Chapter 5

The one thing Taro hated was exactly what solved the problem that got him angry in the first place.

The mail deliverer was their neighbour's son, Kenji; eighteen just like Taro. Although age peers, they had never spoken before, both of them in their nature to keep to themselves. He looked mean - a hardened person who last laughed when he was five. He wore all black – and so did Taro, but Taro kept to charcoal greys ("mourning for humanity" he claimed). Kenji's nose and ears were lined with piercings, Taro often wondered how his nose was still in one piece and bits of cartilage weren't falling off. It didn't seem that a person like him and Taro would mix well. Regardless, Taro needed him for the letters, so maybe it was time for a new friend.

Kenji was a difficult person to find; taking over two weeks – precious time lost. Their meeting was purely coincidental: Taro was on his way to the store a block away, sent by his aunt for a few household items, Kenji happened to be returning from his mail round, smoking. He stood outside the building, leaning with one leg lifted, knee sticking out, revealing the fashionable tear in his black jeans – the style's appeal lost to Taro.

He walked straight to Kenji, "Hey."

As Taro hung around him, shifting weight from one leg to the other, it was only then that Kenji realised the greeting was intended for him. He gave Taro an up-down glance, inspecting what he wore: a long sleeved cotton pull-over, non-descript white pants – so conservative, it looked like his mum dressed him.

"Are you lost?" he puffed smoke in Taro's face, causing him to cough. Kenji found that amusing.

Okay, perhaps that wasn't the smoothest move. How did a person even befriend a person like this? Honestly, this was too much work that sought to distract him from the goal at hand: names.

Stupid! You don't need to befriend him, you have the Death Note. People are no longer a barrier to your plans.

A sinister smile crept on Taro's face.

"What you smiling about?" Kenji snapped. In unsophisticated language, Taro was dismissed.

As he returned from the store, Kenji was still outside smoking. Taro gave him a vindictive smile (masked as friendly) as he entered the building. Taro rushed up to the apartment and into his room, store packet still in hand. He removed the Death Note from where it was safely stored and scribbled Kenji's name down. Bye-bye, he muttered and joined Ryuk in a cackling laughter.

Three days after Kenji's death, a knock came at the door. Placing his cereal down, Taro opened the door to find… air. He looked down and saw a white envelope addressed to him. "Doesn't even have the decency to see me in person…"

He assumed the letter was about the mail job. Strategically, Taro applied for it a week ago, letting the building manager know of his interest for the job. One thing Taro knew about the management was their superficiality. There was no announcement on Kenji's death; their important clients couldn't be bothered about useless news about the help. Death or not, the mail had to be delivered – no excuses were going to be entertained. He assumed the Sasakis, Kenji's family, received a limp letter of apologies on their son's passing – if they even bothered to send one; Taro put nothing passed these heartless capitalist robots.

With the job in hand, Taro could finally begin with his plan to rid the world of its parasitic members, and who better to start with than the people who lived above them. For the last time, Taro looked up to the ceiling and cursed their existence.

Closing the door, Taro began to read the letter as he slowly walked to a stool. The letter outlined the intricate delivery schedule. It was perfectly mapped out to ensure that the delivery did not interfere with the upper-storey residents' schedules. "Probably to not have the high esteemed residents' eyes have the image of the help in their sightline," Taro thought bitterly and rolled his eyes.

His plan could only be achieved two days later when the mail to the floor above was to be delivered. 48 hours: a long time period to occupy. It was the autumn holidays and Taro had run out of things to do. He had re-read every book he owned, even stooping as low as to read teenage vampire novels at the bookstore around the corner. There were 40 hours left until mail delivery when he returned bookless from the store; at least that useless endeavour wasted time. Officially running out of anything to read, Taro's desperation drove him to venture into his aunt's collection.

Creaking her door ajar, Taro peaked in and the floral fragrance of her perfume tickled his nose. Empty – his aunt often left with no explanation. He opened completely and invited himself in.

