B: Ahh, wow, really? Agh, I'm really glad I've improved then. It means I'm getting somewhere, eh?~ Psh, I wouldn't be surprised if Light sang amazingly. After all, his voice actor sings beautifully in my opinion, so why not? Wooo, I'm glad to have made you smile~~

Ahh, happy Thanksgiving? If you're American. Wahh.

Er, welcome to the beginning of L's past... I'm going to apologize in advance. I am sorry for going overboard, I am sorry for how terrible this is, and I am sorry L. I am really, really sorry, L.

'Kay, so WARNING: for child abuse. Is that warning worthy? I think so... Hm.

Well. Um, enjoy?

L could still vaguely remember his mother. He remembered her light brown hair that so many people mistook for dirty blond; the slight curl of it as it fell down just to the end of her breasts. He remembered how nice she'd been. How sweet. But the thing he remembered most… the thing he remembered most was her smile. The smile that had lit the room; that was so contagious that anyone around her just couldn't help but smile too. It was the memory of her smile that he clung to after she left them of her own accord.

She had gotten sick. He couldn't quite remember what it was she'd been sick with, as after all she had died when L was only three. He could recall the shadows that had appeared beneath her eyes, how she'd become thinner than she already was, how pale she'd gotten as the sickness progressed. He remembered how warm her smile still was, despite everything.

L had heard the doctor telling her one day that if she were to survive – which by the way, ma'am, still isn't the highest of chances – then she would end up having to be careful for the rest of her life. Then one day, not long after that, there was the day when L awoke to silence. He went down the hall from his bedroom and found his parents' bedroom door open halfway. He peered in and saw his father by the bed. His hair was short. Black. Somewhat curly. His eyes were shadowed, and his mother's eyes were closed. The church bells tolled in the silence.

His mother had always been awake by the time the bells rang. Always. He looked to his father for help, and his father looked at him with sad, watery, grey eyes. "Mommy's sleeping," he said in a voice that cracked. L looked at his mother. He couldn't see the soft rise and fall of her chest. Somehow he knew what Daddy meant. He meant that Mommy wasn't going to wake up again.

The bells were tolling at her funeral, too. Daddy gave the eulogy, and L listened to every word, holding each one carefully in his mind. "Malaniya was a beautiful woman," Daddy began, "and a wonderful wife, mother, and friend. I think everyone here has been touched by her kind heart; has had their day brightened by her smile. I think each of us can't help but remember her smile." There was a murmur of agreement among those present. "We all know Molly has been sick for awhile. Well… we were told that if she were to live, she'd have to be extra careful, and we all know she wasn't the type for that." There were some smiles in the collection of people. "And Molly had this way about her that… if she didn't feel like doing something, she just wouldn't do it."

Daddy smiled slightly, and hung his head. "Like the day – and I'm sure most of you have heard the story – of our first date." He chuckled and shook his head. Tears were trickling down his face. "She didn't feel like conforming to the restaurant we went to, and did anything fun she could come up with not just to tick off the manager, but just because she didn't feel like being proper." There was a ripple of soft laughter at the memory, and many smiled. "Or, when she quit her high-paying job because it wasn't fun enough for her. Or when the two of us ended up running from the cops for causing a commotion…." The tears were running down his cheeks, and he had to pause to gather himself again. "I think…. I think that this was just like any of those times. My Malaniya… our Molly…. She wouldn't be happy if she had lived on. She wouldn't be able to live quite happily if she had to take it easy like that. And I think that maybe… maybe she just let go. Maybe she let go." He choked out what might have been a sob, and he had to pause again. "…But we have to be grateful… that she has passed on…. She—she is surely in Heaven now, and she is happy. Our Molly has left behind a large group of mourners, but we have to remember that she is happy. And that's the thought I'll cling to." He gave a nod. "For Molly, who we know would want us to be happy too." And he put his hand to his heart, and the eulogy was over.

He held his father's hand when they watched Mommy's casket get lowered into the ground. Molly. Her real name was Malaniya, but she only allowed Daddy to call her that. Another little thing about her that L knew his father had loved. He looked up at his father, and Daddy pressed his lips together and squeezed his son's hand.

