Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, nor any place, band, brand, or label I may write about.

Chapter 2:

(Bed)/Written/.

Matsuda,

Listen very carefully. There's something peculiar going on.

I can't seem to explain it very well in words, nor do I feel comfortable informing you through the use of the post office.

I will only tell you what is necessary right now, understand? A man by the name of Mikami was driving a black Toyota Hybrid Saturday evening.

His car picked up speed once he got closer to where I was walking and swerved, which to no surprise meant injuring me.

I am in the Toyko Metropolitan Hiroo Hospital. Matsuda, do you know who this Mikami Teru is?

There is a photograph of him enclosed in the envelope. Also, I ask you to please come to Tokyo as soon as you can.

Lawliet, you, and I need to discuss this further.

- Light Yagami

.

..

After I left the post office, I went (home) to the apartment.

All this excitement had me yearning for some Ramen and coffee. Weird mixture, eh? Whatever.

I grab the styrofoam cup, fill it with hot water, and cover the top with a small plate.

As I am (about) to eat my noodles, the phone rings.

..

.

"Hey there!"

I sigh, does this girl ever quit?

"Oh, hello Misa."

"So, I just got done with the photo shoot.

The critics are LOVING me.

They're considering giving me a raise,

Can you believe it?"

Did she upgrade to pornography, I wonder?

I smirk.

"Misa, did you really call me

just to speak about your career?"

"Well, no, there is something else."

.

..

Perhaps, I am a bit inconsiderate when it comes to Misa.

Truth be told, I could (careless) about her stupid job. It's nothing special, after all. She was born with the right assets, that's all.

I bet if I had boobs and whore skimpy skirts, I'd get paid the big bucks too. Would I where plaid, I wonder?

Shutter I should probably stop thinking of myself as a (drag)queen.

Anyway, this model business is all that she has going for her. She could never be a (brain surgeon).

..

.

She told me that Light was getting out of the hospital in a week.

That he'll be back at (school) and everything. It really wasn't as bad as the doctors believed.

I wonder whether Mikami will show up at campus as well? I presume so, he probably will pay bail and leave jail without a scratch.

After all, he was under the influence by (accident), at least that is what was (said) on the police report.

.

..

I finish up my Ramen and get another cup of coffee.

Then, I open up the laptop and log onto Facebook after a few clicks. Yes, even crazy college kids with schemes have Facebook.

1 New Friend Request.

A picture of a boy with shaggy silver hair and intense eyes is displayed next the request; I click accept.

I continue staring at this boy, in attempt to figure out why he looks so damn familiar.

..

.

"Who is this?" I type.

"Near."

"I don't mean to be rude, but do I know you?"

"No, probably not. Doubt you'd recall."

What is that suppose to mean?

"I have to go work. Uh, nice talking to you."

"Sure, I'll see you there."

Wait a minute... what?

.

..

I put on the lovely (badge) that says my name on it and take a sip of my coffee.

I hate my stupid name tag. It's the kind you see old ladies wear that's decorated with stickers and smiley faces.

I swear it's disgusting. "Would you be interested in bejeweling your name tag for a low price of 5.99, sir?"

Fuck that.

..

.

I take a look in the (mirror) before I leave.

My hair swishes in front of my eyes. The tangles are lost in disarray, not knowing which (direction) to take.

It's so indulged in (darkness), almost as if it were absorbing the midnight each time the sun disappears from its sight.

As I keep looking at it, I realize any attempt to comb it would be (useless). So, I walk away... satisfied.

After all, this grudgy appearance is what I've always kept.

.

..

I drive the Eclipse out to work.

God, I really must look like a joke, parking my nice 2007 Eclipse Spyder in a (hot-dog) stand parking lot.

I work at Mr. Weenie's, a local hotdog stand. Go ahead, get a good laugh. I frankly, do not care what you have to say.

My (foster) parents offered me one of those suit and tie jobs in the same corporation they are a part of.

Still, I could never be that. I prefer my attire all too much.

A big shot kid prefers to work with weenies for a living rather than get a real job;

What must people think? This thought only amuses me even (more).

..

.

I make my way to the my area to begin preparing this (exquisite) gourmet.

After a few hours pass, I begin to get quite bored. Same customers, same routine.. how dull.

I sit down after attending my (last) regular, craving for it to be break so I could light a cigarette.

I count down the time. Only (60) seconds to go.

Then.

He comes out of nowhere.

.

..

"Hello, Lawliet.

Before you shut that door behind you.

May I have a rootbeer float?"

"The skimpy girls in shorts take the orders, kid.

Go find one of them."

..

.

I'm not sure what I think of it yet.

REVIEW PLEASE?