DREAM [Week 8 Day 3]
Light is standing in a stream, warm water flowing around his ankles, tiny fish work their way up against the current. This is the first time he's dreamt of Kannagara; dreamt of this strange world with its gods and monsters. Somehow he's aware of that fact, even as he stands there in the shade of an acacia tree on a warm summer afternoon, the breeze against his face, the soft whisper of it through the leaves, barely audible over the trickle of the stream that is seemingly all around him.
The stones are cool and worn round under his feet. As he moves downstream, out of the shade and into the sunlight, Light lifts his head, sees on the river bank a child in a pram, its mother leaning down over him. A strong surge of emotion here. Familiarity, absence, heartache -- the woman is his own mother. His father is nowhere to be seen, perhaps working hard on a case. He'd been reasonably established in the police when Light had been born, and his job kept him busy. Still, not to see him, even in a dream, was a sad reminder of that fact.
With each step, the water seems to get a little deeper. A few years later, and a new baby is in the pram - his sister - again a feeling of brotherly affection, of regret for his own absence. A lonely child, a young Light - already in a starting school - sits with his head buried in a book, ignoring the bright sunshine and the other children playing nearby.
He continues to walk, now moving past a tennis court. Not much more than ten, Light is already excellent on the court. He moves with grace and finesse, knows already which way to move before the other person has even hit the ball, and his reactions are smart and fast. The other children have a difficult time keeping up, routinely losing, and clearly not knowing how; frustrated with Light's talent they go off to play together, deliberately ignoring him. Putting his racquet away, he sits alone at the bus stop and studies as he waits. Time passes. The child checks his watch. Light's own feeling of loneliness, now, is projected over the scene. From experience with L, he knows what it would have been like to have had friends as a child. It hurts to know that there were all those times when he could have gone to play with the others, when the drive to win and be the best had pushed them all away. His father pulls up as it's getting dark, streetlights coming on as the car pulls in. Souichiro gets out to open the door, and now there's a deeper feeling of absence and loss--all those days, like this one, when he hadn't come to pick him up; when Light had waited until seven and caught the bus to be home in time for dinner without his father, and the winter nights when it would get cold and dark early. It had been one of those nights, after winning the tournament, that he had decided not to pursue tennis any longer.
The water is up to his thigh now, and becoming bitterly cold. His toes are numb, but he ignores it, walking ever forward.
In school, Light begins to attract the attention of others for an entirely different reason. There are a pair of scenes played out here; a Light to either side of him. On his left, a Light of thirteen or fourteen that walks along the riverbank is bullied by a group of youths for the odd colour of his hair. He stands, utterly peaceful, until they get bored of him, leaving, then quietly he follows, keeping to the shadows. The youths are a bad sort. It's quite dark now, and Light stays close as they move into a shopping district. A few moments later he stops in at a telephone box to make a quick phonecall, leaving in time to follow them again. Just around the corner, they break into a shop, and moments after that the police arrive, trapping them inside. Light remembers clearly -- they were transferred to juvenile detention, and never bothered him again. Satisfaction - chill and determined - for the conclusion of this little act.
And on the other side?
A very different kind of attention. Girls adored the same different look that made others jealous. They liked his pale hair and his sharp mind, drawn to his success, or his family's reputation -- or else forced toward it by their families, attempting to draw lines through blood to live a more comfortable life. Light was content, knowing quite well that he was bound for great things. Policing, politics, computing -- whatever he put his mind to he would excel at; after all, he had been To-Oh University's keynote speaker - along with L - something he had been quite proud of, even if those achievements had become routine by now. The girls were all the same though. He looked past them. They could never draw his eye, never hold his attention. Occassionally he might find himself looking at other boys - whom he could respect more, for they neither made an effort to 'flaunt their assets' - all human bodies were essentially the same - nor had to win a strong, talented man to make themselves look better. They had qualities of their own; aspirations of their own. He would joke with them, flirt with them, but the attention was never once returned except in the same format as he gave it. It was all a joke to them, but to Light, the girls were a joke to him. He managed to maintain the rumour that he wasn't dating, in favour of study, and it held out beautifully until L.
