I do not own Death Note.
Title: Memoirs of a Murderer
Summary: Light Yagami explored in 25 prompts; who he was and is.
Word Count: 4,801 words
Pairings: N/A
Warnings: AU
Pretext for this story: Ryuk allows Light to live, however Light is sentenced to death anyway.
...
If Only
The irony of this situation makes him laugh … or maybe it's not irony really, but some twisted form of repentance. The ceiling is a mesh of greys and blues with thin wisps of similar hues floating out in all directions and Light cannot tell if it is because of the haze of tears that the ceiling is blurring or if his eyesight is degenerating but quite frankly, Light is not concerned with something so mundane, so trivial right now. As of right now, Light wants death and it's sweet, yet cold embrace and the blessed silence that accompanies it but even after Ryuk's little speech, it has evaded him mysteriously.
Pity, perhaps is the reason, Light concludes, Ryuk has allowed him to live. How uncharacteristic.
No, he's mistaken (what a rarity that is for him—Gods can't be mistaken, but he can't be a God right now because Gods aren't defeated either), there's one thing he wants more than death.
He'd like to be that bored, that depressed teenager again aching for something interesting to stumble upon him and sweep away the languor in his life; in all honesty, he would much rather find himself with unoccupied and exhausted than in pain (the gunshot wounds, the headache, the dizziness, the nausea, the revulsion from blood that is causing his clothes to adhere sickeningly to his sweat-soaked skin … ) and stripped of dignity and pride. He would unquestioningly trade this loneliness for boredom, because then he'd be innocent, then he wouldn't be so fucking helpless,then he'd be alive (not that he's dead now, but he can't foresee himself living for much longer—if a heart attack won't claim him, then blood loss will) and most importantly of all, his most precious belonging—his pride—would still be in his possession.
If only to be that teenager again.
If only.
Boredom
Boredom has been his only companion (as ironic as it is) for as long as he has known.
Even as a child, it has always sat beside him, taunting him, teasing him and tiring him. It's only to be expected, for few have an intellect as razor sharp and as quick as his and even fewer make appropriate use of their superior intellect. That being said, Light does not want people for company, he needs tasks to keep his mind busy—preferably a long-term goal that will give him a sense of purpose and a drive to persevere. On some level the loneliness bothers him—though he's come to accept it—but the inability to occupy his mind agitates him immensely. It was why he quit tennis, after four years of hard work—the sport failed to challenge him.
He should have been surprised that such a thing came along and even more surprised that it was all bundled up in ruled sheets in one thin, black notebook but then—being the bored witless child he was—he had never been more grateful, unknowing then of how much this one little notebook would cost him.
Should Have Known
Light Yagami is a careful man—a well-known fact not only to him, but his family and even his allies and acquaintances (because Light has no friends—save for L, but L was a dangerous friend to keep around, as interesting and intelligent as he was); but Light Yagami is also human—and every human being grows careless and negligent. Every human being is—as unfortunate as this fact is—capable of mistakes, but every human being is also capable of emotion, sentiment, attachment and the aforementioned three factors are enough when working with each other to bring about serious errors.
Mikami was hesitant and naive, Misa was stupid and air-headed, Near (damned brat) had everything cut out for him.
Light should have known better than to trust either of the former two or underestimated the latter.
Maybe he should have known that he couldn't play God either but since the Death Note slowly, yet surely polluted his mind, that realisation never reaches him. In the end he's only human and his time is only finite. He shouldn't have expected himself to never stumble, to never grow attached, to become utterly and inhumanly desensitised—there's a line drawn between humanity and robotics and it's a line that's shouldn't be crossed. There was no way he could have known that and some experiments cost you your life; even if you're alive in the physical sense, there's more you could lose than just breathing or moving or talking.
Light Yagami should have known better, for all his intelligence.
Hallucination
Dreams and hallucinations are indistinguishable, really, in the way they manifest themselves. The former appears only in periods of unconsciousness while the latter approaches one when one is awake and aware—but excluding that one distinction, they're very similar. They're unrealistic, harried, transient and very rarely worth hanging on to. Whether this is a dream or a hallucination is beyond him—it has to be one of the two because Light is aware he has somehow been detached from reality—but it doesn't really matter because it'll dissolve the instant he's in the real world. He fixes his gaze on it, somewhat glad to see a face he recognises but depressed as he processes that this is probably the first marker of a potential mental breakdown.
