This fic is about L before being discovered by Watari. He still attends school. The story is set in England. In the story, well, just read and find out.
Disclaimer: I do not own L. No one owns L. He is too awesome for that. In fact he owns you!
My name is L. Lawliet. I was sitting on the swings on my own in the park. Whenever I wanted to escape from reality, I always came to sit on this swing. I would clutch my knee's up to my chest and simply sit there, one hand clasped around my knee's and one hand clutching the chain I would think about all the things that have happened to me. I never actually swung. It was pretty difficult as with my knee's bent to my chest I couldn't use my legs to add momentum. But it was still nice to just sit there. No one will bother me. No one will shout at me, or call me names, or glare at me. This rusty and mouldy old swing meant more to me than half of my possessions. Not that that could count for much. The only things I possessed was a single white t-shirt and pair of jeans. Other than that I had a yoyo, an old chess set and my bed. I lived in the orphanage, and also attended school there. I would sit by myself all day long through classes, listening to the estranged plump lady sitting at the front. Occasionally she would leap out at a student. Try to catch him of guard with a question. It wasn't to check he was listening. It was to make him feel stupid. To portray him as an idiot to the rest of the class. She never asked me though. Not since I told her that Wolsey wasn't executed, but rather died during the trip. She had tried to deny this, say that he was executed. She tried to bring in another teacher to prove her point. An actual history teacher. This had been her mistake. It had actually amused me to see the look on the teachers face when she was told I was right. She had been so confident, so sure of herself. I could remember the other kids snickering.
Don't misinterpret. I wasn't popular with the other kids. They hated me to the point of isolation. Not a single one of them would get near me. They wouldn't look at me, nor speak to me' nor even touch me. And why. Because they envied me. They envied my mind and my strength. None of them could beat Me., weather in tests or sports. And don't think that this stops at the children. A lot of the adults couldn't beat me either. They would create a special test, just for me, they said I was a bit further than the other kids. Just a little bit. So I had a slightly harder test than the other kids. The square root of 3427. The lowest common multiple of 324.749 and 412.833. They thought that by asking me these questions they could beat me. That if I got these questions wrong that they were superior, that they were greater than me. They never beat me though. I always got a perfect score. I always won. I would always win. I could only ever win.
They weren't all like that though. Mr Cartner, the head of maths was a chess player who had been undefeated by all the other teachers and students in the school. I had been helping him tidy up when I stopped to admire the chess board on his desk. I had never played before but I had read about chess in a library book. Mr Cartner saw me staring and asked if I wanted him to teach me how to play. I nodded. He taught me the rules and we soon started playing a game. A moved my pieces accordingly; each one like Mr Cartner had explained I should. Mr Cartner's moves began too take longer and longer and eventually sweat appeared on his brow. I didn't understand. This was easy! He should be better than this. At first I pondered if he was letting me win, but the expression on his face told me otherwise. Mr Cartner was stunned, yet not surprised when I called checkmate. I assumed that now he too would hate me. But he smiled. I didn't understand. He had lost. He had been beaten, his pride broken. A mere six year old had defeated him at his favourite game. So why was he happy? "I've finally found a good opponent" he said. We played a lot more games after that. Not just chess, but other games too. Mah-jong for instance. It confused me that he never got upset when he lost. I had begun to wonder if this is what's called a friend. No. He was use an excuse. An excuse to escape my own loneliness. When he died, Mr Cartner. I didn't feel much about it. He had been murdered. Stabbed through the heart. Our school held a memorial for him. W e had to sit and honour his memory. I didn't see what the big deal was. Death would come to us all eventually. I often wondered that if we could see death, actually know we were going to die. Would we try to prevent it? Try to alter it somehow. Or would we just except it. It doesn't matter. Least of all to Mr Cartner. Mr Cartner had been no exception. I was no exception. I had assumed that his will would leave his possessions to his family. But he didn't have any family. Just like me. I was surprised to learn that he had left me his chest set. It was old and dusty. But now I had another possession. The other kids were jealous. "Why does he get a present of Mr Cartner," they asked? "It's not fair." They are right. Life isn't fair. If life was fair I'd have a family. A mother and a father. And I wouldn't be spending my birthday sat on a swing. That's a point. Today was my birthday. October 31st. otherwise known as Halloween. Not that it mattered. I would probably spend my birthday this year the same way I had spent it last year. Alone.
The teacher had asked me to help with the decorations. They were going to have a Halloween party this year and everyone was helping out. I didn't think much of Halloween. Dressing up as a monster. Why. What was the point? I was already called a monster anyway. Why should I help decorate? No one wants me to be there. They all wish I was dead. Buried along side Mr Cartner. I couldn't see why they were envious of me. Couldn't they see? If I always win. If I understand everything. What is there left to do. Why couldn't they see that with the gift of intelligence comes the curse of boredom? That's all there is left for me now. As I sit here on this swing. I had been dreaming. I can see shoes, Shoes that belong to a young child. I looked up. I was right. It was a small Japanese child. "Konichiwa," I started, but the boy said "Hello" at the same time. Interesting. I took a good look at the boy. He had wavy brown hair and his eyes too were a shade of chestnut."What do you want," I said at last. The boy looked at me. He opened his mouth, stopped, and then closed it again. Eventually he said "You remind me of me." I didn't understand. "Where are you from?" A stupid question to be honest, but the boy replied anyway. "Japan. I'm on holiday with father and mother." He stooped down into the swing next to me. He planted his feat on the ground and began rocking back and forth. "You are like me", he said. I still didn't get it. How was I like him? We looked completely different. We have different backgrounds and different personalities. This is what I told him, but he shook his head. "Your bored too". I look at him for a few seconds. Who was this boy? "What's your name" I said at last. "Yagami", Replied the boy. "My name is Light Yagami".
And that is where I shall leave it. I know this was supposed to be a oneshot, but now, several months after writing this, I suudenly felt like doing a second chapter. Kudos to everyone who put this on story alert despite me saying it was a oneshot.