Bittersweet Victory

Why are you here?

'I don't know.'

You come every night now.

'I know that.'

Don't the others ask where you go?

'They don't usually question me.'

And if they do?

'I'm only going for a walk. I need time to think. Something like that.'

They always believe you?

'Yes.'

No questions?

'No questions.'

I suppose they want to trust you.

'They do trust me. You're the only one you didn't.'

Was I wrong?

' . . . No.'

His eyes were deep with thought, focused entirely on the stone before him. He let his fingers trace along the carvings, picking out any kind dirt or greenery—anything that defiled it. He felt that nothing else should be able to touch it.

No one but him.

His lips were still in his concentrated silence, even though they never moved even when he spoke. Their mouths were sealed shut as they whispered to each other in the darkness of these nights. He didn't even know why they did this, he never had. He had simply begun coming to this place and they would sit together quietly until the sun came up. No words.

No words.

Then one night, for no particular reason at all, he heard that almost forgotten voice murmur slowly to him: Why are you here?

It was how every night began—always with the same question—but he never knew the answer.

How have you been?

'What?'

You seem different lately.

'Everything is different.'

I'm not different.

'That's true.'

Why are you changing without me?

'Well, I can't change with you, can I?'

Of course not.

'Then what do you want me to do?'

Don't change at all.

'I don't want to change either.'

It's sad isn't it?

'Yes.'

You seem so tired.

'Yes.'

Bored.

'Yes.'

You have no purpose anymore.

'No, I don't.'

And do you know why?

'Yes.'

His eyes turned away from the stone for a short moment, following the sound of waking birds. A few random chirps floated across the air, and leaves rustled here and there. He hated it when things began to come alive again. They were noisy and interrupted their conversations. It also meant that the sun would rise soon and then the conversation would end.

He would stay for a while, talking to the emptiness: 'Are you there?' even though he knew he would receive no answer. Once the sun came it was over, and he was alone again. Why did he always end up alone?

'Can I see you?'

The question came out as unexpected and unstoppable as a scream, and just as a scream, he knew that it would not go unnoticed.

You want to see me?

'Yes.'

Why?

'Just once.'

Why?

'I want to know if you're really there.'

Of course I'm here. You can hear me.

'I want to see you.'

The sun is coming.

'Let me see you.'

Why?

'Stop asking me why.'

Then give me a real answer.

'Maybe I'm only hearing things.'

Maybe you'll see things too. You'll only doubt it more.

'Give me something real then.'

There is nothing real left.

'Why not?'

You know why.

'No, I don't.'

Yes, because you know why you have no purpose anymore, and so you know why there is nothing real anymore either. The answer to both is the same.

His eye caught on the first ray of sunlight and he looked up. He stared through the trees at that demon peering over the horizon, stretching its ugly, pale fingers across the ground and touching the stone. He quickly moved to block it, shielding the stone from the dispelling Light.

Not yet. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

'Tell me the answer. Please.'

You know it already.

'No, I forget. Tell me.'

You want me to lie to you?

'No. Tell me the truth.'

You're hoping to hear something different? You're hoping that you're wrong?

'Just tell me the answer.'

The sun is coming.

'Please, wait!'

Alright. The answer to what?

'My question.'

Which one?

He felt the heat of the sun against his back, the birds growing louder and higher in numbers. His eyes widened at the sight of Light spilling over his shoulders and striking against the stone.

Not yet!

'Why don't I have a purpose?'

How long can one enjoy the victory of a game before getting bored again?

'Why do I come here?'

How long does a drug addict feel euphoria before sinking back into withdrawal and craving?

'Why is there nothing left?'

What happens to a gambler's winnings?

'Why am I alone?'

You know the answer. The sun is coming.

'Why do you leave when the sun comes?'

The sun is here.

'Wait! I have one more question.'

The answers to all your questions are the same. The sun is here.

'Please, wait.'

I will give you something real, but only if you admit the answer.

'Are you there?'

The sun poured over and around him, leaking past the shield he had created and beating against the stone. Light filled the whole area and the sounds of their voices were replaced in full by the birds that suddenly flew past him. His eyes searched desperately for his companion. The sun had come.

Light had come and that meant that it was time to leave.

"Are you there?" He called out, speaking with his mouth this time and hearing his own voice echo. "Answer me!" He turned around several times, searching. Searching. If a person were to leave that meant they had to go somewhere; surely he should be able to see?

It wasn't long before his cell phone rang. He didn't answer it. He never did when he was here. It simply reminded him that the sun had come and now he was simply wasting his time. He collected himself and stood, slowly walking towards the exit.

His chest felt heavy and his mind felt like a lump of solid brick. He knew the answer to his questions, but he hated it so much that he didn't want to give in to it. He couldn't accept it. He couldn't admit it.

He had brought all of this onto himself.

He thought his victory would make him happy, and it did, but then he got bored again. There was no goal, no motivation, no purpose anymore. Victory was short-lived. He came to that place in search of that euphoric feeling again but it wasn't there. He always felt like there was something, something that spoke to him. He couldn't see it in the darkness but by the time the sun came it left and then there was nothing. There was nothing at all, and so he was alone.

When the sun came it brought its Light with it. He knew that his companion now feared the Light. When the Light came, his companion went away because . . .

Because . . .

"I killed you." Light muttered to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the gravestone he was leaving. " . . . I killed you, Ryuzaki. That's why. That's the answer." He stared at the grave sadly. "So, then you're not really there at all, are you? You're not real. You can't give me anything real . . . You're dead."

He started walking again, decidedly silent. He was ready now. He didn't feel the need to come back here anymore. Nothing was there.

Suddenly he felt something brush against his hand and his eyes shot to it. One of the birds had turned around and flown back to the graveyard, its wingtips gently sweeping across his skin as it passed. Then another bird followed it, this one lightly scratching his hand with its short talons.

He lingered on the feeling and thought about it as he walked.

Sight and sound could always be in his head. But physical feeling and pain . . . Those were real.

He had something real.

And he had the scratch to prove it.

XxXxXxXxX

Hey, just a random lil ficlet for you all :) I was in a funny mood so this might seem like totally random rubbish to you all but it made perfect sense to me XD For those you are confused, the conversations were between Light (Raito) and L’s ghost, but he wasn’t sure if it was in his head or not o.o I know this was kinda pointless but I felt the need to write it cuz it was so stuck in my head XD I hope you enjoyed it :S

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