Then again Light is past the point of caring—and if the L he is seeing in front of him is just a figment of his imagination, then so be it. Although it's strangely detailed for something he fished out of his memory … the way his dark hair stands up at the back and falls over his forehead, each strand thick and separated precisely from its peer or the way his depthless eyes never allow Light so much as one moment of peace or freedom. Even his voice is the same, a dull drone void of humanity or compassion or emotion. It's just blank—not quite robotic, because it sounds human enough and it's appropriately intonated—but it's like a sheet of paper; colourless, lacking in vivacity …
"Is Light-kun in pain?"
Even the cutesy third-person speech is present, though that is L's trademark way of addressing Light. It isn't surprising the brunet remembers that little aspect of the world's greatest detective; but L's speech patterns aren't what are important, it's the redundancy of the question that sets the normally calm and rational Light off. Granted, a combination of pain and the shame of being so helpless (in front of L, no less) and to have everything he has worked for come crashing down on him along with the fear of death and of dying alone have rendered Light incapable of stringing together a coherent and sensible thought.
"L-leave me alone! You've won … there, I said it Ryuzaki, I am Kira."
He stumbles over the words, partially choking over them and struggling to force his almost-limp tongue to form them. "G-go … away … " he demands in a rasp before L's face above him crumbles and powders and then scatters—and then his world turns black but he can manage one thought before he collapses and that is that this whole thing is so, irrefutably unfair.
Disappointment
Having always had a flair for detail and a meticulousness that has proven to be useful on multiple occasions (though works against him in this situation), Light is only all too aware of the way he is being stared at. His mother and Sayu are on his left, seated in uncomfortable plastic chairs with wary expressions on their faces combined with concern and solid anxiety. He knows what they are thinking—Oh Light, how could you …—and he almost wishes he couldn't tell, that maybe Ryuk hadn't spared him or Mogi and Aizawa hadn't found him semi-conscious on the stairs of that warehouse just in time because he would much rather be dead and gone (or innocent, but that's not going to happen); after all, even though he disagrees he deserves death after all the lives he took and he can't take these quiet, yet disappointed stares. Everything about this situation is awkward and Light has never found something awkward or tense in the past.
Everything hurts too, though he won't admit that because he will hold on to his pride and his independence for as long as he can. His shoulder is throbbing, as his is bound knee and his gauze-padded chest with once-gaping holes held together with stitches. His head hurts from a mix of too much thought and an inability to rest. His eyes are burning—searing, in fact—from the glaring hospital lights and every so often brim with tears that he strictly disallows from spilling over. It's not just his body; his mind aches too and it's an agonising, guilty sort of pain that he can't turn a blind eye to and the cool metal of handcuffs on his wrists are perpetually present to both remind him of and aggravate this mental pain.
"I know you're disappointed," he breaks the silence slowly, finding it eroding away at his being from the inside out. This is his last chance, he reasons, to make amends before he's tried and placed on death row. His mother blinks, then blanches and then reaches for his hand, her touch surprisingly warm and comforting—just like it used to be when he was a little boy. It's pleasing to be reassured in such a manner, because Light knows he has nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to; not Misa, not Mikami, not Takada … at least he won't be alone in his final moments.
"I'm not disappointed Light," his mother shakes her head, her voice choked with ill-restrained emotion. "I c-could never be disappointed in you … my baby … I know you didn't do it with bad intentions—it can't be you, it can't be ... " At this point, he can tell she is trying to deceive herself or maybe rationalise this whole affair with herself, probably to make it all the more bearable.
"I'm not disappointed in you," she concludes and Light thinks he might be able to sleep knowing that.
Fear
As a child, the only thing Light can remember fearing is thunder.
There is something about the ambiguity of thunder that has always bothered him, something about not knowing his adversary yet being challenged by it—a fear of the unknown essentially. When he was younger he would plant himself on the overstuffed couch, lips pursed firmly into a thin line and hands clenched rigidly at his sides, determined to not allow others to learn of his fear—and denying it passionately every time his mother asked him about it. Then, she would ruffle his hair and tell him it was alright to be scared, that he was only human and there had to be something he feared.
Now he's too old to be afraid and yet when thunder reaches his ears, a twinge of fear grasps him. He wills it away with a press of his fingers to his forehead or with a mug of soothing coffee but nothing works as splendidly as his mother's gentle touches did.
Helpless
When he fell into that puddle of water in the warehouse was the most vivid recollection Light has of being helpless—he hadn't anticipated it; he hadn't expected Rester to notice him writing Near's name in that little scrap of paper tucked away in his watch, he hadn't expected Matsuda to shoot him in the wrist and then lecture him about justice and respect and then—before he could even blink—there were bangs and then pain blossoming under his skin and then his world began to tilt and swirl and fray around the edges, his voice cracking and hoarse as he shrieked and sobbed, his mind plummeting into watery depths as he could only beg, first for Mikami, then Misa, then Takada …
And as he thinks about it, now chained to a hospital bed with IV bags dripping medication into his veins rhythmically, he burns with shame.
