The silence before the fall
I hear the bells that toll my life's end. Pealing, wailing- carried upon the wind.
The rain patters down; wet cement, cold air- chilling stare, that flays open my soul.
I lean in, to hear your ringing voice drowned out by the echo of the bells, and the patter of cleansing rain- but your voice just won't come through.
Coming closer, the warmth of your brown eyes grazes across my face, a frown creasing your brow.
"Don't you hear it, the tolling of the bells?" I murmur, voice toneless.
No, of course you don't. You know not the taste of death upon your tongue; acrid and as bitter as defeat- a flavor no amount of sucrose can mask.
You do not know the whispering sounds of the Grim Reaper haunting your every step; the funeral bells chiming to the beat of your pulse.
How can you, God that you are? Immortals do not fear death- they only fear living in a world painted in grey.
That's why they always dabbled in human lives, in the myths and legends.
Loki the trickster god, Athena and her chosen heroes- toying, pitting the pawns against one another in a grand game of chess.
The cosmos must have been particularly bored, when they chose you and I as the marble pieces. The God of a righteous world, squared off against the mortal martyr, who bore the heavy cross upon his bended back.
I can accept the fact that we were cut of the same cloth, but I cannot let you win. Even if it means my demise.
So I will allow this, this one last chance for you to confess as I am kneeled at your feet; cleansing your soles, like Jesus to his precious Judas.
The bells fade away, for only this small moment- when our eyes connect, sepia reflecting grey.
Your flesh is as warm as I remember, a reminder of a time when you were mortal.
And with a tenderness I try not to trust, you mop the rain out of my tangled hair.
There are words, leaning on the precipice of my tongue; perhaps they were a confession of my own. A revelation, that I know who you are, and that against my better judgement, I accept it.
I always knew, and I always wanted you.
My thoughts are scattered to the vast reaches of my mind, when my mobile rings.
The illusion is broken, and my hatred for you returns; roiling in the empty pit of my stomach.
The soft voice on the other end assures me that everything has been set in place- the curtain can now safely descend upon my final act.
I end the call, and the gong tolls loudly- a deafening crash, a bang before all shall be silenced.
I turn back, looking at you through the damp curtain of my hair; a challenge burning in my eyes: Shall we begin?
We come into this world, screaming and wailing- our shrill voices screeching from our tiny lungs, because we have been ripped from our womb of safety, and comfort.
I always wanted to leave this world in much the same fashion; kicking and screaming, clawing at the threads of unfinished work. How is it I can come to rest, when so much putrid filth sullies the pristine life I so cherished?
Of course you give me a most undignified end.
You make me listen to the gurgling cries of a man that I loved like a father, before he collapsed after one last noble accomplishment.
Mid panic, I feel the muscle in my chest constrict; a tight pressure that steals my breath.
And then, I fall.
The tile on the floor is neither hard, nor cold. Well, it probably is, but I do not feel these things- they do not register in a mind once so observant.
I can just make out your face, leering over me. Wide eyes, gradually slanting up along with a twisted grin.
If I could, I would stand and clap and declare, "Bravo, Kira- bravo."
But my heart is stilling, after the mad gallop it took; smashing against my ribs.
There is one final note, the softest chime of all, that reminds me of your voice that had once murmured sweet things in my ear, in the quiet evenings- enveloped in blankets of midnight, and empty promises.
There is a final thought, that never gets to make the leap off the edge of my lips.
A prediction, so to say. And I can see the realization written all over your once triumphant face.
That with out me, your world will be as dull and grey, as my lifeless eyes.
And in the end, it was I who truly won.
End note: Since I just finished watching the episode "Silence" and because I am angst obsessed trash, I bring you this short piece of free form writing through the perspective of L. I left things as ambiguous as my creativity let me in terms of the relationship between L and Light, you can interpret things as you see fit. Drop a comment if you liked what you read; though I know this fandom is old, it's near and dear to my heart and I'd love to chat about theories and such if you want.
Love you all, catch you on the flipside!