The Observer (YandereL x Reader)

10 - Snake

(A mini chapter, but still important.)

You sit at your desk, staring at the pencil and paper on your desk.

"Should the key be in A major, or minor... oh! I know," you say, quickly grabbing your pencil, frantically trying to get all of your ideas on paper, not caring about how nasty your scribbles are. In fact, some of the chicken scratches you're making don't even look good enough to be scribbles.

"And... oops," you say as your pencil flies across the room, slicing through the air. You glare at the direction that the pencil went.

"Why, you...ugh," you say, irritated at the pencil's carelessness. You get out of your chair and crawl over to the pencil.

Reaching out for it in the darkness under your bed, you feel snake skin, and scream.

"Ah!" You run to the other side of the room, expecting there to be a spooky lizard comin' out to get you. You tilt your head in curiosity when you don't see anything slithering out. You reach your arm under the bed and feel around, freezing when your hand touches what you prezumed to be the snake. You feel it around and notice that it's flat and leathery.

"Huh," you say, now intending to grab it. You pull it out and examine it.

"Death Note? As in...a notebook of death?"

Your curiosity gets the best of you and you open it up, reading what the first page has to offer.

"The human whose name is written in this note shall die," you read.

You flip it over a couple times, looking at it from all angles, and finally say, "Tch, what a fuckin' lame joke..."

But you have on one of those "what the heck" moments and put it on your desk as you turn on the TV.

You see the weatherman and shrug your shoulders.

"Hmm, what could it hurt to try it out," you say, proceeding to write his name.

"Now I wait for 40 seconds...30...39, 40!" you yell, half expecting the weatherman to clinch his test in agony and fall to the ground.

But he doesn't. You look through the book again, just to make sure it said 40 seconds and not something like 400. Sure enough, it says 40, and the weather man still hasn't dropped dead.

Your posture loosens up, and you throw the notebook in the trash.

"Well that took a minute of my life away from me."

You turn off the TV and continue writing your song.