But time would go on without Mommy. Molly. Malaniya. It was a subtle change, but L noticed the difference in his father after her death. He was quieter; sadder. And L thought of Mommy, the light of the house, withering and dying just like that…. Well, he supposed he learned that eventually everyone would die. He would never know when, because death was a thing that just came when it wanted to, but…. Because he couldn't tell, he detached himself in order to make sure he didn't lose another that he loved. That's all. And maybe he would get better. He withdrew a little bit, that's true, but as time passed, things moved on. (But of course there was that legacy; that change she left behind.)

He felt like himself again the day he went to the Blackberry Festival. Daddy had taken him every year since he was born. L's mother had died in the early spring, and it had been snowing. The Blackberry Festival always took place in the fall. Late September, to be precise. His father took him just like any other year, and everything seemed wonderful again. He sat upon his father's shoulders. Everyone around him was smiling and having a good time, and L found himself grinning too. He was even laughing out of joy as he watched the floats pass by, one by one. He could admit that he didn't like the crowd so much when he was on the ground, but here, above everything, he was just fine. Happy. Just a kid.

They went home that day in the afternoon, and Daddy made him the usual cake made every year. A strawberry cake that wasn't as good as Mommy had made, but was still delicious nonetheless. Overall, it was a wonderful day, and one could say that L could have grown up to be a normal, if abnormally intelligent, child.

Soon after the Blackberry Festival, though, there came a time where Daddy got more involved with his work. L didn't think it was so much that he wanted to work, but he needed to pay for food and soon for his son's education, once next September came around again. And then there was the fact that he seemed to do better at his job after Mommy had died. "I guess things like that sober you for awhile," he told L, "and because of that… I guess I could do my boring work better." And he'd laughed a little. He'd gotten a promotion for this reason, but this required longer working hours, and without Mommy to watch him, L had to have somewhere to go.

He was first taken to his aunt and uncle's house that October. It was sprinkling soft snow that disappeared the moment it hit the ground, almost like it was an illusion. Snow. Just like at his mother's funeral.

There was a black metal gate that led into a little path in their front yard. There were steps that led up to the front door. A skinny woman with dark, messy hair with long bangs pulled behind her head and clipped came out to greet the two. She almost seemed nervous. A tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with hard eyes followed her. "Ah, the little genius," the woman greeted with a warm smile. Not as warm as Mommy's had been. It was more weary and beaten than Mommy's was. But L smiled at the praise nonetheless. "Do you remember me?"

He stared at her with wide eyes and thought about it. He thought that he'd seen her as Mommy's funeral…. Yes. He had, hadn't he? "You were in the middle front pew at Mommy's funeral," he said, "weren't you? You were crying when Daddy was giving the… speech…. And I think I saw you at the burial."

"You have a good memory, don't you?" the woman smiled, and Daddy chuckled.

"He does," he agreed, ruffling L's hair. "Son, this is your Aunt Alice; she's Mommy's sister."

"Nice to meet you," L greeted, and Auntie smiled.

"You too."

"And this," Daddy said, gesturing to the man slightly behind Auntie, "is your Uncle Jack."

"Nice to meet you," L beamed.

Uncle looked at him. "The feeling's mutual…," he said in a low, rough voice. His eyes seemed to scrutinize him, and L stopped beaming at him. He didn't like him already.

"Hey Daddy, why haven't I met them before now?" L asked his father.

"They just moved into Axbridge recently. Now give me a hug; I've gotta get going." He leaned down, L hugged him, and soon his father left him with Uncle and Auntie for the day. He was taken into the house, and Auntie began to ask L what he'd like to do.

"He can amuse himself," Uncle interrupted. "Kids do that."

L blinked.

"Well, we're supposed to take care of him, and I just want to let him have fun," Auntie explained weakly. "And besides, he's Molly's daughter… I feel like I owe it to her."

