Everyone has questions.
Of course. There is no such thing as someone with all the answers.
And yet every question has an answer.
So what makes it impossible to obtain them all?
He was supposed to have all the answers, to know everything. To overthrow the self-proclaimed god of his world. But, right off the top of his ivory head, he could think of a question that nobody could answer. No amount of correctly-placed puzzle pieces or lightly curled milky hairs would answer it for him. Anyone could think of this question, and yet nobody could come up with a full, solid, proven answer.
Where do we go when we die?
He had forgotten that question just once.
Like a dream, a fairytale, everything seemed to fall into place at that moment. He sent a friend-No, a rival- No, a brother- No, an adversary- To do what he couldn't. To the fair-haired young man, it had seemed like the best of ideas. He had given his opponent a fair warning of what awaited him should he oblige, and yet the other player had followed his instructions.
This was all a game. In games, you aren't supposed to trust your opponents.
They'll grab the first chance to eliminate you.
Near hated trust. In no way was he evil or anything like that, to deteste all that is good like the villains of Saturday morning cartoon universes. He kept these villains and heroes around him, on the floor, at his fingertips. It wasn't that he hated trust, it was that he hated the humanity that made and broke it, the guilt that followed. Near never lied, but sometimes the truth could tear you apart just as badly.
The treasured forementioned villains were scattered among the floor, abandoned as he stared fixatedly at what anyone would call a normal news report on the television. It was all Mello's fault. Mello had trusted him, and it was his downfall.
There was another feeling Near hated.
Responsability.
Was that even a feeling, really? Or a sense? Was there a difference?
But how could he strive to become the legendary L, when he did not want others to trust him? L was the hero. He protected everyone, and the one thing Near has been sure of for quite some time was that the faceless letter L was always there, deducing the amazing as he stuffed his face with assorted candies. But even that L hadn't been able to keep his place for more than a few years. What was wrong with this world? Didn't the bad guys always die? The bad guy, most definatly, was Kira. Kira killed others for his own gain. But wasn't Near doing the same?
Perhaps the pallid boy had been hoping that his opponent would find a way out-just a little. He had warned the adversary, and yet when they encountered the very thing he predicted they would boldly trudge foreward. Courage was another thing Near hated. He hated it because he lacked it. As any naive person would, he had figured that if the enemy obeyed his demands even though they spelled certain death for them, it would not be his fault.
And yet here he was, wondering dolefully as his charcoal eyes reflected the rippling flames on the television screen.
He really hadn't expected Takada to set the building on fire.
But now, he had proof. He had proof that Raito Yagami was Kira, and Micheal Keehl had wasted away in the process. He, Near, had won. There was no way around it for Kira, with the slightest of assists the soon-to-be L had won the game. Two players out by elimination, and one left to be disqualified.
Near loved to win. He had always loved to win.
And yet, as he saw the last remains of the burning building be hosed down by firemen, saw that there was no hope for his enemy-turned-ally at all, there was only one question he could think of that could not be answered by him. It was a guilty question, a question pushed into his mind by the weight of Mello's corpse on his shoulders.
Where do we...
He loved to win.
Where do we go...
So why was the fate of a foolish adversary bothering him this much?
...When we die?
Of course. There is no such thing as someone with all the answers.
And yet every question has an answer.
So what makes it impossible to obtain them all?
He was supposed to have all the answers, to know everything. To overthrow the self-proclaimed god of his world. But, right off the top of his ivory head, he could think of a question that nobody could answer. No amount of correctly-placed puzzle pieces or lightly curled milky hairs would answer it for him. Anyone could think of this question, and yet nobody could come up with a full, solid, proven answer.
Where do we go when we die?
He had forgotten that question just once.
Like a dream, a fairytale, everything seemed to fall into place at that moment. He sent a friend-No, a rival- No, a brother- No, an adversary- To do what he couldn't. To the fair-haired young man, it had seemed like the best of ideas. He had given his opponent a fair warning of what awaited him should he oblige, and yet the other player had followed his instructions.
This was all a game. In games, you aren't supposed to trust your opponents.
They'll grab the first chance to eliminate you.
Near hated trust. In no way was he evil or anything like that, to deteste all that is good like the villains of Saturday morning cartoon universes. He kept these villains and heroes around him, on the floor, at his fingertips. It wasn't that he hated trust, it was that he hated the humanity that made and broke it, the guilt that followed. Near never lied, but sometimes the truth could tear you apart just as badly.
The treasured forementioned villains were scattered among the floor, abandoned as he stared fixatedly at what anyone would call a normal news report on the television. It was all Mello's fault. Mello had trusted him, and it was his downfall.
There was another feeling Near hated.
Responsability.
Was that even a feeling, really? Or a sense? Was there a difference?
But how could he strive to become the legendary L, when he did not want others to trust him? L was the hero. He protected everyone, and the one thing Near has been sure of for quite some time was that the faceless letter L was always there, deducing the amazing as he stuffed his face with assorted candies. But even that L hadn't been able to keep his place for more than a few years. What was wrong with this world? Didn't the bad guys always die? The bad guy, most definatly, was Kira. Kira killed others for his own gain. But wasn't Near doing the same?
Perhaps the pallid boy had been hoping that his opponent would find a way out-just a little. He had warned the adversary, and yet when they encountered the very thing he predicted they would boldly trudge foreward. Courage was another thing Near hated. He hated it because he lacked it. As any naive person would, he had figured that if the enemy obeyed his demands even though they spelled certain death for them, it would not be his fault.
And yet here he was, wondering dolefully as his charcoal eyes reflected the rippling flames on the television screen.
He really hadn't expected Takada to set the building on fire.
But now, he had proof. He had proof that Raito Yagami was Kira, and Micheal Keehl had wasted away in the process. He, Near, had won. There was no way around it for Kira, with the slightest of assists the soon-to-be L had won the game. Two players out by elimination, and one left to be disqualified.
Near loved to win. He had always loved to win.
And yet, as he saw the last remains of the burning building be hosed down by firemen, saw that there was no hope for his enemy-turned-ally at all, there was only one question he could think of that could not be answered by him. It was a guilty question, a question pushed into his mind by the weight of Mello's corpse on his shoulders.
Where do we...
He loved to win.
Where do we go...
So why was the fate of a foolish adversary bothering him this much?
...When we die?
