A/N: I know it hasn't been a week since I posted the first chapter, but for some reason I always seem to lose readers after the very first chapter. I'm not sure why - I hope that if someone is displeased with what is happening, they'd leave a review about it. Or perhaps it's just not their cup of tea. :) Either way, thanks if you decide to follow this story. I will be updating every Friday from now on.
The boy's purified by the quitter gods
Burning up his cross like a revelation
And his glass jaw opens
Like a puppet head
Marilyn Manson – Astonishing Panorama of the End Times
Chapter Two: Conditions and Napping
I open my eyes slowly. The light that slants through the window looks the same as always – putrid yellow, like pustular butter. The God of Death's sky is dull, gray ash but at least it doesn't make my stomach roil.
My back is against the wall of a bare room. The concrete ground is ruined with holes and the drywall is rotten, the wooden beams exposed in several places. I suppose it is only correct that an exile should have to live among filth. I stand and straighten the clothes I slept in. They are the same jeans and jacket that I was wearing when I was turned into a meek human. I'm probably ripe after not changing for three months, but at least it deters some of the humans.
I reach down and pick up the ratty duffel bag that contains only three things: a pencil, a portfolio of paper, and my Death Note. I pull the black notebook out, flipping open to the front cover even though I have long since memorized the words.
How to Use:
1. The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
2. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
3. If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.
4. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.
5. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.
My expression doesn't change as I flip to the back cover.
Conditions of Penance:
1. Death God, Anathema shall be outcast to the Human World for one year according to the human calendar.
2. Death God, Anathema shall keep his Death Note on his person at all times.
3. Death God, Anathema shall be granted a human form that is visible to humans. This effect shall cease if a human gains possession of his Death Note.
4. If a human gains possession of Death God, Anathema's Death Note, his human form shall disappear and the memories of those in contact with his human form shall be erased. Only the human who has touched his Death Note shall know of his existence in either form.
5. If a human gains possession of Death God, Anathema's Death Note, he shall be required to possess that human and remain with them as long as they maintain ownership of the Death Note or until they die.
6. When the human Death God, Anathema possesses dies or loses ownership of the Death Note, the year shall restart from that moment.
7. Should Death God, Anathema's human form be reapplied, all of the humans who had memories of his human form shall regain what they have lost, but they will not be conscious of his absence in the time in between.
8. Gods of Death are forbidden to be involved in Death God, Anathema's punishment unless the human they possess wills it.
9. Death God, Anathema is forbidden to use a Death Note that does not belong to him. Therefore, he may not kill the human he is possessing or any other human. His lifespan shall be frozen in place, and he will have no need to write names in any Death Note to add to it.
10. Death God, Anathema is bound by the same principle rules of the Death Note in regards to his obligations to the human he is possessing.
This ridiculous back cover that binds me to the Human World…to my punishment. I have to carry my Death Note with me at all times, and keep it out of the hands of a human. That means I can have no relationships or risk them touching the notebook. This fact does not bother me – in the first five minutes of my time in the Human World, I determined that humans are whiny, selfish little creatures with no regards for the person next to them. If I were to instigate or allow any contact with a human, my Death Note would end up in their oily little fingers before I could say heart attack.
I shove the Death Note back in the bag and walk out the door, scratching the back of my head. I'm constantly itchy in this form. My maggots don't appear on my human form, but I assume they're still there. I'm much shorter as well, which I don't appreciate. However, most humans aren't nine feet tall. My hair is much shorter, no longer elbow-length dreadlocks and minus the maggots. I still have my God eyesight and am stronger than the average human man.
My biggest problem is that my wings are gone. I'm not able to do anything but walk around at a human's gait. My little human shoulder blades feel naked and incomplete, like I should be able to unfurl them and shoot away from the obnoxious, talkative little creatures.
I push my way out of the sleazy building and merge in with the sea of commuters. They're carrying briefcases or backpacks and every single one of them has a cell phone fused to either their ears or their fingers. I wince at the tapping and beeping and roaring and talking. It's a pity I can't kill everyone within five square miles.
I arrive at the school building with a pounding headache. I hate the King of Death for giving me the form of a teenager. I am an immortal God of Death, sitting in a plastic laminate desk with the youthful plebeians of the Human World. If I were an adult, I could simply sleep the days away. I would not need to work because I do not need food. But I am a teenager with no way of avoiding truancy officers. And I cannot claim I'm homeschooled without fake parents to prove it. I've also been living in a half-rotted attic over a dirty Laundromat. The only thing I could do was claim to be an emancipated minor and enroll myself in high school.