Then, it became necessary to choose one. Someone normal, someone beautiful, someone who other people would expect to see on the arm of Yagami Light, honour student. Kiyome Takada. He made her into an accessory the same way he had never wanted to be, and she had been eager to be a part of it. To be seen with him, just as much as he with her. She was a beautiful girl with dark hair, a folder under her arm - Miss To-oh; best of all, when confronted with Misa she had been calm and collected. She had her own future to attend to, and she knew that Light's patience for Misa was frail and fleeting. Her sharp intelligence, then, had at least made sense, making her in the long term far less of a liability. Not clever enough to work out that he was Kira, but suitably independent - sure in herself - in such a way as she did not cause a scene if things went wrong. Light, walking on the shore, ignored the girls around him, glanced after the men, and as they walked past a line of dark suited, shadow-faced men, he slipped forward and snagged Takada by the waist, holding her close to him. There was no emotion here, no care for the woman he held.
All three Lights, all three walking, halted very suddenly as darkness turned to bright light. The moon rose ahead of them, but it was blinding - coming closer, getting wide, and in the very center of it an L in London font; an L that shone black on white like an overbright computer screen, forcing him to shield his eyes. His whole body was cold now, chest high in the water, and--
Bodies began to float past.
Bodies upon bodies, hundreds of them, some bumping into him, some under the water, some on top of it, all twisted as though they had died suddenly and in great pain. Some he recognised. Some he'd forgotten. Ray Penber. Naomi Misora. Lind L. Taylor. Light took a step back, but a cold arm - was it of a dead body?! - wrapped around him, holding him tight. An arm that belonged to L -- a scruffy dark haired man, little older than him, a familiar and yet resented genius. His white shirt clung to his body, near transparent. His black hair stuck to his face and neck.
Though his Japanese was good, Light could just about hear the accent in it that proved that he was foreign. Even so it was excellent, better spoken Japanese than that all but the most highly educated of his contemporaries - clear and precise. "The dead travel along this river," he said. "But you, Light, you're neither living or dead, are you? A man like you has no right to go where they are going; no right to rest with them. Don't worry--" L smiled, a macabre and unpleasant smile. "--I'm almost here now. There's not much time left. How do you think I will punish you, when I had Beyond Birthday killed for far less? Not long. Not long now. Not with this proving your guilt. A dream doesn't mean anything, though, does it?"
L laughed. "You are funny, Yagami-kun. It's time to wake up now."
And pulled him under the water.
__________________________________________________________
Light gasped for air as he started awake, heart beating frantically, eyes very wide. L lay beside him, but tonight Light decided to avoid his company - at least, he did when he discovered the dream had been recorded. All those peaceful, harmless dreams he'd been having had been fine, but the last week had been full of dreams about being discovered -- caught red handed. This was perhaps the least dangerous of those. Better by far than his dream of the previous night in which he'd walked up the steps onto the platform at To-Oh and announced, with L beside him, that he was Kira, and that everyone who committed a crime was supposed to line up in front of the stage.
He could explain this away. He could do his best, at least, but the noose was closing tighter. His ability to breathe freely was being taken from him. It would all be over as soon as L could prove it, and with everything around him repeating the same thing - that Light was Kira - how could he hope for a different conclusion?
The longer he stayed here, the less safe he felt, and yes, they were building things together - a way for L and the others to remain dependent on him even if they discovered the truth - but it was still only a matter of time, and time was running short.
Outside, Light circled the barn, moving to check in on the sleeping animals and make sure there weren't any foxes around. It was a warm, cloying night, the baking heat of the day still clinging to the stone walls of the house, a static buzz in the air that might be a promise of thunder later. At least in this fresh, starstudded world, he could pretend to be still, harmlessly, asleep. If Kannagara was a dream, then he could wake up from it. It was the very best he could hope for.
