It was raining. Large drops fell on the rooftop, hit the windows. He could hear them. Even from inside the enclosed space that he had built for himself, he could hear the ominous sound of rain, like drumbeats in the ears of a weakened conscience. Screens were flickering and data was awaiting and the tapping of his fingertips on the keyboard slowed down, slowed down, slowed down.
He needed to get out.
But the rain- no. Rain was a part of him and he was a part of everything and maybe it was just that he was dying, but occasionally he could catch glimpses, little moments, of the unity of all things, of the singularity woven behind every form, every variation of energy.
It should have been comforting, but the feeling only stirred him more.
He wasn't about questions like where will I go or what will I turn to or will it hurt, not even the seemingly unavoidable an omniconfusing why. He didn't cling to the future, to the other world that might or might not be awaiting for him afterwards. He didn't care. What he did care was the present, and the present had too many questions hanging in the open air, with no voice to ask them and nobody to answer.
The city unfolded at his feet, a machine where everything was in its right place, playing the assigned role, fulfilling the assigned mission. How could somebody think that things were wrong, that the world was rotten? It wasn't all sunlight and butterflies, that was certain. But there was a balance to be kept between good and bad. After all, weren't they mere concepts, creations of the human mind to trace limits and to separate? Everything was needed, everything happened when it had to happen and even him- he couldn't say that he was doing something good, fighting for justice and all that, while manipulating and perhaps even killing and using any means to succeed. This is the way it had to be. Who could ever believe things could have been different?
But Kira, he was something more, he was too much. He had gone past the limit of natural and flew through the roof with grandiose visions of a new kingdom and a new god, wanting to change the unchangeable, daring to disturb the Universe in a way no one had ever dared before. L knew, because he had heard Light in one of his monologues, slips of the tongue betraying himself, careful but not so much when his cinematic side would come up. He would surely make a good actor. He would make a good anything, actually. But 'anything' was never good enough.
The rain was falling, falling and the city was alive in a way he had never been. Yet no trace of nostalgia peered from under his skin, not because he was repressing it, but because he was too good to have it in the first place. The past had passed and the future would never come and everything was fine, just fine.
…still, he couldn't justify the blurry vision and the salt in his eyes while thinking of Watari, of Wammy's, of Near and Mello and Matt and all the kids, of the town and the city that he called his home, thousands of miles away, where rain used to be an usual happening and where he would go out and play in it instead of sitting alone, brooding on nothings and waiting for the day to stop.
He didn't need to justify anything. He faced the sky with eyes wide open and raindrops fell into the glazing mirrors, washing away his consciousness' attempt at a strong emotion. Soon it was gone as if he hadn't felt anything in the first place, leaving his mind and eyes as crystal clear as they would be on a normal case day, on a normal darkless night.
They would be fine. They would manage things quite well without him. Thinking that he was a necessity to the world was too much of an egotistical idea, even for him.
At least in this point, he could consider himself better than Kira. Isn't it so? Isn't it?
He couldn't believe that someone had been so daring, so straightforward in his attempt to justice, and along the way he had realised that he had to, he just had to admire Light for that.
He couldn't help thinking that without him standing in the way, at some point or another, Light would go completely crazy. And he felt- what?- he felt sorry for it.
And maybe, maybe the world wasn't such a perfect clockwork after all if it allowed a promising seventeen-year-old to wreck his life in an attempt to become god and placed a hollow detective in his vicinity- or perhaps this was simply an alternate universe where a bored god wanted to see exactly how twisted things could get and how many people could die, while in the same time, in a parallel world, L and Light were walking down the park alley discussing philosophy and smiling, L's speech still cautious and his voice low, Light's laughter still poignant in the summer air.
Yes… maybe the world was rotten after all.
This is the first version and unfortunately my first versions are too often the final ones, too, so suggestions would be really appreciated.
I'm also leaving this open in case I think of continuing it, you know, Light making his appearance and the talk and all that.