Heartstrings or Handcuffs? (L x Light)

Look at What You've Done

Me: "Hmm, I THINK this is a good chapter but...You know I really understand why commentary is so important after I write something, and then I'm like...what did I just write? The words kinda stop meaning anything to me after I've gotten them on the page. But for you readers, they're still new. Care to tell me what they sound like new? And thanks for reading, voting, etc. I really appreciate it. Oh, and, uh, the picture attached to this chapter is gone now--whoever originally posted it must have deleted it. Just fyi."

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Today is now, and now I know. I know he does have feelings. He does care. But certainly not about me. Well guess what?

I care, too. About cleansing the world. About winning. Don't tell me my feelings matter any less than his—I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS.

"LOOK! TODAY I COMMAND YOU TO LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" L shouts at me again, tugging my head back to the scene before us. It's been like this between us for the past few weeks. I have to think it's because of something Misa said in her interrogation or because he never actually wanted to play my game in the first place.

I tug my head back to the side. I'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG. How DARE he imply that I have?

This is what we've come to now—the exact opposite of what I'd hoped for: blatant enmity. He HATES me—that much is clear, and I honestly don't much care for him right now either.

So now everyday he commands me to look at what I've done, and I refuse to do so. I turn my head away and say nothing, and he screams at me—a complete reversal of his normally calm and calculating attitude. I turn my head away, and I try to fill it with distractions, and he keeps at me. But even recounting to myself much of the events that lead us here is hardly helping. I am floundering.

"LOOK!" the screaming continues on, rising over the wailing and the solemn chanting and then the worst, the impossible—the sound of nails scraping at wood somehow still audible from this distance and over this noise.

God must be testing my resolve with this hell. Because I may be a little dead inside, but I FEEL it every time those nails hit that wood. My heart beat seems to work to match its tempo—speeding and slowing at odd intervals while all the while there's the screaming...and the wailing...and the chanting.

I have to keep telling myself I don't deserve this because I don't. No, I prevent scenes like this...but if that's true- NO! But if that's true- There go the nails again. But if that's true- "LOOK!" But if that's true- I gnash my teeth.

But if that's true- "You light a lamp for me. The Lord, my God, lights up my darkness."

But if that's true- "Give him back!"

But if that's true- "LOOK!"

But if that's true- "Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them."

But if that's true-! I pull at my hair—ANYTHING to stop myself from thinking it.

But if that's true- I won't fail you, God. I won't think the unthinkable.

But if that's true- "He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever."

But if that's true- The nails again. GOD, THE NAILS! I stop breathing altogether—terrified—as an image forces its way into my mind, like a judgment forces its way upon your record. I can see the girl, now—though my eyes are closed—clawing at the coffin lid with her nails. "Give him back! Daddy! Don't bury Daddy!" she screeches. There's always one of them at these reckonings L holds for me. And they all seem to look the same: brown hair, brown eyes. Yes, they all look like Sayu. And now, in my head, it's her screaming over our father's grave, and she is begging ME. And the detectives who respected him are screaming, "LOOK!" at me. And mother is wailing while Ryuk mocks me with the chanting of bible verses.

I prevent scenes like this—funerals—but if that's true, then why am I attending one with L? God, why do they hold funerals for criminals? Why do they hold them so LATE? So long after they're gone?

Because sometimes it takes them a while to find the bodies.

Sometimes they DON'T find them.

Is this one of those, God? Is Sayu just clawing at an empty casket?

I fall to my knees, gasping. I'm a murderer. I lost, God...if I was ever winning in the first place.

Is all human life really precious? But I thought these people were scum.

The nails at the wood again, and they're telling me that, to them, I'm wrong. This scum was loved—VALUED. I took away...value? From the world?

I try to picture killing L again in my head—desperate to correct myself. I try to imagine smiling at his emotionless face while the breath leaves him. I try to feel victory, but I feel sick to my stomach because I'm watching a horror movie in my mind. I gasp for breath and gag. My face is wet. Did I vomit? No, I'm crying.

"There is a time for everything," the priest chants on over the din of our despair, "and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace." I can hear him, at long last, shut his book as someone pulls the nails away from the wood.

Is this it then? My time to give up, God?...

...

...

...If I don't...surrender...I'll lose everything, won't I? Everything I take for granted. Everything I thought was boring. I'll lose Mom...and Dad...and Sayu...and L. Yes, I'll even lose L...and even that will matter.

I used to think it was so exciting to plan my bright, new world, but now I see I was planning how I would ruin the world that I have—imperfect by nature's decree—and end my life. I was trying to force purity where purity doesn't actually belong. Because you can't kill a predator without the ecosystem noticing.

So what do I find exciting now? Now- It's ridiculous- Now, his hand on my shoulder speeds my heart. I can feel his touch in my veins, and just the sound of his breathing—ragged from screaming—is enough to drown out all my thoughts. Now, it's impossible to picture ending that sound.

God, I failed.

I failed—he doesn't love me.

I failed—I love him.