"It's fine," L spoke up, not wanting them to start a fight. He didn't see why they should fight if they were a married couple – after all, he only knew the warm relationship his parents had had – but he understood that they were disagreeing either way. And he typically liked to please, so of course he would be the child okay with his own entertainment. "I could… do a puzzle, maybe, or just read a book you have. That would be fine. I don't mind being alone."

Uncle grunted, and Auntie seemed to force a smile. "I have wonderful books for you to read. They might be difficult, though…."

The first day consisted of him reading, that was all. He had to really work to read the book she gave him, him being only three, but he was determined and he was a child who liked a challenge. He would keep a dictionary by him for every word he didn't recognize. The house was quiet, and not much happened. At around one o'clock, he wondered if they'd be feeding him lunch. He supposed Auntie would make it, if either of them did. But lunch was never made, and so he didn't eat. That was fine. Lunch was the skippable meal of the day, he supposed.

The next day Auntie told him that he could help himself to food if he wanted, and showed him where to find all of it. He was given a tour of the kitchen with Uncle nowhere to be seen. After everything was explained, he made himself a map of the types of foods he would find. Square-ish boxes would be cupboards and obvious rectangles would be drawers, and the largest square-like rectangle was the pantry. He scribbled down the most important things. 'Cookies,' 'Angel Food Cake!' 'bread,' 'unopened jam,' 'PB,' and 'sweets,' as examples. He'd just write 'stuff' for the places he didn't care so much about. Then he folded the map and stuck it in his jeans pocket before returning to his book. He would eat lunch at the noon bells.

The next three days, L didn't see Uncle at all, and he supposed he was okay with that. Then it was the weekend, and he could be home all day for Saturday and Sunday. All day with Daddy would always be a nice thing, no matter what.

On Monday, when he went to Auntie's house, he went to his usual chair in the corner where he would always read, his knees up and the book on his legs before him. As he read, Uncle interrupted his reading. "Hey," he greeted, and L looked up instantly. He hadn't seen him come up. Must not have been paying attention.

"Hi," L responded, staring up at him.

"Your Aunt Alice is being a pain in the ass," he said, leaning down so he was closer to him. L shifted uncomfortably. "Do the laundry and the dishes, would you?" His breath smelled odd. Unpleasant. Like… like Daddy's breath at New Year's, maybe. Was that it?

Without waiting for a response, Uncle opened the space between them again and walked away.

"Um… okay," L said to his back, sticking his bookmark in the book and closing it. He slid out of the chair and walked to the kitchen, looking up at the counter. "Hm," he said, then went to one of the kitchen chairs and dragged it over to the counter where the sink was. He climbed up onto the chair, then looked at the sink. He'd watched his parents do dishes before. It was just washing. He could do that, he was sure. So he pushed up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt and turned on the faucet. Waited until it seemed warm enough. Filled the bucket in one of the two sinks. He looked at the two bottles of soap and frowned. Which one do I use? he thought with a frown, then grabbed one and read what was on its label. "'Dish soap'…," he read, then squirted some into the bucket.

He didn't mind doing the dishes too much, but he kept dropping some things back into the water, and sometimes it was frustrating having to crawl on top of the thin strip of counter in front of the sink just to put the dishes on the drying rack after he had rinsed. But he eventually finished, and was relatively satisfied with his work. Surely he'd done well for his first time.

He hopped to the ground and pushed the chair back to the kitchen table before giving pause to his next task. "Where do they do laundry?" He frowned, and wandered into the only hallway he could go into: the hallway that separated the kitchen and the living room. The first door was on the left; the room Auntie had told him was the bathroom. No. He kept walking and paused at a closed door at the right. 'If you're in someone else's house, and a door is closed, don't go in. I learned that the hard way.' His father had told him that before, and then he'd laughed. So… no, L wouldn't go in any closed doors. But he only found one open door, and it led to a closet. He walked back to his starting point, frowning. He looked at both of the closed doors in the kitchen. One led to the pantry, he knew, but the other one….

Well, he thought, I guess I have to open one of the doors. He hesitantly walked up to it and turned the handle, opening it a crack to peer inside. He saw before him a washer and a dryer, along with a basket of clothes. He smiled and swung open the door.