Classroom Drama
He can't control the sigh that leaves his lips, but he does make a conscious effort to seem attentive, though he could care less about this stupid meeting. Takano-san is a pretty girl and were he a normal sixteen-year-old (normal, that word is awful … ) he might have been excited, overjoyed, positively delighted at the thought of sitting beside a beautiful girl but Light Yagami is bored and tired and the only reason he's even tutoring Takano-san in maths is because he really has nothing better to do. No homework (he's already finished all of that), no assignments waiting to be completed, no plans with friends (did he really even have friends?) and no interest in anything else …
And so, Takano-san's pitiful attempts to flirt with Light were ignored. The dainty brunette did little to excite him or interest him. For that matter, even holding a sensible conversation seemed impossible, seeing as she could neither comprehend the multitude of equations in front of them and was much too engrossed in telling him about some new movie she wanted to see to even try to understand their maths coursework.
"So you just take the square root of x—" Light continues, his façade of the smart and helpful student slowly being demolished by the intensifying exasperation within him.
"Ah! I still don't understand!" Takano exclaims, burying her face in her palms. "God, I'm so stupid! Can you please explain that again Yagami-kun?"
Certainly not. "Sure,"
He doesn't think he can take this anymore—this degrading boredom, this rusting of his mind, this lead-like lethargy.
It has to end soon, it has to.
Childhood
His past should reveal a lot about him—or so experts say, but when thinking back to his younger days, Light cannot think of how his childhood has significantly impacted or influenced the man he is today. Even as a child he was superior to those of his age and those around him. Even as a child he was aware of how easily people could be manipulate and how with charm and a pretty smile you could procure anything you desired. Even as a child he strove to be perfect, to never want to taste the bitterness of failure or incapacity and experience praise over and over again—until it stopped mattering to him, because he heard the exact same things. Even as a child he did not have to be taught things repeatedly; he picked it up quickly, knowing when to offer to set the table when his parents' friends came over or when to smile and greet his teachers or when to help his friends with their homework. And even as a child he grew bored, far ahead of his peers and far too intelligent to be occupied by the mediocre challenges thrown at him; he has been tried, tested, underestimated and has given up hoping more times than he can count.
Now eighteen, he thinks he has not changed over the years—not the innermost, deepest and most complex parts of him.
Friendship
"Does Light-kun miss his friends?"
"I beg your pardon, Ryuzaki?"
"I believe I was clear in my question, Light-kun; do you or do you not miss your friends?"
"Will my answer affect the possibility of my being Kira?" so sceptical, so challenging.
"… It might have, though now considering Light-kun knows and I was obliged to be honest, his answer will not change the possibility of him being Kira." i can challenge you too, light-kun.
"I suppose I do miss my friends then … " i never had any to begin with.
"The manner in which you sigh tells me that you don't miss your friends and that you are lying to me; or did you have any, Light-kun?" ii read you so well.
"That's incredibly rude, Ryuzaki," chuckle. you idiot.
"Answer the question, Light-kun," i lay my demands.
"I do have friends," there. childish of me, i'm aware.
"I see." pause; search for an addition. "Light-kun is the first friend I've ever had," i've also never spilled this truth to anybody before.
"I'm honoured, Ryuzaki," because you're the only friend i've ever had as well—no one else can be this intelligent, this witty and this capable of entertaining me.
Winter
Light Yagami loves and hates winter at the same time. The wintry-white Japanese city scene is pretty, which makes him smile—because, although he won't admit it, he likes decoration and beauty and colour. He likes vivacity and brightness and splashes of contrasting tones because they're an escape—however small—from the plain, drab hell he has been trapped in. And yet, he hates the winter because it's so white, so unwaveringly white and there's nothing but white. White is such a bland colour—just like the pointless, cyclical life he is living.
Birth and Death
When he was born, people rejoiced—not just his parents, his grandparents and his few aunts and uncles as well. He was the first male to be born in a couple of generations and he was born on the last day of winter; he was bound to bring spring—a metaphor for wealth and prosperity—to the Yagami household. There was even a baby shower before he was born and everyone, everyone was just so happy for his parents … so blindingly happy. They could never have predicted he would grow up to become a murderer.
His death is a sordid affair; it's just so pitiful and it's a disgrace for a God to die this way (but he isn't God and he's been told that numerous times; doctors and police officers all so curious to see Kira spit at him and tell him he's just another criminal). Strapped to a bed with an IV pouring a sedative into his arms, Light is sluggish and losing his grasp of reality. He's alone, vulnerable and naked despite the thin hospital gown that he's been clothed in. The heart monitor on his right beats a steady rhythm and in about five minutes, it'll screech wildly, displaying the perfectly straight horizontal line of a heart that no longer beats.
