Lawliet woke to the nonchalant hum from large breasted doves outside his window, the air musty, the wallpaper to his right flaking, exacerbating the decay of his unfurnished room. The window drew an immense portion of the wall, and as Lawliet slid out of the tendrils of his bed, he looked down at his bare feet, then shook his head, clusters of dust silently bouncing onto the mattress, the excess floating around the room under a think spell of sunlight, the wedge bright, blossoming out and painting the walls a colour vaguely reminiscent to the sepia images of his mother and father, their faces joyous as they painted the very room he now stood alone in.

The breeze blitzed the paper that was on the window sill, letting it flutter around the room, the pieces he had tore off strewn over the floor after the flurry. Lawliet looked blankly at the floor, and then picked up the picture of him and Watari on chained swings, their faces radiant and joyous under an evening sun. Sticking it back up to the cork-frame Watari had bought for his studying, Lawliet parted his hair in front of the mirror, only for it to stand back up, the arbitrary nature of his appearance seamlessly innocent, despite his large bottomless eyes and pale complexion. After brushing his teeth and wiping the white residue from around the curvature of his lips, he smiled at himself at the mirror, his reflection shadowing his moments. For a moment, Lawliet thought he was briefly detached from reality, as when he looked into his eyes, he could see only blackness, and the faint hum of birds disappearing under low clouds and disdain. In that brief allotted time, Lawliet could see his parents, focusing on the mirror only to see a happy family, a dog then colliding against his lap, cuddling against his lap, the dog's tail thumping against the ground, the grass flattened under their exposure. Under tall grass Lawliet could see a cat lying face downward, and like the rewind of a tape, the moment played out in still frames, his pets flee from him, his parents moving away, waving goodbye to him and driving to their inevitable doom. To his dismay he could only sit and watch, and in that lapse of time, he felt together, completely content with his life.

But it was an illusion, looking into the scrying glass and peering back into his parents' eyes. Still, he persisted. A lonely child without a true family, he could only hope that if this wasn't a dream, he could re-establish contact with his mother, his father, his old life. Creeping forward, he pushed himself further into the image, projecting himself into the old life he used to live. Soon he became close to his old self and looking down to his body, he smiled a little, happy to see that he was enjoying himself. In the area he was standing he could begin to see pavement, thin trunks of cherry blossoms, and the faint smell of an apricot picnic. It was as if he had been comforted by the sepia image and drawn in together, and for a moment he wondered if, similar to the stories he would be read at night, he too was now just a pixel in an image, and was permanently stuck in this reality. But that didn't matter to him. Picking himself up, he stood in his baggy white shirt and blue jeans, watching his younger self, looking up to see that his parents had sat on a bench, overlooking his acts of play. Lawliet seemed confused, as though something was off tangent, and as he looked over to the right, he could see the blackness of the sun, the world slowly turning to grey. His alternate body was beginning to fade, and as he wondered how he so vividly remembered the scene, he watched the sun dizzily sway off behind hedgerows, blotting out his crisp view. Lawliet turned to his parents to seek reassurance, and began to fear the scene, when his parents looked at him glumly. He could see them walking over, but as they walked directly through his transient body, he perked up on his feet and sat down next to his former self.

'What are you doing?' He asked, his speech strained, but vociferated by a loud gust.

'Playing.' His former said reciprocated, still looking down at the ground.

Lawliet sat down, and for a brief moment he could feel sand filling up the pockets of his jeans, as if he was falling downwards. For a moment he was frightened, but as he sat closer to his former self, he noticed that he was holding a white horse, similar to his bit with the head chewed off. Lawliet pondered over it, and became expressively agitated. Taking stance, he asked him quizzically what happened.

'Well we were playing with it and he said it would be funnier if the horse had no head.'

Lawliet had remembered seeing a fim with a headless horseman, but at that moment he was intelligent enough to realise that this might simply be a figment of his imagination. Smiling to himself, he grated his fingers against the sand and pulled himself in closer.

'Really? Do you think it's funnier?'

'Not really.'

'Not really?'

'Not really.'

'Why?'

'Because he uses it now.'

Lawliet stopped and froze instantaneously, as he looked down at his former self once more. There, in the sand, he could no longer see the horse in his hand, but rather a large figure behind him, pulling it out of his grasp and throwing it aside. Lawliet looked puzzled, and fell backwards. To his disbelief, he focussed in on his former self, watching as the figure behind materialised, its large bony hands gripping his shoulders, looking as if he was ready to pounce on top of him. Lawliet's mouth gaped, and he frantically turned his head, to see that the image was folding inwards, as if someone was cutting out the sunlight and letting him drop into darkness. Besieged by a frenzy of emotions, he sat closer to see that his younger version was hunched over, the tall figure behind him pressing him downwards. Frantically he tried to life the hands off his back, but was only found to fall through. He could only watch, as his doppelganger leaned forwards. There, in his hand, he could see a skeletal pen, carving into the paper infront of him. The figure behind began to laugh, as his former began to write quicker. Around him he could see explosions, people screaming out, and for a brief second they were the centre of the universe, the hand of God. Lawliet tried to cover his eyes, but as his shoulders shifted, he looked over to see the large smile on his former's face, crying out with laughter and continuing to write. He felt sour, and as he looked at the writing there was simply an abundance of names, dates and fatal events. Lawliet stumbled, and swiftly he turned away. As he closed his eyes and tried to escape, he felt cold hands rise up against him, and aura of despair behind him. He looked up, then downwards, the same pen in his hand. He could see Watari in front, and unable to fight back, he wrote the name in the Death Note, crying loudly to himself. A train began to approach, and as if under a demented spell, Lawliet spastically wrote in continuation. He looked down on the page and grunted, his eyes saturated with soft tears. There, in blood, he could see the dark outline of his work. He weeped, and looked down. There, on the page, lay three words in succession.

Liberation.

Liberation.

Liberation.