Title: Ctrl Z

Summary: Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.

Disclaimer: I don't own DN or anything referenced. The quotes mentioned are not mine.

Author's Note: Matt's seventh Journal Entry.

…

Me again. (Who else would be writing Journal Entries on my fuckin' lappy-toppy?!) Now, to document some recent shit… I, uh, know why B needed those chemicals –Hydrogen Sulfide and Sanporu. If mixed properly in a contained area, it releases a deadly gas that, with a single breath, will sever all the signals between your body and brain while simultaneously stopping your lungs and heart from working. In a sense, it's an instant death that occurs without your body giving that painful resistance; there is no last gasp of breath. Your organs die before your body itself registers fatality. The delay is what allows the process of soul-suffocation.

In my car, at this very moment, are those chemicals, unmixed but ready if and when needed.

My time is counting down. B never forgets to remind me, like a haunted metronome that keeps ticking even without prompt.

B's real name is Beyond Birthday, and he's a famed serial killer –he told me this morning while we sat in apartment number 13 and idly chanced a curious game of chess. There was madness in the red eyes that watched the fabricated numbers above my head rather than the paths taken by my pieces. Even as I slammed my Bishop into his Knight and declared Check on his King, he absently flicked his King over a space, effectively pulling away from reflexive danger he'd been put in… but I could easily tell that his focus remained on my lifespan.

-I won that game of Chess, by the way. Not that it matters. What good is a menial victory when you know how little life is left to be lived? There's the thought that I shouldn't waste the time I have, but I don't have a 'bucket list;' and the only person I have loose ends to tie with is Mello, but… what are the odds that such a feat will have a positive outcome?

-Anyways, let's get away from the depressing nonsense or Imma start moaning and groaning like a bitch and blame it on Sora for getting his ass handed to him by Dream Eaters.

Speaking of Sora and Dream Eaters, I recently got that new Kingdom Hearts game. Fuck yeahz. Turned it on, and the first cut scene pissed me the fuck off. Seriously! Like, Braig, that guy from Birth by Sleep –the guy with the scar and eye patch and shit he got from losing the battle with Terra –yeah, he's there, and he's talking to a mysterious figure that uncloaks himself and… after being referred to as Xehanort (yeeeah, we all hated that bastard –PROUD MODE, BITCHES!) throughout the conversation, Braig freaks out and Xehanort (or… that guy we thought was Xehanort) refers to himself as Ansem. –And, I'm like… WTF!?

I swear, every time I think I've fully figured out the KH saga, it gets more fucked up. But… I guess that's part of the fun. Maybe it'll make sense by the end of the game?

Now, let's divert from game-talk and move onto something more trivial. –Body hair. Some people like it; some people don't. Personally, I'm a reeeeally clean cut guy. Like, dildo-up-Lady-Gaga's-ass kinda clean. I keep my body in pretty damn good condition. I swear, L could eat sugar cubes off my… -No. Nevermind.

-I'm not thinking clearly, but to be fair, I'm dying, so cut me some slack.

…Now, in other news, I'm officially a dad. Yep. I've got a child –and no, it's not from sexin' up a whore or donating sperm. I got a Tamagotchi pet! –Okay, so it's not a real, kid; it's a virtual ninja-dude, but… it's cool. Unfortunately, I've had it for a day, and it's died, like, four times.

Why am I doing this again?

-Right, this is a Journal, so… where are the hard-hitting and pressing facts and shit? I'll tell ya where… My pants. And, no, I'm not being a pervert or talking about my dick again. I'm simply saying that I have a burn on my upper thigh, and it's nasty as fuck. –Guess how I got it! Guess!

Give up?

Salt and Ice. Yep, sprinkle salt on the skin, press and hold an ice cube over it for as long as possible (I lasted over three minutes!) and when the burning sensation is too much to handle, remove it. Y'see, the ice freezes and numbs your skin while the salt dries it out. And… dude, it actually scars! (For those reading this, it works, but DO NOT TRY IT, DUMBASS!)

And… uh, I think I'm gonna end this Journal for now, but not before saying this: Mello, if you're reading this, by some miracle, I… -fuck, I'm not gonna be around much longer. In fact, I'll probably set up some hoax or another to get you to read my Journals, and in doing so, I'll disappear. If you choose to find me, you can say goodbye. If you don't give a damn, well, I understand.

My next Journal will be my last. Ever. And… somewhere in it will be a clue to finding where I'll be.

So, I guess all that's left to do is… wait for expiration.

…

/Review./