I go by many different names.
Firstly, there is my real name, the name nobody knows. The name my parents gave me. Secondly, there's the name you might know me by. Crimson Snow. The detective. But, my friends and my many enemies call
But you may call me Miba.
This is not my story. It is his. He is also known by many names. He is L. I am telling this story because he is unable to tell it himself.
I grew up in a place called Wammy House. It is a place for orphaned children who show signs of genius at a early age. I was only seven when I first arrived at Wammy's. At that time there were only three children living in Wammy House. There was A, Beyond Birthday and, of course, lived separately from us. He was only twelve years old and already he showed a incredible amount of intelligence, far beyond the power of most adults. L was already solving cases and had built up quite a reputation. BB had been brought to Wammy House a year before myself. He was eight years old. A had been at Wammy's for about six months when I arrived. He was also eight.
For the first year of my life at Wammy's, I never even saw L, let alone got the chance to speak to him. I wouldn't have spoken to him anyway. At that time, I was still hurting about my parents deaths. You see, I was smart. I knew that my parents were dead, that they were never coming back. I was in the car when it crashed.
The road was very icy that day. The car slid across a patch of black ice and crashed into the barrier at the side of the road. Then, a truck came out of nowhere and smashed into our car. It happened so fast. The people in the hospital said it was a miracle I was alive. It wasn't a miracle. The side of the car I was sitting in was hit with the least amount of force. It was only logical that I would be the one most likely to survive. But I didn't see it that way at that time. I blamed myself. I thought that because I had behaved badly I'd made God angry. I thought it was my fault that my parents had died. I hated myself. I detested every fibre in my body. I was a monster. A murdering, little devil.
It did get better after a while. I was able to interact more with the other children. I was finally recovering. But then, everything changed.
You have to remember, we were still children. No matter how logical, intelligent or advanced we were, we weren't adults. There was an enormous amount of pressure on us to be the best. To surpass everyone else. It was very, very hard. And one day, A couldn't take it anymore. He killed himself. He was only ten years old.
It hit BB hard. He had built up a friendship with A, something which is extremely difficult for children in our situation to do. BB was always, particularly unusual. There was something about him that wasn't quite right. He had a way of looking at you that made you think he knew everything about you, knew all your deepest darkest fears. He scared me.
I never knew A that well. I didn't really know anyone that well. I talked to him occasionally but I mostly kept to myself. However, his death did effect me. I don't like needless death. I don't like the idea that someone can just disappear. I don't like to be reminded of how fragile life is.
I first met L at A's funeral. There was something about it that reminded me of my parents death. All those horrible, guilty feelings came flooding back. I found myself crying. That made me feel so much worse. I knew I wasn't crying for A. I was crying for my parents. There was something about that which seemed so selfish. Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a teenage boy with wild black hair and dark, flat eyes. He looked really tired and stood with a slight hunch.
"Did you know him?" He asked. His voice was flat and emotionless. "I admit, I didn't know him at all."
I didn't know what to say. There was something about that boy that took my breath away.
"I-I didn't know him much" I stammered.
The boy looked at me strangely.
"Then why are you crying?" He asked.
Again, I was lost for words. I knew that this boy would know if I lied.
"I don't know." I said simply.
The boy looked at me again.
"I-I don't like it when people die." I struggled.
The boy sighed.
"Neither do I." He said. " But, it is a part of life that is unavoidable. People were made to die. It is simple fact. Death is something is meant to happen. I don't know if we go somewhere when we die but I like to think that we do. You shouldn't dwell to much on death. It is not important. But the way you live is. It is the only we leave behind that will matter when we're gone. Anyway, I have to go now. Watari is waiting."
Then he walked away.
The words he said to me that day may seem harsh. It is not something that you would normally tell a nine year old. But it made so much sense to me. That I didn't have to worry about my parents. That people do die and we can't avoid it. For the first time, I forgave myself a little.
I realized who that boy was when I went to bed that night.
He was L.
A/N: Thanks for reading! It is really long! :)