Hey everyone! This is the first chapter of my latest work. In order for this story to function, some things have to be overlooked. It's not very canon but at the same time it's not AU. Um, you'll see what I mean if you stick with it. For the sake of the future of this fic, I will not list the allowances anywhere that they could be stumbled upon accidentally but I may post them as a separate chapter or something later if you request them.

Disclaimer on profile, but basically I don't own anything mentioned in this story at all. Ever. The characters? Not mine. The storyline? Probably not mine. The air they breathe? Not mine. That lollipop I mentioned? Not mine. (You get the jist.) Let's-a go!~
- L. (Which is really strange because I've signed off like this since before I discovered DN...O.o)

Standing in the doorway, he watched the sight unfold. Before the child sat his mother, hunched over the battered kitchen table as she wrote in a book. She was so submersed in the task she had assigned herself that she didn't notice her son. The news was blaring, producing an electronic illumination in the room.

"News just in, 32-year-old Yuki Sujihara has just died from another of the serial suicides. Police are enlisting the assistance of detectives and..."

Yuki? Ryuzaki knew this girl. She was a friend of his mother's who had recently been involved with an argument. He hadn't seen her in a while. His mother seemed unphased by the news, which surprised him a little: the two had been close, hadn't they? Interesting... What was she writing?

Looking at the paper of the notebook from his position in the doorway, the boy scanned his eyes over the page of writing and picked out the crucial damning evidence. There it was, written on the page: Yuki Sujihara, Suicide. She was killing people.

At a very tender age, Ryuzaki witnessed his mother becoming overcome by the power at her fingertips. His intelligence meant that he could look at the names on the page and link them to the recent murders on television and recently deceased people he had known. Now, he was almost used to the presence of the book.

Creeping away from the deranged scribbling of his spindly mother, he edged his way to the garden, making the usual journey to the shed which he had labelled long ago as home. There, he shut and locked the door and watched from his window as the silhouette of his mother continued writing. Hunched from the low roof, he sighed and placed a finger in his mouth. The simple fact was that somehow by writing in the book a name and a cause, said person will die. But how was that possible? Was the notebook just a way of messaging someone? For example, it could be possible that there was a camera watching the book and relaying the names to another person who was carrying out the murders. Ah, but that was ridiculous. Ryuzaki would have noticed a camera in the room.

Had he misinterpreted the data? Perhaps. Yet that was unlikely. All the facts added up, but to what precisely? What was happening before his eyes? Mass murder. Not exactly.

Trying to enhance his thought process, the boy took out a stolen lollipop and popped it in his mouth, drawing the curtains to the grubby plastic window and flicking on his own light. Ryuzaki crouched on the mattress which was his bed and thought hard by gathering the facts and trying to draw a conclusion from them. All he deduced was that he needed more data. Sucking on his lollipop, he lay awake planning his intervention.

When the boy was sure his mother had left the house to go to work the following day, he took the key from under the mat and crept in. She left the key for him everyday so he could come in when he wanted.

Ryuzaki's mother was a complicated specimen of parenthood. She simply could not tolerate her son. He reminded her of his father. That coupled with his freakish appearance and intelligence frightened her to no end. So she sent him to spend his nights in the shed in the garden (which she had kindly spent days ensuring was stable, warm, with functioning electricity and safe) away from her. His days could be passed wherever he pleased. One might be ignorant enough to suggest that this meant she hated her son, to that it must be responded that the statement is false. She was not abusive nor did she seek Ryuzaki's unhappiness, she simply didn't understand or relate to him. Which frightened her. The pair only saw each other purposely in the evening when there would be some words, a serving of food and then she would be gone.

Ryuzaki enjoyed this arrangement. His mother was neither funny nor clever and held little of his interest. She had a strange way of viewing life (even to him) and so neither wished to see too much of the other. They had a good relationship in that respect.

On the kitchen table was no sign of the book he had seen so many times, instead there lay a casual dirty plate from breakfast and an empty glass. It wasn't an unusual sight. So, Ryuzaki headed upstairs. In his mother's bedroom stood a vanity mirror, accompanied by some drawers. The wide array of different coloured glass bottles was almost oppressive, accompanied by the harsh smell of chemicals which they gave off, it was almost enough to make Ryuzaki turn away. He did not.

