Yay! Beyond Birthday got me!
Title: “Five Senses Monologue”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Before Kira, there was B. [vaguely implied B/L] Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Ohba Tsugumi and Obata Takeshi. Lucky, aren’t they?
A/N: An abstract, somewhat poetic drabble, vaguely spoilery of Another Note, though I haven’t read it myself yet.
BB: italics
L: plain text
Five Senses Monologue
You taste like strawberry.
You taste like something artificial. Maybe it has always been your function - to be the mirror of myself, to show me my right and wrong.
You smell like honey in the bee-fried air, so tentatively teasing - but all your sweetness is tainted by some bitter flavour that I can’t define. Maybe it’s just you underneath all that deceptive sweetness.
You smell like blood smeared over metal, the vague, but pungent scent of bodily fluid and dust. If colours have scents, then you smell of the colour red. It makes me think that I’m more of a black-and-white person.
You feel like brittle hay mixed with soft feathers. It makes me want to brush my fingers through your hair, bury my face on your shoulder and inhale the creamy, coffee warmth of your clothes. It makes me want to run my nails over your skin and line you with deep scarlet furrows and lick the blood off the pale silk of your body.
You feel like crumpled paper. A few pages torn out of a book, tinged with ashes. You fall apart with just one touch and suddenly you’re all over me, all around me, inside me. But you pass like a desert wind. It’s cruel and it strips flesh off the bones, but there’s hardly anything to destroy in the desert. You’re more hollow than I am if you truly believe you can live off me.
You sound like an exhale in the twilight, a soft gust of wind, barely audible, but so meaningful. You’re not made of words. You’re steady like the rhythm of your breathing. Tell me, L, do you still hear bells in the rain?
You sound like a shrill outcry in the night, the sound of the siren that makes me want to shut my ears. You simply whisper, but it comes so loud, so provocative, so mocking. You’re a voice meant to spit insults - but not really judge. You don’t have that kind of power. Tell me, B, have you ever heard bells in the rain?
You look like a hurricane. The way you sit, the way you walk, the way you nibble at your finger when in thought, the way you construct compositions out of everything - don’t worry, I do know everything about you, - everything looks so chaotic in its simple order. If order can be hectic, that’s how you are.
You look like fog, B. You don’t look like a living being. You look like nothing to me because you are nothing, and I can see right through you. You are a mirror image, you show me all my flaws and I know I want to be better than that. You think you have become me. You, who uses the name of the double L and strives to surpass the original, are a mirage. Invisible.
If A’s death brought you on the brink, you should kill yourself too.
January 22, 2008