The stones are cool and worn round under his feet. As he moves downstream, out of the shade and into the sunlight, Light lifts his head, sees on the river bank a child in a pram, its mother leaning down over him. A strong surge of emotion here. Familiarity, absence, heartache -- the woman is his own mother. His father is nowhere to be seen, perhaps working hard on a case. He'd been reasonably established in the police when Light had been born, and his job kept him busy. Still, not to see him, even in a dream, was a sad reminder of that fact.
With each step, the water seems to get a little deeper. A few years later, and a new baby is in the pram - his sister - again a feeling of brotherly affection, of regret for his own absence. A lonely child, a young Light - already in a starting school - sits with his head buried in a book, ignoring the bright sunshine and the other children playing nearby.
He continues to walk, now moving past a tennis court. Not much more than ten, Light is already excellent on the court. He moves with grace and finesse, knows already which way to move before the other person has even hit the ball, and his reactions are smart and fast. The other children have a difficult time keeping up, routinely losing, and clearly not knowing how; frustrated with Light's talent they go off to play together, deliberately ignoring him. Putting his racquet away, he sits alone at the bus stop and studies as he waits. Time passes. The child checks his watch. Light's own feeling of loneliness, now, is projected over the scene. From experience with L, he knows what it would have been like to have had friends as a child. It hurts to know that there were all those times when he could have gone to play with the others, when the drive to win and be the best had pushed them all away. His father pulls up as it's getting dark, streetlights coming on as the car pulls in. Souichiro gets out to open the door, and now there's a deeper feeling of absence and loss--all those days, like this one, when he hadn't come to pick him up; when Light had waited until seven and caught the bus to be home in time for dinner without his father, and the winter nights when it would get cold and dark early. It had been one of those nights, after winning the tournament, that he had decided not to pursue tennis any longer.
The water is up to his thigh now, and becoming bitterly cold. His toes are numb, but he ignores it, walking ever forward.
In school, Light begins to attract the attention of others for an entirely different reason. There are a pair of scenes played out here; a Light to either side of him. On his left, a Light of thirteen or fourteen that walks along the riverbank is bullied by a group of youths for the odd colour of his hair. He stands, utterly peaceful, until they get bored of him, leaving, then quietly he follows, keeping to the shadows. The youths are a bad sort. It's quite dark now, and Light stays close as they move into a shopping district. A few moments later he stops in at a telephone box to make a quick phonecall, leaving in time to follow them again. Just around the corner, they break into a shop, and moments after that the police arrive, trapping them inside. Light remembers clearly -- they were transferred to juvenile detention, and never bothered him again. Satisfaction - chill and determined - for the conclusion of this little act.
And on the other side?
A very different kind of attention. Girls adored the same different look that made others jealous. They liked his pale hair and his sharp mind, drawn to his success, or his family's reputation -- or else forced toward it by their families, attempting to draw lines through blood to live a more comfortable life. Light was content, knowing quite well that he was bound for great things. Policing, politics, computing -- whatever he put his mind to he would excel at; after all, he had been To-Oh University's keynote speaker - along with L - something he had been quite proud of, even if those achievements had become routine by now. The girls were all the same though. He looked past them. They could never draw his eye, never hold his attention. Occassionally he might find himself looking at other boys - whom he could respect more, for they neither made an effort to 'flaunt their assets' - all human bodies were essentially the same - nor had to win a strong, talented man to make themselves look better. They had qualities of their own; aspirations of their own. He would joke with them, flirt with them, but the attention was never once returned except in the same format as he gave it. It was all a joke to them, but to Light, the girls were a joke to him. He managed to maintain the rumour that he wasn't dating, in favour of study, and it held out beautifully until L.
Then, it became necessary to choose one. Someone normal, someone beautiful, someone who other people would expect to see on the arm of Yagami Light, honour student. Kiyome Takada. He made her into an accessory the same way he had never wanted to be, and she had been eager to be a part of it. To be seen with him, just as much as he with her. She was a beautiful girl with dark hair, a folder under her arm - Miss To-oh; best of all, when confronted with Misa she had been calm and collected. She had her own future to attend to, and she knew that Light's patience for Misa was frail and fleeting. Her sharp intelligence, then, had at least made sense, making her in the long term far less of a liability. