"Write something, even if it's just a suicide note."
~Gore Vidal
Light tried, one last time before he reached the bottom, to find the top, to break the trance.
He had been contemplating a knife on his bed, Ryuk having been somewhere in the city, probably people–watching.
He had brought it to his pale (when had he become so pale?) wrist, the blade (keen, so, so close to the sources of his precious lifeblood), when one thought occurred to him.
What have I done?
It was a logical thought. Any normal human—and here, he scoffs, for he is far from normal—would ask themselves what had happened to their skin (knowing full well that they had sliced it open in a moment of hopelessness), what had caused the scars and blood (aware that they themselves were the cause).
But they already know, just as he already knows, for how can he not?
One does not so easily forget the biting sting of the metal, nor do they forget the crimson rain of blood. One cannot easily forget the addicting slice of the edge of a sharp blade against skin, the intoxicating scent of crimson and copper.
No, this question is pointless, merely there tor attempt to bring attention to their actions one final time and perhaps trick themselves intp believing that they are not responsible (for if you blame the blade, you are not at fault). But the question has no meaning otherwise.
Light's answer was obvious. He nearly scoffed at his own idiocy.
But with the question came clarity—of a sort—, and Light removed the blade.
He instead decided to take a shower.
He scrubbed until his skin was raw and sore and ready to bleed, so, so very tender to the touch. It was an irritated pinkish.
When he stepped out, he gently toweled off with a fluffy white towel and soft dabs at his irate skin and brittle hair.
He decided to try taking a nap, despite the fact that he had not been able to sleep in a month (may as well try one last time).
Light gave it up as a bad idea and just bad luck in general after only ten minutes.
(The note was a last-minute decision)
He pulled his chair over, took his favorite, precious blade...
…And knew no more.