Okay, this is my first anime fic EVER so be gentle. At first I hated anime with a passion for it's non-realsitic qualities that and it's boring stupid plot lines, like inuyasha and fucking naruto, fuck that shit. Death note is where it's at.
Once my boyfriend very wonderfully pointed out that not all anime looks like hello kitty exploded over everything, I decided to write this. PLEASE REVIEW!!
Once again, I shall express my hate of anime that used to be cool but has been "dumbed down" to be desencitized and "fit for the american children" FUCK that shit, anime USED to be cool, now it's SHITE. ah well, I've vented and feel better now, so here's my fic for death note. It will take place mostly in the Shinigami realm. I've taken a few liberties, but for the most part, I hope I've stayed true. Feel free to review and correct me or give me suggestions!!
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HOW TO USE IT 1: Any human whos name is written in this death note will die
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Her name was Lauren McKinnon. She was 20 years old. She was female. And she was pregnant. This was all she knew. Everything else in her mind that was or could be had been erased and nothing anyone did could coax it out. She did not know her ffamily. Her friends. Anyone.
She had a few sparse memories, but nothing conclusive. The father of her child. She didn't know. She couldn't remember. Her mind was forever after a blank.
She sat in a rocking chair in an old bedroom, a yellow wool blanket on her lap, staring out the window at the setting sun. From various other parts of the house, she could hear sounds from the other inhabitants, but they didn't bother her. She payed it no mind- all analytical reasoning had gone as well. She was near catatonic.
She could remember one thing though... it was... strange... dark and blurred, but she definitely remembered a face. A horbile face reminiscent of a clown or a joker. He had laughed at her.
His laughing, horrible face haunted what fragmented dreams she now had, a terrible caricature of the porcelain clownes littering her bedroom. She could remember liking clowns since childhood, but now she hated them. That face... and bones... she could remember bones and dust... voices she could not recognize and a deep, penetrating fear that froze her to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights.
She shook her head numbly to clear these images away and stared as the dog outside sniffed his way around the yard. She could not remember her dog's name. She had owned him for many many years. She couldn't remember his name or if he had ever even had one. She hated herself for what she had become.
The doctors said she was getting beter, but she knew they were lying. Everything had a rosy tint to it now, faces and outlines and objects, all bloody and hazy, as if seen through a thin red silk screen. She was slowly going insane, she knew it. This was her punishment for... something. But what?! If only she could remember!!
Inside her, the baby gave her kindeys a joyful kick. There was something that didn't feel right. She felt like the baby inside her was a parasite of some sort, not simply gaining nourishment from what sustained her but feeding off of her, taking and draining more than just nourishment. Whenever it kicked, she felt pain. Sometimes there was a strange, shifting movement that shouldn't be there, how she knew she didn't know.
As for her family...
The poor girl had come stumbling in one night about five months ago, chalk white and seemingly near death, covered in dirt and sweat and what looked like blood and mumbling incoherantly about clowns and skeletons and mummies. They had taken her immediately to a doctor, who had pronounced her pregnant and semi-catotonic. She was useless now. A mere incubator for a bastard child.
And the child... ye gads, the child! Her last check up with the gyencologist had revealed such abnormalities that the doctor in attendance had gone pale, crossed himself, muttered a gibberish prayer in Yiddish and left the room.
The child appeared to have horns.
Lauren's mother didn't typically make unjust judgements, but she knew one thing for sure. She did not want to see her grandchild born.
In the butter yellow room decoraetd with clowns and unicorns, the silent girl with the baby isnide rocked in her chair and said nothing. Inside of her, the baby kicked again.
The baby was five months along, female, and had no conscious as of yet, yet she lived. She fed off her mother as all babies did. Occasionally, she sucked her tiny thumb. The nails were small, but wickedly sharp and pointed. Sometimes she did sommersaults to amuse herself. She knew nothing of the outside world or what would become of her or where she came from. She was innocent.
Lauren continued to sit in her chair. For the rest of that day and the next and the next, into the next week, the next doctor's visit, to which only one nurse would now attend because of the images on the screen of the baby, and even into the next month, Lauren continued to sit and rock. Sometimes she stroked a cat absentmindedly. Other times she sat there and dozed. She would awaken with a start, always, with the face of the laughing Joker in her dreams.
It was December and it was snowing. The baby inside of her had ballooned her stomach to three times its normal size. She was fat. She didn't care. She had someone help her with the bathroom and dressing herself. She was getting better at moving of her own accord, but she just did not feel like it most of the time.
Towards Christmas, the baby inside her gave a kick so swift and vicious that she felt something inside of her give and suddenly she felt panicked. Her heartbeat doubled, then quickly tripled.
She was going into labor.
The baby, now two months premature for a human, opened its eyes and saw nothing but milky white, viscuous fluids, red and felt warmth. She did not like this warmth whatever it was. She was fully concious. She was ready for life.
She was ready to be.
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I actually think I'm going to like this, please review!!