Author's Note: I'm not entirely happy with this one. Mello is my favorite character, by far the most complex (in my mind), and I don't think I did my idea of him justice at ALL. I felt like putting a little Matt with Mello would work, since they're kind of tangled. Mind you, I'm not a MxM shipper by any means, and I don't think they were very emotionally close. I get the feeling Mello was a lot more- blinded by the light of everything, I guess, so much it turned into a world of darkness for him (gawd, I sound so emo). Matt probably understood more about Mello than vice versa, and I do feel that he was probably more a follower of Mello, but completely consciously. He knew what he was doing, he'd taken his options, and he judged them best. Also, I'm probably going to do one of Matt's own next, because I like the idea of the games. I have to say, I have a hell of a lot more emotional investment in my portrayal of Mello.
…alright, done ranting, read nao.
a/n no. 2: i have a headache. this is a lame chapter. i am afraid of things, i am afraid of being nothing, i don't know how this connects to the chapter but i'm saying it anyways and screw you everybody, screw the world, this is not a good place, but there's hope, of course there's hope. in a way mello and near remind me respectively of achilles and odysseus, always loved the ancient stories, not so much the languages. used to, but now it's my goddamn destiny. so yes, anger, yes, i know the capitalization falters, it's for a reason, believe it, i'll do better ones for matt and mello later. force of nature, that's what they could've been if not for the goddamn world.
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Disclaimer: Death Note is, fortunately, not my responsibility. I'm merely borrowing the characters and some of the plot, because they are awesome. If, on the other hand, it WAS my responsibility, they would be much less awesome, so be glad the people who own it and make it are the people who own it and make it and not me.
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"L is dead."
the screen burned, it was black but it was SO
MUCH
MORE
to him, inside it burned more than the flames, more than the day his parents died, more than the house and his parents and his books and his life
he could burn like that. he would burn like that.
fire was pretty; pretty, that is, if you didn't mind the pain.
the pain could be beautiful if you did it right, couldn't it? breaks, like if you crack open a cut again and it bleeds all over, so pretty it makes everything that red color.
Matt was in interesting boy; interesting, but too subservient.
(maybe he came off a little too submissive; Mello used him, but didn't he know he let himself be used? Tools for better things, better things than he could be alone.
Alone, he still had the games, games give you instant gratification-
they could let you be so much more, he knew, it was lovely and horrible and-
plastic, commercialized.
Burn plastic, the fumes are poisonous.)
Now-
would be a good time-
the release rage. Acceptable.
Nice not to lie.
He'd have to lie afterwards, of course, for the plans, repress things it hurt to, but yes. That's what you just have to do sometimes, isn't it? L never wanted to DIE for the Kira case-
did he?
Mello would die to beat Near, to beat that freaky kid, not human, so much less than human, human was burning and wound up and poisonous and screaming screaming screaming to him
Not quite, to Near. He seemed peaceful, measured everything.
Thought like he was solving a puzzle, he always was solving a puzzle. Mello never liked puzzles- more for playing pretend, or for just plain fighting. Control, fake control, give him all he can get
(but yes, the games, the games are wonderful and strange and in a way they were his kind of control.
save the princess, get the extra lives, get points. so much clearer and you didn't have to pretend you're pretending like you do when you play LIFE
life's a nasty game, you never get points, and you never know all the rules, and they always come back to bite you in the ass, don't they?
Lighten the mood a little, Matt. You always had a good sense of humor.)
thoughts aren't even words- chemicals, electrical signals, right?
learn to measure it like Near, learn to control it, he should but nobody wants to, do they?
(He wished he knew a way to measure out the pain. It's all physical, isn't it? Everything we say is so much more than physical.
Love.
Grief.
Hatred.
Sheer, slithering disbelief that runs down your spine, down your veins, through every inch of your body and destroys you from the inside.
All our meaning can burn in the firelight with the bodies on the pyre, can't it?)
He would gain control. Someday, somehow, control. The power to break. Break like he'd been broken and they never could again, hold the world at gunpoint, shock them into submission with the most unreal, unbelieving smirk plastered on his face. This game hurts him, he'll break the goddamn pieces.
And so he let go, he shattered, one simple question, and burned and burned and burned.
"Why play by rules that allow things like this?"
(And so he knew, knew everything was wrong, knew the only way out was to cut straight through this spiderweb-
he whispers four words, the last he heard from his mother-
"I can't do it.")