It felt strange being in this room; like he was an invader of privacy. Well, she always came to his room uninvited, so it was time to return the favour. Taro had never been in there, and took a good look at its contents, spinning 360 to take it all in. A double bed was against the opposite wall, below the window that brought in the golden rays of an autumn afternoon into the space. The vanity table next to the door glimmered as the light from the window hit it, causing disco ball lighting illuminating the room.

In the far corner, Taro spotted a stack of hard cover books; his aunt was a frequent purchaser of books, but an infrequent reader. Picking up the first 6, Taro leaned them against his chest as he craned his neck to see his pathway out. The dust rubbed off and a sneeze ruptured.

Taro had just managed to place the books down on the counter as he covered his snout. Sitting in his usual stool, Taro flipped open the top book. A few pages in, he snapped it closed and pushed it aside.

He continued with the next four, each landing on the "read" stack. They were all the same: soppy, poorly written and completely predictable. He wondered why women bought into the "knight in shining armour" story - quite an archaic perspective. They fought with vigour to show they were equal and as strong as men, and yet in their fantasies, they were damsels in distress. Was the last book even worth his time an attempted read?

It wasn't, and it suffered a different fate. Taro tossed it over his shoulder and heard a thud. He swivelled.

"Hey!" Ryuk let out a yelp.

"What?" Taro saw where the book had landed. "Oh, sorry," he said despondently, turning back to face the counter. Taro sighed; still bored like he began. About to close his eyes for a little rest, they were distracted by a fluttering paper in his peripheral vision. Frowning slightly, Taro unfolded his legs and walked over to the item. It was a small white piece of paper – no bigger than palm size. Picking it up to see the reverse, Taro flipped it over and instantaneously wished he hadn't: a small picture; a young male adult its prisoner. The edges were frayed; the picture's colour faded by the sun; its glossy finish worn away.

His heart panged as his memories of the person flooded back. No! He commanded them to subside; he worked too far to forget him for this picture to foil those efforts. He slipped the picture into his pants' pocket; neatly stacked the books again in the order he had found them and quietly made his way back to his aunt's room – his mind still fixated on the picture.

On the morning of delivery day, Taro went about his usual routine, sans the cereal – his excitement had made him slightly behind schedule. He grabbed an apple, and took a generous bite; juices dripping down his chin, Taro's tongue lapped it up.

Ryuk whipped to see what created that distinct crack; his mouth began to water. An apple – he could sense it. Ryuk saw Taro enjoy his apple and his eyes flickered to the fruit bowl where six blood red apples patiently waited to be devoured.

"Want one?" Taro tossed an apple up into the air and caught it. Ryuk simply nodded, eyes fixated on the apple's vertical shift. Taro tossed it over, and in three large bites, it was gone – core and stem included.

"Wow, you really like apples," Taro commented with a light chuckle. He waited for the shinigami to float passed the door frame, closing and locking behind him.

"Human realm apples are so juicy. It's almost worth the trouble of coming over here."

The mail delivery went smoothly; Taro paid special attention on the mail of those living above him. He re-read the name until it stuck. Confident he knew their name, Taro placed their mail down with a broad smile on his face and went back to the staff closet to return the mail sack.

Choosing night time as their end, Taro waited 'til after his dinner to write down their father's name.

Perched on his bed, he looked up at the ceiling as he did every evening, thinking about them, and with a cold heart knowing that he never occupied their thoughts. He closed the notebook and hugged it against his chest as he lay on bed. He counted down as his watch ticked: 5, 4, 3, 2…1.

A thud – the father must have fallen off his chair. The frantic scratching and yells of help from the family above him was music he longed to here for some time – sounding like little rats scurrying from their impending demise. Faintly, he heard an ambulance cry; useless, the man is dead, his family destroyed, just as their selfishness had to society. That's what you get for greed and self-centredness.

His work completed, the Death Note was returned to its hiding place. With a victorious smile on his face, Taro fell asleep.