Post by davis on Aug 5, 2011 21:42:01 GMT -5
This is a Death Note story I came up with during the summer. I've posted most of it up on fanfiction.net and people love it. I figured I should put it on here to share with you all. 12 parts all together. Umm.... Well, why don't you guys read, you'll find out what it's all about.
CHAPTER 1
January 27, 2026
Another lonesome night at home. I move my eyes slightly from my mom and dad as they talk about some police case that Mr. Matsuda had just recently ended. He was a good friend of Dad’s from the past supposedly. I can’t figure out how they met since he’s much older than Dad and Dad clams not to have been in the police or been in Japan for more that a few months for school. Touta Matsuda is a top investigator for the Japanese police. I’d say that he’d be in charge if he wasn’t such a goof. The former head, Shuichi Aizawa, another “friend” of Dad’s, was very surprised when he got promoted to one of the top seats. I secretly suspect that Matsuda calls Aizawa for help. I start to bite on my thumb nail, a habit, as I try to think about Dad’s connection to the Japanese police.
“Why don’t you take Max with you?” my mom asks Dad as she moves her blue hair, surprisingly natural, out of her face.
“What about me?” I ask, my thumb still in my mouth. Uh-oh, the subjected changed when I was thinking. I hated it when Mom and Dad do that. I used to be able to think about other things in school and still know what was going on and get 100% on a test.
Mom laughed. “That’s the only way to get your attention.” I shrug slightly and remove my thumb. “Don’t worry, you’re not going any where. I just wanted to see if you’d react.” I look at her for a minute. Despite being 34, my mother acted very childish at times, especially with Dad.
She laughed again. “You are you’re father’s daughter. He wouldn’t react to anyone!”
“Only if they were just standing there,” Dad said blankly. In public and to most people, my father wasn’t a very talkative person, unlike my mother. Somehow, Mom gets him to talk all the time. “If someone talks to me, I reply. You should know that Katrina.”
She smiled. “Better than anyone else.”
“So do I get the you-need-to-pay-more-attention speech?” I ask Dad.
“How about you give it to yourself?” he said, “I’m sure you memorized it by now.”
“I memorized it by the third time,” I say.
“Word-for-word?” Mom asked.
“And tone and posture.”
Yep, this was just another night at the River’s house in Rochester, Minnesota.
1111
I was sitting at my computer with music playing. I’m into old songs from about 30 years ago, stuff that my parents used to listen to when they were my age. It’s not that bad, Mom still listens to The Beatles when they’ve all been dead for two decades. I even have an ipod while all the other kids have that desk stereo thing… I enjoy old and simple things.
There was a knock at my door. Must be Mom saying good night. I look at the clock on the computer, 8:27p.m. Oh, she wants to talk to someone. Dad must be locked up in his study doing another five thousand-piece puzzle.
“Come in,” I say, not looking away from my computer screen. My favorite thing to do was look up things on Google. You’d be surprised by what I find. Right now, I had “Googled” “Beyond Birthday,” he was some serial killer in L.A.
“Is that what you do all day?” my father’s emotionless voice asked. I turn in my computer chair to see him standing in front of me. He must have seen some surprisement in my eyes because he smiled, slightly, “You thought I was your mother, right?”
I laugh a little. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re usually in your study doing one of your many puzzles at this time,” I say.
“True,” he said. He sits on my bed, one foot on the ground and the other one on the bed with his knee to his chest, and twirls his white hair with a finger. Mom said that he has always done this whenever he was thinking.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask as I turn my music off and turn my chair to face him. He stayed silent, his dark eyes looking past me. “Dad?” This time he looked at me, as if noticing me for the first time. “I asked ‘what’s on your mind?”
He took his hand away from his hair and set it on the higher of the two knees. “A lot of things,” he answered.
“Like every other day,” I smile. He smiled back.
My father and I are a lot alike. We both are emotionless around people and enjoy being alone. We like the color white and have white hair, though mine has a very slight hint of blue. Also we are both very intelligent, and Mom is too. (I finished high school a few months ago.) He likes to wear white sweaters with jeans and I like to wear a white t-shirt, five times my size, and white pajama pants.
“Max, you know what tomorrow is?” Dad asked. I nodded; it was one of my favorite days of the year, January 28. We go this small graveyard that my parents made for their family. There were five graves: my grandfathers Watari and Roger, my uncles Mello and Matt, and Lawilet. I never met any of them, only Roger when I was little, but Mom tells me all about them. She was very close to my uncles when they were all kids and Lawilet was a good friend of both my parents. Mom does tell me stuff about him, though sometimes it seems like she hides something about him.
