A/N: Tell me, should this be continued? I'll make it more Death Note-y in the next chapter if you give me a chance. Sounds of maniacal laughter frolics in the air
Blood
In the middle of a gunfight
-'You Know What They Do', My Chemical Romance
The air felt dead for him, the scent of blood took away his senses and gave him a sort of fixation that lasted for quite a while. His eyes were captivated in morbid interest, eating away at the sight that poured freely from nowhere; a hint says it seems to spill from the north. His nose could smell the stench of death that was overwhelming all other aroma that must've existed in that place. He even heard the sound of it licking at the floor with the noise that made him think of waterfalls hidden in between trees in a secret forest out there. His hands let themselves bathe in the pure red, escaping his palm by sliding away through the space that was placed in between his fingers.
The blood kept spitting out from his ceiling, dripping in waves from the edges painting his walls in a whole new color.
He seemed oblivious to the state he was in, a small pool of blood made the pencil that has fallen from his table float on the crimson surface. He was sitting on the bed, not taking his orbs off the liquid that washed his hands. Truly, he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life as a god.
Papers started to drink the concoction of the human fluids as the blood escalated, taking the books that resided on his shelf. Devouring the pages starting from the last sentences on every page, and in an almost languid manner, climb up to the top to destroy the books.
But Kira sat on his bed on top of the white covers, not knowing of the demise that might choke him of breath.
For a while, musings danced in his mind, slowly poisoning every cell that resided in his brain to get more. The fragrance that has taken him victim cannot be compared to all the flowers that grew wildly in the world. It wasn't only the scent that has made him wanton to such, but the touch and the sight of delicate human blood all lay on top of his palm. What was left was to taste the venom on his digits, a thought that he has counted a musing for a while. If it could smell better than thousands of fields of flowers, it should taste better than any manna the Chosen People must've tasted when their one and only God has flung their bread from the skies at their time of great hunger.
The slow crawl of the blood crept at his feet, circling his whole being taking its time before it could taint a single parcel of skin that was attached to the legendary killer.
He drank the whole sera that were left on his hands, licking at the tips of his fingers needing more of the metallic taste that burned the insides of his throat. His eyes widened almost that of a deer's when its life is left determined to the truck that might smash it to bits. The only difference is that fire that ignited in his orbs, they were dazed in crazy tones, lighting up in the varying colors of madness. It was moment truly perfect; not the picture of a peace-filled universe can compare to that of the taste of the human blood that touched his lips. There is no need for the spectacular picture of criminals one by one dying like chess pieces hunted down by the almighty queen. The pleasure was all here.
The grin that ripped his face was the signal that peeled the walls around him, falling down like domino bits, showing him of a world beyond understanding, the world of oblivion. An ocean of emptiness faced him, asking for his attention, begging him to explain the stillness, almost ordering him to define the space that is emptiness.
He shook all the offers away.
All he needed was more blood.
All he needed was to close his eyes. Then open them again.
(SPACE HERE)