He did this injustice on purpose.
I'd like very much to kill the whiny freak humans.
I close my eyes and try to tune everything out. I am interrupted by a sharp jab to the forearm. My eyelids twitch in annoyance but I don't open them. Her. Maybe she'll give up today if I don't respond.
The poke comes again. And again. Unable to stand it, I grab her wrist in a vice, being careful not to break it like a toothpick. Humans are so hatefully frail. I keep the sleeve of my jacket between our skin so she doesn't notice the bizarre feel of my exoskeleton against hers. When I've firmly established I'm a ways from hurting her seriously, I apply some pressure to the bone. She yelps and I hear an apology through my haze of chagrin.
"I'm sorry," she says and yanks her wrist back futilely. I look at her struggling for a moment then release it. She rubs the bone and looks up at me.
This dimwitted little child has done nothing but bother me ever since I arrived. Every morning she'd whisper my name (Anat) at me from her desk, but this was the first time she'd ever attempted to touch me. I think she goes beyond normal stupidity into certified insanity. Her lifespan is diverting, however. She has less than a year. Perhaps I will see her die.
Her long platinum hair is always tangled, and the unhealthy sheen from it makes her complexion look sickly and washed out. Her eyes are big and bulging, the color of curdled mold, and they dart around with paranoia as she attempts to stare past what is in front of her. This trait has always unsettled me. I feel like she's able to see my Death God form even when I cannot.
"Leave me alone," I snap in my human voice. It's not as smooth as my Death God form, but it's still eerily inhuman to someone like her. My best strategy to defend against this is to not talk. And when I must, I intentionally harshen it. Less like quicksilver, and more like white noise.
She looks like she's about to say something, but then the sweaty middle-aged teacher walks in and starts talking about something and she's forced to turn around.
I was not in the mood to even pretend like I was listening today, so when the bell rang, I had nothing to pack up. I swung my light bag over my shoulder and left the classroom without looking back at the girl. Halfway down the hallway, I see her weave around another student and follow me. I clench my teeth. Stupid, stupid, stupid little creature. Go away. I cannot threaten her with death, as I can't use my Death Note. But, oh, how I want to.
She doesn't even share my next class with me. So she's intentionally stalking me. I am too repulsed by the idea of ducking into the men's bathroom to hide, so I just head to my class. She peels off of me the second I turn the corner into the room, and I sit down, quietly relieved.
At the end of the next class, I spot her in the hallway again. She's too far away to get to me so I hurry to my next class without looking back. While lounging in my seat in this class, I worry about lunch period. I've seen her sit across the cafeteria and stare at me before, but with her unusual headstrong advances of today, I doubt she'll pass up an opportunity like that. What does she want? I am a God of Death, and I'm running away from a scrawny sophomore. I touch my leg to my duffel bag protectively, checking that it's still under my desk.
I look up at the rest of the classroom, and realize everyone is staring at me. My eyes dart over to where I last saw the teacher. He's not there. I sigh and lean my head back. Perfect.
"Mr. Anat," he thunders. I don't respond, but locate his voice. He's too close for comfort, right behind me and to the left. I'd have to turn around in my seat and crane my neck to look at him. And I'm not going to indulge him like that. I stay still adamantly until he finally gives up and walks around to face me. This fart is making my punishment more difficult than it should be. I'm infinitely older and far more intelligent than him (practically omnipresent) – he should be offering me gifts on bended knee. Not that I'd take them from his filthy hands. Not that I'd even be somewhat stirred by mundane human items.
I stare straight ahead, still quiet.
Only nine more months.
I trash my detention slip on the way out of the classroom after the bell rings. I can't resist giving the guy a little smirk as I do so. Something about this world has definitely changed me. I have to get out of here. Human soap is no cleaner than human germs, so I just wipe my hands on my jacket.
I glance around furtively as I enter the cafeteria. I usually sit off to the side, by the wall. It's the farthest away from everything, and there's not a lot of traffic in that area. And she normally sits a few tables away, at the fringe of the crowded center. I take my seat and look for her where she should be sitting. But she's not there. She's sitting down across the table from me.
I stare her down as she looks at me. She doesn't have a tray of food in front of her, so I don't have to watch her eat.
I don't think I would be able to stand that.