“What about it?” I ask. We never really talk about the day, we just go.
“Your mother and I have some things to do tomorrow and Mr. Aizawa and the other are coming up, so you’ll have to go by yourself,” he said, “that is if you want to.”
I raise my eyebrow slightly. Mom never plans anything on the 28th… there’s a lie somewhere or I’m not being told something. “When did the Japanese police decide to visit?” I ask.
“They just called,” Dad said. I look at him, waiting for more of an answer. He looked back at me with a semi-innocent look. “Your mother did the talking.”
“What false information are you giving our daughter?” my mother’s voice asked. We both turn, me in my chair, and see Mom standing in the doorway. I giggle to myself; I guess Mom wasn’t done talking when Dad came up. “We’re still going, but later than normal and the others are coming too.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Lawilet had gone to Japan and he ended up helping them with some things,” Mom answered, “They were hopeless without him.”
I shrug the subject off. Mom turned to Dad, who looked slightly embarrassed. “Nate, you really need to learn to wait,” she said, “I swear your slowly turning into Mello.”
“Why say that?” he asked, “I haven’t barked out orders to kill anyone or get me chocolate.” They smile to each other. Sometimes I feel left out when they talk. When they’re in the middle of a conversation and I happen to walk in, they’d either shut up or kicked me out. I don’t really understand my parents’ connection with the outside world. It really makes me wonder about what’s really in their minds. I even dare to think that they’re not who they say to be.
Eventually, my parents leave my room and I’m left with my Beyond Birthday search and music. I find this one website that talked about B.B’s killing spree in Los Angels. I read through some articles; I grumble a little at the little information that was given. I browse through the comments and see something, “It is said that L solved the case.” L? Where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, when I overheard one of Mom and Dad’s conversations. I minimize the window and open a new one. In the search box I type in “Detective L.” There were about five hundred hits. I look at my door to make sure that it was closed; if Mom and Dad secretly talk about this L, they’d most likely not like me looking him up.
Many of the sites were in Japanese, which meant that L must have done most of his work in Japan. I read through the description of one of the Japanese sites, “Who will win? Our beloved God Kira is threatened by L.” “Beloved God?” I could only imagine what kind of idiot calls himself a god. I click on the site, just to see what it was. (I’m fluent in English, Spanish, French, Russian, German, and Japanese. My parents are teaching me Chinese and Indian right now.) What came up was a fan site for this “Kira” person. “Kira” in Japanese meant “killer,” so Kira was a killer of some sort, but people saw him as a god.
I read through the site and find out that Kira killed criminals with heart attacks. That’s a little sketchy if you ask me. I look at the menu bar on the page and see “Requests.” Requests for what? I click it and a list of people came up. “Kira please kill this person.” Argh, this was just wrong. What kind of person would tell someone to kill someone for them? To make it worse, some of the requesters were my age and a little older.
I look around the rest of the site for a while before looking for something better on L. The Kira site hadn’t been updated since 2010. And the B.B. case was before that. So L is an old guy by now, but would Mom and Dad talk about him? I know my parents enjoy solving things, I do too, but why would they worry about some detective?
The sound of the piano from downstairs makes me jump. I quickly remind myself that it was only Mom. It was her and she was playing “Hey Jude,” and singing on the top of her lungs. It was one of her many habits, sometimes she’d do some Phantom of the Opera music. I spend the rest of my night looking for information on L and even Kira; his “killing ability” caught my attention. How do you kill someone on command with a heart attack?
1111
He sighed as he stared into nothing. He had known that this was going to happen since the beginning, but he’d thought that Death would had been like a never ending sleep. “The human that uses a Death Note can neither go to Heaven nor to Hell.” damn Shiblack personmi. His raspy voice was still in his head after all this time. There was no way to tell how long he’d been here.
He wasn’t the only one that had used the Death Note; there were those before him and Mello. He had hoped to find the former Mafia member, but there was no sign of anything.
“Yagami, Light,” a deep voice called in the darkness. He turned toward the voice. Who was that and how did he know his name? He saw somewhat of a light and went toward it. He didn’t know how he was moving, but he didn’t linger on it. The voice called his name again as he came closer.
“Who are you?” Light asked, “And what do you want?”
The voice chuckled. “It’s not anything new, I just want you to provide some entertainment.” Entertainment, huh? Sounds just like Ryuk. Before Light could reply, a hand came out of the light, holding a black notebook. A Death Note!
