- If I'm Ever Back This Way -
This is a short little piece I wrote at work today (well a few days ago now; I didn't know if I should post it or not.) to alleviate my boredom. Yes, maybe I should have been doing my job but I'm an incredibly irresponsible bastard. For those that haven't finished reading/watching Death Note: this contains spoilers.
--EΩG
In a quiet valley in the English countryside stood a modest stone church. On a late June evening the setting sun would cast a magnificent orange glow over the empty fields and the stain-glass windows would shine with pride. Ancient trees stood strongly around the surrounding walls like ever faithful guardians trying to protect its fragile beauty. Despite this, visitors were a rarity. Though there was one man who appreciated that fact.
The black Rolls-Royce came to a gradual halt before the gates, which like welcoming arms were open. Inside two men conversed briefly then the back door opened. A young man dressed in immaculate white clothing climbed out. Gently he shut the door behind him as he took in his surroundings. With his tiny presence he left the area undisturbed as he walked to the graveyard.
He walked with his gaze hung towards the path and a hand in his hair. Hair which was as white as the clothes on his back. It took little time for him to reach his destination; he shifted his clear, empty eyes towards two graves no more than a few months old. He stepped towards them and sat on the narrow strip of grass that separated the two friends who lay there. For a few minutes he just sat in the gentle caress of the breeze, bathed in the warm orange glow listening to the whispering trees.
"I apologise for not coming sooner."
He became silent as he watched the sporadic dance of the blades of grass in front of him.
"Kira is dead... We couldn't have done it without your assistance. Thank you, Mihael, Mail."
"...I'll come see you again."
***
The sun continued to rise and fall. The clouds rolled endlessly across the sky and the white haired man visited like clockwork. Over the years he sat and talked to them longer; often telling them more than he did the living.
"Perhaps you already know that Rodger died recently. I don't know how I'll cope without him... he was an exceptional Watari. That reminds me; I visited Wammy's not too long ago. The most promising student holds quite the resemblance to you Mihael."
***
Just like the leaves of the trees the old man came back. The man who's hair was as white as it was decades ago stood before the graves. His eyes however were no longer cold and empty; they were tired and held a great sadness.
"You'll forgive me if I don't sit with you this time; my knees aren't in the best condition."
"...I've stood down as L. Faux Mello gladly accepted the title. He's doing incredibly well."
***
He didn't return the following year. For a few months, drenched in the warm glow and the great guardians whispering around him, he has been by their side. Forever in the company of his only friends.
Two died as criminals. One died unknown to the world. Three heroes now forgotten.