He's given up on his God fantasies because he can't work his way out of this situation and Light resigns himself to accepting whatever is going to come; it's only death—it's only that thing he willed upon others. "Any last words?" The masked doctor asks, rolling a syringe between his gloved hands.
"None at all,"
The only thing he feels is a faint prick and then the ceiling rolls and spins on its edges. His lungs constrict, his vision grows murky and then darkness draws its curtains over him.
There's only death and its leering words waiting for him.
Birthday
The novelty and joy of birthdays wears off when Light turns twelve—he used to be excited about being a year older, mostly for the prospect of freedom but as he grows older, he grows weary and tired, even though he's still physically young. He's meant to be dancing and frolicking but he can't be bothered, because with every year that comes, more boredom comes.
And his father never bothers with turning up for the parties.
Light Yagami could care less about turning a year older.
Comparison
When he can't sleep, Light compares himself and Kira—and Kira and Higuchi; he'll never acknowledge Higuchi as Kira, because—quite frankly—Higuchi was a failure. The original Kira was magnificent—truly a god and the only one capable of bringing the light of justice to this world. Higuchi was rotten, filthy vermin, undeserving of a title as honourable as god. In the rare event that Light detaches himself as a person from Kira, he sees Kira as glorious and Light is just a jaded teen, but the product of their personalities colliding and merging is inexpressibly and inexplicably aweing.
Basic
Sodium Hydroxide; a substance one might come across only in a chemistry lesson but as ludicrous as it is, Light Yagami sees similarities between himself and this chemical (—he might even see himself in the clear liquid). It's so unlike an acid in the sense that it doesn't bubble angrily or fizzle threateningly—yet it is just as dangerous, just as corrosive as any acid—perhaps even more. Light Yagami is almost the same; there are very few indicators of how dangerous he can be, of how caustic he can be, all masked under a nonchalant exterior and a charming demeanour. Light Yagami's anger and wrath are of a cold, fierce and malicious kind—truly forces to be reckoned with.
So very basic in nature.
Touch
He always shies away from being touched physically—even simple acts, like being patted on the back or holding hands or hugs (hugs are the all-time worst for him). For the most part, it's because it's awkward to feel skin rubbing against his own or the heat of another body pressed against his slender frame and also because touches actually leave him confused how to react; when hugged, it takes all his energy and his willpower to hug back. Similarly, he doesn't initiate physical contact unless the situation absolutely demands it of him. How he could have shared living quarters handcuffed to an imbecile detective with no sense of privacy will forever be beyond him.
Laughter
It has been a long time since Light Yagami has laughed—and by laughed, he means the real, rich and spontaneous sort of laughter that wracks your insides and leaves you breathless yet giddily happy and pleased beyond measure and expression. There's his friendly laugh, the kind he keeps in store for teachers complimenting his perfect test scores or when his mother's friends praise him for being such a good boy. There's the hollow, worn one that leaves his lips when he has no choice but to laugh because someone said something funny … and just to seem normal, he has to seem amused even though nothing seems to amuse him.
And then there's the sort he has for L and for L alone and it's generally accompanied by a mildly stinging sarcastic yet witty comment—only L will ever had heard that laugh and more often than not, L will have provoked that laugh. It's a slightly jovial one without so much as a trace of malice to it—not an innocent laugh either, devoid of any humour, but just Light Yagami in its quality.
And finally, there is the expressive laugh—the one where he can truly release his feelings, where he can feel elated and high, like he's floating or gliding or rolling on clouds, but it's the kind of laugh that he can grant himself only when he's alone because of the fact that it follows only an event that has thrilled him immeasurably and Light can enjoy such activities only when he is alone, when he's away from people and free to do as he pleases and not as is expected of him. Or maybe it's because no one he knows is on the same plane as him and cannot, therefore, enjoy these activities with him.
Exhaustion
On some days, he can barely get out of bed—it started as an odd occurrence (and then grew into a frequent one) with Light waking up to eyelids unwilling to open and his body feeling like a dead weight, complaining as he drags it out from the confines of his warm bed. Some days he can barely crawl through the day—sitting through lessons, turning down his classmates offers to "hang out" and answering his parents with evasive replies and recorded answers. It's almost like he has lost a part of himself, somehow; like an enthusiasm that once belonged to him has been replaced by this apathy, this inability to care.
He is exhausted.