“So how about it Kira? There is still much crime in the world.”
------------------
PPI Claims
CHAPTER 1
January 27, 2026
Another lonesome night at home. I move my eyes slightly from my mom and dad as they talk about some police case that Mr. Matsuda had just recently ended. He was a good friend of Dad’s from the past supposedly. I can’t figure out how they met since he’s much older than Dad and Dad clams not to have been in the police or been in Japan for more that a few months for school. Touta Matsuda is a top investigator for the Japanese police. I’d say that he’d be in charge if he wasn’t such a goof. The former head, Shuichi Aizawa, another “friend” of Dad’s, was very surprised when he got promoted to one of the top seats. I secretly suspect that Matsuda calls Aizawa for help. I start to bite on my thumb nail, a habit, as I try to think about Dad’s connection to the Japanese police.
“Why don’t you take Max with you?” my mom asks Dad as she moves her blue hair, surprisingly natural, out of her face.
“What about me?” I ask, my thumb still in my mouth. Uh-oh, the subjected changed when I was thinking. I hated it when Mom and Dad do that. I used to be able to think about other things in school and still know what was going on and get 100% on a test.
Mom laughed. “That’s the only way to get your attention.” I shrug slightly and remove my thumb. “Don’t worry, you’re not going any where. I just wanted to see if you’d react.” I look at her for a minute. Despite being 34, my mother acted very childish at times, especially with Dad.
She laughed again. “You are you’re father’s daughter. He wouldn’t react to anyone!”
“Only if they were just standing there,” Dad said blankly. In public and to most people, my father wasn’t a very talkative person, unlike my mother. Somehow, Mom gets him to talk all the time. “If someone talks to me, I reply. You should know that Katrina.”
She smiled. “Better than anyone else.”
“So do I get the you-need-to-pay-more-attention speech?” I ask Dad.
“How about you give it to yourself?” he said, “I’m sure you memorized it by now.”
“I memorized it by the third time,” I say.
“Word-for-word?” Mom asked.
“And tone and posture.”
Yep, this was just another night at the River’s house in Rochester, Minnesota.
1111
I was sitting at my computer with music playing. I’m into old songs from about 30 years ago, stuff that my parents used to listen to when they were my age. It’s not that bad, Mom still listens to The Beatles when they’ve all been dead for two decades. I even have an ipod while all the other kids have that desk stereo thing… I enjoy old and simple things.
There was a knock at my door. Must be Mom saying good night. I look at the clock on the computer, 8:27p.m. Oh, she wants to talk to someone. Dad must be locked up in his study doing another five thousand-piece puzzle.
“Come in,” I say, not looking away from my computer screen. My favorite thing to do was look up things on Google. You’d be surprised by what I find. Right now, I had “Googled” “Beyond Birthday,” he was some serial killer in L.A.
“Is that what you do all day?” my father’s emotionless voice asked. I turn in my computer chair to see him standing in front of me. He must have seen some surprisement in my eyes because he smiled, slightly, “You thought I was your mother, right?”
I laugh a little. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re usually in your study doing one of your many puzzles at this time,” I say.
“True,” he said. He sits on my bed, one foot on the ground and the other one on the bed with his knee to his chest, and twirls his white hair with a finger. Mom said that he has always done this whenever he was thinking.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask as I turn my music off and turn my chair to face him. He stayed silent, his dark eyes looking past me. “Dad?” This time he looked at me, as if noticing me for the first time. “I asked ‘what’s on your mind?”
He took his hand away from his hair and set it on the higher of the two knees. “A lot of things,” he answered.
“Like every other day,” I smile. He smiled back.
My father and I are a lot alike. We both are emotionless around people and enjoy being alone. We like the color white and have white hair, though mine has a very slight hint of blue. Also we are both very intelligent, and Mom is too. (I finished high school a few months ago.) He likes to wear white sweaters with jeans and I like to wear a white t-shirt, five times my size, and white pajama pants.
“Max, you know what tomorrow is?” Dad asked. I nodded; it was one of my favorite days of the year, January 28. We go this small graveyard that my parents made for their family. There were five graves: my grandfathers Watari and Roger, my uncles Mello and Matt, and Lawilet. I never met any of them, only Roger when I was little, but Mom tells me all about them. She was very close to my uncles when they were all kids and Lawilet was a good friend of both my parents. Mom does tell me stuff about him, though sometimes it seems like she hides something about him.
