Disclaimer: I don't own death note or L. Though it would be awesome if I did have like a tiny pet L and you'd keep it in a hamster cage and feed it biscuits. :3
A/N: I know it's short. I'm sorry about that. A little bit of blood in this chapter. :(
As the twelfth clang of the bell wailed and echoed in L's mind, L felt his heart break. He couldn't feel the solid wood beneath him. The overpowering smell of blood was drowning him but it was somewhat muffled and far away to him. The only thing he could hear was the deafening crash of bells, though the clock had stopped chiming a while ago. The scene in front of him was not real.
Unaware of the blood staining his shirt and jeans as he leaned over his mother, tears glistening in his eyes and blinding him with their bitter salt. The way she was laying made it look like she had fallen from the sky and had tried to pull herself together again.
Her shoulder length, wavy, chestnut hair was fanned across the floor, tangled and knotted. Her right arm was resting on her chest, fingers resting on the green necklace she always wore around her neck. Her left arm rested peacefully at her side, fingers limp and slowly getting colder. Her lifeless face was turned towards her broken son; delicate eyelids hiding away the horror of death. If it wasn't for the drying blood, glistening slightly in the sunlight, L would have thought she was asleep.
Without even thinking, he stood up, left the room and closed the door to behind him. Mindlessly, he began walking up the sturdy stairs of the house; looking like a mere phantom of the lively child he had been five minutes previously.
His bedroom seemed different, though he knew that nothing had changed. Even though it was a warm day, L felt as if cold had seeped through to his bones and his soul. Each star shouted out its special word in misery as he staggered back and forth across the room like a dizzy toddler.
Yesterday's star, drawn in orange with a pencil crayon was directly in front of him. "Lodge" was the word they had chosen. His bed was against the far wall; black night sky sheets left in a heap on the mattress.
Lark…
Lisp…
Ludicrous…
Even foreign words such as lendemains which was French for consequences were marked on the wall by a star. L's mother had been teaching him how to speak several different languages using his bedroom.
Shakily, he found the box of colours they used to draw the stars and raked through them to find the right colour. This proved difficult as the tears were shielding the room away from him. Blinking furiously, they fell among the rainbow of crayons and pencils and he managed to find a midnight blue wax crayon. It was their favourite colour.
Drawing a large star on the wall; a sigh of grief shuddered through L, almost causing him to collapse as what just happened registered in his mind. Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty three stars in all.
To stop himself from breaking down, he dropped the crayon to the ground with a thud where it snapped in two and put his thumb in his mouth. It was a childish habit he had never grown out of. A bitter, metallic taste flowed through his mouth and rested on his lips and tongue the moment his thumb made contact with his taste buds. It was the taste of pain, fire and death itself. Quickly removing his thumb from his mouth, he realized that what he had just tasted was the blood of his mother.
The taste clung to him and spread through like a virus. It was only then that he realized he was soaked in her blood. Despair and disgust tore at him as he half ran to the bathroom, trying not to be sick.
With difficulty, he switched the shower onto warm and stepped right into the water fully clothed. The shower was located at the end of the bath; a waterproof curtain drawn around it. However he didn't feel the need to pull the curtain around him. It didn't matter anymore. The blood on his hands washed away but it had no effect on the stained clothing. No matter how many times he rinsed his mouth out, the taste wouldn't leave.
His wet hair dripped down his forehead and in frustration, he bashed his head against the tiles, trying to distract himself from the strange twisting sensation in his chest. He was forced to stop as his own blood dripped down his face and mingled with the water, tears and his mother's blood. If somebody had walked into the room at that moment, that is if the only other person who lived in the house wasn't dead, they could have thought that he was crying blood, death and life itself.
Closing his eyes and leaning against the wall, letting the water wash over him with the pain, he began to think of the star. He couldn't feel the cut on his head due to the tingling numbness. He had already decided that the last star would be the last word of his parents. L.
L was a single letter that had slowly developed into a word as the child grew and as time passed. L's entire bedroom could be part of the definition of L. L meant lost, alone, orphaned, traumatized, intelligent, lonely, curious and cursed. His name had so many different meanings. However, while L was crying and soaking in the shower in his own house; a dead loved one still lying downstairs, he was unaware that in years to come, L would mean "The world's greatest detective."
A/N: I forgot to thank my reviewers last chapter. :O Bad bad bad Strawberry! Thank you to Danicasdeath, The Blonde One and ActionFry.
The reviews were really helpful and I really appreciate them. I would love it if more people were able to take a moment out of their time to give me feedback. :)