Despot
Light must have control and perfection and without either, he cannot function. He supposes it stems from the fact that he has always been pushed to be the very best even as a child and after it became … nothing for him to be the very best, it's just one of those things he can't let go of. And when he isn't in control or when something is haphazard, Light cannot help but feel distinctly uncomfortable and itches to fix whatever is amiss.
Art
Art has always evaded him and it's not surprising why either—he's skilled with painting the stereotypical sunset landscape that his parents and his teachers "ooh" and "ahh" at, but he's just not talented in the same way Sayu is. Her art is messier, but expressive in that cheerfully Sayu manner. Light cannot express himself like that—he can't spill his innermost thoughts and feelings onto paper or canvas, he can't speak in paints and charcoal (there's just something about that that doesn't sit right with him) and he's certain nobody would understand his thoughts and his feelings anyway.
Gentle
Buried amidst his boredom and his apathy is a gentleness that most people deem uncharacteristic for him to have. It's not there in the mechanical way he does his homework in, but it is present in the way he carefully combs his hair and smiles at his reflection as each strand of hair falls neatly into place across his forehead, geometrically accurate and angled to the left—or in the way he regards his mother; with a soft smile that's distinct from and indiscernible in the stoic respect he gives his father or the quick dismissal he gives Sayu. He's always had a soft spot for his mother; she's always been concerned, always been worried, always wanted the best for him.
Father
Embrace your children enough lest they become sociopaths.
His father's presence is blank, but reassuring. For that matter, Light recalls his father's absences better than his presences in his life—whilst Light has never held grudges against him, Light certainly is rather distanced from his father. As a child he respected his father immensely and they were close—not quite in the 'son, you may confide in me whenever you wish to' way, but in a more subtle, hidden manner. As he grows older, Light realises that perhaps he doesn't respect his father (not as much as a son should respect a father, at least). He admires his father's cause, but his father is failing. He isn't bringing justice or peace because Tokyo keeps rotting with criminals running free and unpunished and he keeps tormenting the family more and more with his frequent absences and his irrational devotion to his work. He is a failure and if anything, Light thinks he can do a better job—he can outshine his father and the task is just so easy that he's not even thrilled by the thought.
Light promises himself that he will be a better father—and he will bring justice to this world.
Mother
He's always been kinder to his mother—more so than his father. He chalks it up to her just being present more than his father, but probably also because she's keen and perceptive and intelligent in her own ways; she can tell when he's upset or when something is bothering him though as he reached his late teens, his acting improved and her increasing age led to her skills diminishing. Regardless, his mother, despite her irritating anxiety and her overbearing tendencies, is sweet and maternal and Light doesn't mind her.
Doesn't mind her at all.
Sibling
Sayu is like a bird, what with her enthusiasm and how easy it is to amuse her. For the longest time she was simply the annoying younger sister who he helped with homework—and as he withdrew, he began to take not of the not-so-subtle differences between himself and Sayu. As children, they argued and while Light is mature and dignified even at just seventeen, Sayu is happy and childlike despite being only three years younger. Sayu brings over friends and falls in love and talks animatedly all the time to their parents and over the phone; just like a normal teenager, Light notes and accepts that he is anything but normal. He can't do everything society expects of him because he's so much better and that's one aspect where Sayu defeats him.
Normalcy.
In a twisted way—though he will never admit it—he envies Sayu, because she isn't the recipient of their mother's worried glances or their father's ill-concealed concern (on the rare occasion he is home to pick up that something is wrong).
It's Over
It was over the instant he picked up that slim, black notebook and began writing in it to relieve himself of boredom—it was over the moment he decided to kill criminal to pass time, rather than entertain himself healthily with the television or books or the company of classmates. It was over the minute he sacrificed his sanity, his education and his safety for justice and it was over the day he almost killed his sister for this incredibly dangerous game. Even if he had won the game he had set up for himself, how much would he have had to lose to taste victory? In the end, there is only one question—and it isn't if there was ever a chance of redemption for him, if it really was over—but rather if those five years of 'fun' were worth the death sentence that followed.
Of course not.
Of course he'd like to be alive and well again.
Of course he'd like for the world to understand the need for justice.
But he will admit that his years as Kira have been the best of his life.
...
fin
Comments would be much appreciated.
Some things I'd like to mention: Light is incredibly difficult to characterise, because there's just so much about him that I can't figure out ... he certainly likes living on the edge and he says so himself - you can't win if you don't attack, so it's safe to assume he takes responsible risks, but he loathes losing. I figured he'd enjoy being in control, but depressed!Light is so different from maniac!Light. It's also been a while since I saw this series. Hope it was a fun read and criticism is more than welcome~