“What about it?” I ask. We never really talk about the day, we just go.
“Your mother and I have some things to do tomorrow and Mr. Aizawa and the other are coming up, so you’ll have to go by yourself,” he said, “that is if you want to.”
I raise my eyebrow slightly. Mom never plans anything on the 28th… there’s a lie somewhere or I’m not being told something. “When did the Japanese police decide to visit?” I ask.
“They just called,” Dad said. I look at him, waiting for more of an answer. He looked back at me with a semi-innocent look. “Your mother did the talking.”
“What false information are you giving our daughter?” my mother’s voice asked. We both turn, me in my chair, and see Mom standing in the doorway. I giggle to myself; I guess Mom wasn’t done talking when Dad came up. “We’re still going, but later than normal and the others are coming too.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Lawilet had gone to Japan and he ended up helping them with some things,” Mom answered, “They were hopeless without him.”
I shrug the subject off. Mom turned to Dad, who looked slightly embarrassed. “Nate, you really need to learn to wait,” she said, “I swear your slowly turning into Mello.”
“Why say that?” he asked, “I haven’t barked out orders to kill anyone or get me chocolate.” They smile to each other. Sometimes I feel left out when they talk. When they’re in the middle of a conversation and I happen to walk in, they’d either shut up or kicked me out. I don’t really understand my parents’ connection with the outside world. It really makes me wonder about what’s really in their minds. I even dare to think that they’re not who they say to be.
Eventually, my parents leave my room and I’m left with my Beyond Birthday search and music. I find this one website that talked about B.B’s killing spree in Los Angels. I read through some articles; I grumble a little at the little information that was given. I browse through the comments and see something, “It is said that L solved the case.” L? Where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, when I overheard one of Mom and Dad’s conversations. I minimize the window and open a new one. In the search box I type in “Detective L.” There were about five hundred hits. I look at my door to make sure that it was closed; if Mom and Dad secretly talk about this L, they’d most likely not like me looking him up.
Many of the sites were in Japanese, which meant that L must have done most of his work in Japan. I read through the description of one of the Japanese sites, “Who will win? Our beloved God Kira is threatened by L.” “Beloved God?” I could only imagine what kind of idiot calls himself a god. I click on the site, just to see what it was. (I’m fluent in English, Spanish, French, Russian, German, and Japanese. My parents are teaching me Chinese and Indian right now.) What came up was a fan site for this “Kira” person. “Kira” in Japanese meant “killer,” so Kira was a killer of some sort, but people saw him as a god.
I read through the site and find out that Kira killed criminals with heart attacks. That’s a little sketchy if you ask me. I look at the menu bar on the page and see “Requests.” Requests for what? I click it and a list of people came up. “Kira please kill this person.” Argh, this was just wrong. What kind of person would tell someone to kill someone for them? To make it worse, some of the requesters were my age and a little older.
I look around the rest of the site for a while before looking for something better on L. The Kira site hadn’t been updated since 2010. And the B.B. case was before that. So L is an old guy by now, but would Mom and Dad talk about him? I know my parents enjoy solving things, I do too, but why would they worry about some detective?
The sound of the piano from downstairs makes me jump. I quickly remind myself that it was only Mom. It was her and she was playing “Hey Jude,” and singing on the top of her lungs. It was one of her many habits, sometimes she’d do some Phantom of the Opera music. I spend the rest of my night looking for information on L and even Kira; his “killing ability” caught my attention. How do you kill someone on command with a heart attack?
1111
He sighed as he stared into nothing. He had known that this was going to happen since the beginning, but he’d thought that Death would had been like a never ending sleep. “The human that uses a Death Note can neither go to Heaven nor to Hell.” damn Shiblack personmi. His raspy voice was still in his head after all this time. There was no way to tell how long he’d been here.
He wasn’t the only one that had used the Death Note; there were those before him and Mello. He had hoped to find the former Mafia member, but there was no sign of anything.
“Yagami, Light,” a deep voice called in the darkness. He turned toward the voice. Who was that and how did he know his name? He saw somewhat of a light and went toward it. He didn’t know how he was moving, but he didn’t linger on it. The voice called his name again as he came closer.
“Who are you?” Light asked, “And what do you want?”
The voice chuckled. “It’s not anything new, I just want you to provide some entertainment.” Entertainment, huh? Sounds just like Ryuk. Before Light could reply, a hand came out of the light, holding a black notebook. A Death Note!
“So how about it Kira? There is still much crime in the world.”
------------------
PPI Claims