Because L strikes me as a horribly morbid child.

Ring around the rosies, a pocket full of posies

Someone was screaming. L wished they'd be quiet. He was trying to find patterns in the shadows cast by the fire.

Turning his eyes to the building, he smiled.

Ashes ashes, we all fall down.

A loud crack split the air and he looked up as the roof caved in, sending sparks and ash into the sky. Someone screamed again, and he frowned. Didn't they know how to be quiet?

He'd left behind no trail, nothing to connect him to the flames eating away at the wood. He'd read enough mystery novels and watched enough Law and Order in the tv room to know that if there was no evidence, they couldn't prove he'd done it.

Catch me if you can, I'm the gingerbread man.

The flames were pretty enough, and the way they twisted and turned in a dance for his eyes only sent him into a fit of giggles.

See how they dance Mama? Isn't it pretty? I make them dance, and I did it for you. I was a good boy Mama, so come and get me. I don't like it here.

For awhile, all L could smell as he crouched there, thumb to teeth, was the fire and the ash. But as the flames died down and the embers cooled off, the smell of burnt flesh took over.

He didn't mind.

It'd been pretty while it lasted.

Ashes, ashes
And we all fall down!