Taking the opportunity to enhance his deductive skills, the boy looked at the three drawers and decided which the book would be in. The first. The one furthest from her son's reach and the most logical spot. Quick access in case of an emergency. He crouched on a stool and opened the drawer delicately, seeing the black of the notebook within under some cosmetics. He won again.

Pulling the book out, he spent a moment reading the white words on the cover. Death Note, in English. Ryuzaki had English blood on his father's side and he much preferred the shores of that country to that of Japan: there was nothing he enjoyed here. The fact that he had to live in Japan was unavoidable for the time being, and he tried to look at it with positivity. Feeling his mind drifting, he opened the book to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

On the inner cover was a strange and spidery white writing, one he struggled to read fluently. He picked out a few words he hoped were key and wasn't surprised to read 'death' and 'die' about five times and something about 'rules' which he assumed was what the list was focusing on. In the actual book was about two pages of writing: his mother's hand. That, he could read relatively well.

There were few names actually written on the paper, the words coverings the pages were mostly to do with the cause. There were exactly six names in total. Why hadn't she used it more? She had had it a good few months, Ryuzaki knew from his observations. Perhaps she had been scared of it. Understandable, he thought. Judging by the words and the unsettling relationship they had with the real cases of death he had heard, Ryuzaki quickly decided that this was real. You could actually kill someone just by writing their name. Although the idea seemed as ridiculous as any, the facts aligned, this was a legitimate artifact.

Hastily, he placed the book back. He was never superstitious or very easily scared, but this book terrified him. It had never been possible to kill a person just by writing their name before, so this must be something from outside of this realm. Therefore, despite the throbbing curiosity, he chose to stay away for a little while and handle the thing in bouts instead of the usual uninterrupted hours. It just seemed to be safer for some reason.

Back in his shed that night he looked out of his tiny window to see the silhouette of his mother coming in from work late. But that wasn't all. Behind her stood a huge, thin, monstrous being which the small boy counted himself lucky that he couldn't see better. It seemed to have some sort of horn/antler which accompanied its grotesque and disproportionate figure perfectly. The most noticeable thing about it was however, the fact that it was undeniably floating.

Ryuzaki watched his mother rustle and bustle about the kitchen, preparing food for her and her son. The son in question looked at his flat stomach as if the act had reminded him that he should be hungry. He shrugged off his lack of hunger after remembering the twenty three marshmallows he had eaten earlier that afternoon. Too young to actually cook anything (and too idle and uncaring about his own health to have any real food) the boy often ate sugary snacks throughout the day. His mother left them within his reach, knowing that sugar infused treats were the things her son liked best.

As a mother, she knew she had failed. She misunderstood how to parent her son. His quirks and stubbornness had resulted in her simply having a 'I-don't-care-do-what-you-like' attitude towards him. This suited the pair well, but in their hearts they knew it could not last forever. Both knew that truly, Ryuzaki's health couldn't hold under the circumstances and nor could either's state of mind. The youngster wouldn't fit in the cosy shed forever, and when he was forced out by size neither would know how to act. Yes, both mother and son understood this, but neither ever breached the subject. As awkward as their relationship was, there was still love, and it worked. They didn't wish to be separated.

Watching his mother and the thing from his window soon became boring and unentertaining for Ryuzaki, who therefore chose to sit on his mattress reading. After a while he heard the door of the house open and close, and footsteps treading over the gravelly path to his shed. The boy closed his book and looked expectantly at the door. 3, 2, 1... knock.

That's that then! I feel like now you might understand what I mean about the 'liberties' that have to be taken in this story.A lot of this is not canon and to be honest, I kind of like it that way. I've been debating whether to post this for a while, but I've basically succumbed to my own personal peer pressure on myself and so that's how you're reading it now. See you next chapter hopefully! (Maybenotheywe'restillfriendsthoughright?)
All my glove,
-L.
P.S Yes, I meant to write glove. I feel like 'love' is overrated, and gloves are unappreciated.