But now, with all he needed before him, he realized he had no idea how to do laundry. He squinted at the washer and bit his thumbnail in contemplation. Well, he supposed a bit of trial and error would be fine.

The first thing his did was climb onto the washer, using a stool set off to the side, and open the lid. Then he grabbed some of the clothes from the basket and dropped them in. Eyed the jugs on the shelves above the washer, and read each thing before putting a little bit of each in the hole that he supposed he was supposed to put the liquids in. Then he closed the lid and turned the start knob. "Well that wasn't so hard," he remarked, and slid feet-first off of the washer.

He went to his uncle and aunt's house the next day feeling satisfied. Surely he'd impressed his blunt and unreadable uncle by doing as he asked. L hugged his father goodbye, and walked into the house to silence. Auntie was nowhere to be seen, just like the day before, but as he headed to his chair, his uncle seemingly snuck up on him again. L felt his presence before he even said anything, and he wheeled around. "Oh, hi, Uncle. You might not have come out to say goodbye yesterday, but I did the things you told me to." And he smiled up at the adult with some measure of pride.

L was surprised when Uncle's hand came down on him and slapped him square in the face. He looked blankly up at his uncle, putting his own small hand to his face, hurt. Why had he done that?

"You didn't do it right. I thought you were a little genius. That what your mommy called you, right?"

L winced at the mention of her in such a rude, unhappy way… like he didn't like her. But he nodded in response. "Um, yeah."

"The laundry. You bleached the darks and the colors bled into the whites. Look at what I'm wearing right now."

L looked. His white shirt seemed almost tie-dyed in a messy and unappealing way with a navy blue color melting and fading, and there were white blotches on his pants.

"You need to fucking separate the clothes."

L stared at him, then frowned up at him defiantly. "Well, hey, Uncle Jack, I'm just almost four. You can't just tell me to do something I don't know how to do. It's stupid." The hand came down and slapped him again, two times as hard. His cheek smarted for a moment, then just plain out stung.

"Don't talk to me like that," Uncle said in a low voice. "Your father isn't doing a good job of raising you. You think you're so smart, don't you?"

L only looked up at him, stunned. He was confused, hurt, and angry. He didn't get it. Why was Uncle so mad at him for making a mistake? It's not like he meant to do it. "I'm smarter than other kids my age," he said in a smaller voice.

"It doesn't seem like it. You're the little genius, aren't you? And you can't even do laundry?" He scoffed. "Genius my ass. You're just as dumb as a two-year-old."

"I'm not dumb!" L snapped, and the hand came down again, this time on the temple. There was a flash of color on impact, then just pain, and then a pulsing throb through his head.

"You'll be doing the laundry again every Monday, you little brat, and next time you better be doing it right. Dishes every day, and don't expect me to be making your food."

"What about Auntie?" he asked his uncle, and he looked at him.

"What about her? Don't you start thinking she'll come and help you." And he took a jug… pouch-thing of something and unhooked it from his belt loop before taking a swig and walking off down the hall. L stared after him, still holding his head.

He did the dishes again that day, but throughout the rest of his time there he was rather upset. Auntie came out to see him, though, and he told her what Uncle did. Asked if it was normal for grown-ups to do that, because he knew for a fact that Daddy had never hurt him before.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," she said. He noticed that her voice got lower and quieter when she spoke; noticed how she glanced behind her as if to make sure he wasn't watching. "Just be careful and do as he asks…. Ask your father to teach you how to do the laundry so Uncle Jack won't yell at you again, okay? Your uncle is just…." She couldn't seem to find the words. "…Well… just don't tell your father about it. Please. For me."

L stared at her, wondering why he shouldn't tell but not asking. And he usually always asked. But he only nodded. That was all. "I won't." For Auntie. Because Auntie was nice. Much nicer than Uncle.

So, uh, that wasn't much so far. In fact the beginning bit here is the part I'm least proud of. ^^; Uhh, opinions?

Fun Fact: I still have yet to learn how to do the laundry. u.u I know. It's sad.

So...next week's first update will be on Tuesday! :D Then a second update next Thursday! So...yeah!

Review? For...uhh...snoowww?