lies. Some are intuition.
Is it intuition that tells you to die slow and alone to keep others alive?
It is Watari. It is my self. It is the people dying who cry they need to be saved.
Who will save you? Oh, you think you will save you. How can you save yourself if there are so many others?
Are you saying we are wrong?
The world has been wrong for centuries, evolving from religious sacrifice to self-sacrifice to those who do some good for those who do not wholly deserve it. They do not see it as sacrificing themselves.
I am not.
See?
So it is you who dies. You who are the….inner consciousnesses (Is that right? Yes.) that live, advising silently to make the better path, and die without need of being dead.
We die when they die. I die as you die. Many people who live never are able to hear their inner consciousness. Most who do tend to ignore them. The rest argue and rationalize with them, as you are attempting to do.
Are you my inner voice of reason and self?
Haven't we been through this?
Are you?
Yes.
Then, logically, others' voices are reflections of themselves.
Correct.
So let me ask…are there bad voices?
No. It is the individual's rationalization of the self's ideas, or their rebelling against them.
I see. So… My work will not…..
No. This is what I have been trying to tell you.

What colour is the taste of a strawberry milkshake?

The computer made popping noises, the monitor hissed, and the room went dark. L's computer had shut down.

"I don't remember the colours……"

This is only a tragedy if you realize what's happened here. And don't tell me you've never had a conversation like this. Everyone's felt fatalistic at one point or another.