So... as it says. The Wammy's House Union has a set of ten challenges for B too, so here are some of mine. The list:
01.barrier（障壁、越え難い壁）
02.being（存在、存在すること）
03.bale（災い、破滅、苦痛、悲惨、悲しみ）
04.backup（予備の、代替の）
05.belief（信じること、信念、確信）
06.blaze（炎、火炎）
07.blind（目くらまし）
08.bloody（血なまぐさい、残酷な）
09.boyhood（少年時代）
10.break（壊す、壊れる)
Bolded are, of course, the one's I've written so far.
Boyhood
The car was stopped at a red light.
The boy in the backseat pressed his face to the window as he watched the driver of the small car to their left. The driver was young, about twenty perhaps, and there was something unusual about the numbers above her head.
Or rather, the number. There was only one, and it was falling fast.
The boy was interested. Though he was long since used to seeing the numbers and names above people's heads, he'd never seen what happened when the numbers ran out before. He was silently hoping the light would stay red just a little longer—just until the number made it all the way down to—
And then too many things happened at once. The light changed, and both cars started forward, but almost immediately there was a huge jolt. It took the boy—and everyone else, really, a few seconds to realize what had happened.
A semi had driven through the red light, crashing straight into the woman's car and pushing it into the boy's. Luckily, the woman's car had absorbed most of the force and none of the boy's family was hurt.
Well—that was only lucky for them.
When the police arrived, it took them only a few minutes to pull the woman out of her car. Shaking, the boy tried to catch a glimpse of her face as they did so. He already suspected—but that couldn't, it couldn't be that—
The number above her head was gone.
Her name was as gone well.
She was pronounced dead at the moment of impact.
Terrified tears sprung to the boy's eyes, and in a few seconds he found himself sobbing like a baby. Immediately his parents ran to him and scooped him up in a tight hug.
"It's all right, sweetie," his mother murmured, caressing his hair. "It's fine. Mommy and Daddy are fine. You're fine. Shh…"
She had four numbers left.
The boy shook his head, clinging to her desperately. No. No, no, that wasn't going to happen, that couldn't happen to his mother… No…
"C'mon, Beyond," his father added. "You're six years old now. Be a big boy. No more crying, okay?"
Two numbers.
His father only had two numbers left.
Almost choking with the strength of his sobs, the boy threw himself around his father's neck and resolved never to let go, never. No… no…
His father gave a light sigh. "…Why don't we go get some ice cream?" he offered. "Maybe that'll cheer you up a bit."
Two things. One: Beyond is such an odd name.
Two: I do not profess to know how the numbers of one's lifespan work. I heard a theory once that they indicate the number of hours a person has left to live, but as that theory gives Light some 4,145 years of life, I disregarded that theory. La.