She leans forward, looking at me with her bizarre human eyes.
"You don't know my name, do you?" she asks. I don't answer. "Well, it's Quinn."
I already know her name. And her lifespan. I suppose it is reasonable collateral for being in the human world. Perhaps I shall see her die.
She chatters about asinine things for the remainder of the lunch period, but all I can do is stare into her unappealing face (well, that and scratch my skin. Her whiny voice is driving my maggots insane) and wonder if she can truly see past the King of Death's disguise. If she can, she's either brave or dumb. What is going on with this simpleton?
I refuse to stay in this world longer than necessary. She'd better stay away from me. I can't risk her getting a hold of my Death Note. Perhaps I should think of a way to scare her off…
I pick up my bag and shoulder it, walking out the doors. I feel her staring after me, but it doesn't matter whether she follows me or not right now. We share the same next class. She catches up to me as the bell rings. The hallway fills with students, who give us odd looks. We're both infamous for being loners with mental problems – two of the most antisocial in the school are suddenly walking together. And now I feel exposed. And offended. We're not even of the same species. I pin my bag to my side and my lips skin back from my teeth in an unpleasant grimace.
When we enter the giant white art room, I sit down at my usual back table and she sits across from me. I clench my fists and imagine her clutching her heart, writhing with pain on the floor in death throes. The only truly beautiful sight in either world. A teacher enters the room and tells us to take out our art portfolios. I jump out of my cracked skin when I see Quinn leaning forward towards my bag. Her portfolio is already on the table. I jerk my bag away from her and slap my portfolio on the table to appease her.
"Burn in hell," I hiss at her. She doesn't respond to that, but her eyebrows cinch together slightly. All the same. I content myself with looking up at her lifespan. She slides my portfolio towards herself after a glance at my bag and flips through the drawings. She pushes her own portfolio toward me, but there's no way I'm touching that filth.
"These are really interesting," she says. "They're sort of frightening at the same time though. Like if you look at them too long, they'll hurt you."
They will, I want to growl, but I don't. It'd only lead to a spout of questions.
"What is this one?" she says, turning the portfolio so I can see. She's stopped on the pencil sketch of a God of Death. It is not one in particular, though I think it bears some resemblance to myself. It's tall, with gray rock-scale skin. It is wearing epaulets that are made of wretched skull faces frozen with anguish and fused together at the temples. The head is angular with chain links wrapped around the lower half of the face, hiding its mouth.
Drawing is a human activity, but it holds some form of undeniable pleasure for me. I can draw whatever I want and look at it instead of something ugly in the Human World. When I'm not napping, I'm drawing.
I have no answer for her, but before I can speak, I hear my name.
"Anat."
It's the art teacher. She's a young woman who always wears the torturous human contraption called high heels. I don't know how she can preach about letting yourself free through art when she herself is captive in such devices.
I get up and walk to her desk, looking back at Quinn as I do so. Her eyes are still on my portfolio. The teacher is sitting there with my oil painting on her desk. Her mouth is twisted and her hands rest on her desk just short of the painting. It's a simple dark scene that I came up with, featuring gnarled trees lining a black stairway. At the top of the stairs, a sphere leaks out violet liquid that spills down the stairs and is absorbed into the roots of the trees, streaking the bark with purple veins. It's beautiful. But I guess she doesn't think so.
She keeps her hands a safe distance away from the painting while she whispers something about what I should have done for the assignment instead of create "gothic landscapes." I endure her tirade, which goes on for about two minutes, then turn around and head back to the table. Quinn is gone. My eyes immediately go to where I left my bag. It's gone. Panic shoots through me. I turn back to the teacher in a hurry.
"Where'd -," I start, but then I see her. Quinn has my bag over my shoulder and is pushing the door to the hallway open. I immediately start towards her, ignoring the irking calls of the teacher. When I'm in the hallway, I look left and right. She's hurrying away from me, and I run after her. She's heading for the cafeteria – the doors there are the only ones in the schools without alarms in the middle of classes. And past it, the courtyard is without cameras. She thought her escape route out.
I can't let her touch the Death Note. I cannot spend longer than a year in this place. I'd rather die. In front of me, she hits the doors and pushes her way out into the burning day. The unfiltered sunlight scalds my eyes as I run out after her.
We're in the courtyard, by the maintenance unit. And she's reaching into the bag, touching the only thing there is to touch within it.
A/N: Still with me? Wee! Thank you!
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