The Answer

BY : BreakingLucinda
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 718
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, and am making absolutely no profit from writing this fanfiction. It is only for recreational purposes.

Chapter 1 of 3
What Does Not Kill You Makes You Stronger

As I walked away from Wammy’s Place (or otherwise since the Wammy we all knew was now dead), the sun was setting before my eyes. Two stars behind me stood in the dark, waiting for their brothers to join them in a comely show of nightlights. I was miles away from the place by now, trudging foot to foot away from the future I had failed to reach for.

Had I done something wrong to not deserve what I worked for?


Was Near better than me, in the end?

I think so, but that’s not actually true.

Then why am I whining silently like this?

I had no answer to that, so I simply admonished my negativity, telling it to shut up just for the night. “What you should be thinking about is how the hell you’re supposed to find a place to rest”, I murmured, shoving my frozen hands into my pockets. Nobody was out here for obvious reasons, told just by the stunningly bright series of crystals that fell so delicately onto the ground. They said without really telling that the world could look pretty like the way it was, but after being in it for a bit, it would leave you wet and twice as cold. Though people most likely just thought it was too fucking freezing.

As if Jesus heard my silent ponderings, I turned to see a little motel. The worn-out, rather grimy looking sign simply said “CABLE”, only bothering to get to the neutrality point. My fingers felt around stiffly for some money, and I could feel 50 pounds in my coat pocket just like I had stocked up. Up the stairs my feet went, open the door became and I was in the office.

“I assume you would like a room?” a Mexican dude said in his Hispanic accent.

“Si – I mean, yes.” I certainly hoped the man wouldn’t get too angry with my [sarcastic] slip of the tongue. But instead, he smiled and offered his hand on the counter. I simply looked at it, trying not to look too perplexed.

“Don’t you have money, senor?” the man chuckled. I nodded, embarrassed and handed him the amount that could still save me bucks for food. “Room 41.” Before I knew it, the keys were in my hand as I walked my merry way towards Room 41.

Damn Mexican people, not telling me where in the world to go in the hotel. It took me 10 minutes to find my room, due to the fact that there were already 100 of the bloody things. So not only was I tired from walking around forever and cold from the winter weather, I felt like shit for being racist to Mexicans. ‘You aren’t going to sleep very well for the guilt and self-pity you’re going through’, my conscious clicked.

“Who cares. I’m tired enough.” My voice came as if from nowhere, my body flopping into my bed at last. This caused a heave and puff of dust and the smell of cheese puffs to blow up in my face. “Eeyugh!”, I howled, growling while holding my nose. That was gross, even worse than the night after Taco Dinner at the orphanage! With a stumbling flip off the bed, I went to the other side of the room to wait for the stench to wear off.

As I did, my mind wandered to a sentimental, annoying yet somewhat comforting place. That little realm, of course, went to the meaning of life deal again. What was it, really? Money, living, toys, chocolate, sex, Jesus? Did it change everyday? The answer had plagued and nagged me since someone asked as a crack ass joke back when I was just a little kid. I hadn’t figured out by that time, even as I started to get drowsy and think of silly solutions to the query, even to the point of Mexicans, therefore Mexican food, as being the meaning of life.

But as my eyes closed and my head slumped softly against the wall, I thought of the meaning of my life that very day.

‘What kills me doesn’t make me stronger…it just pisses me off’.

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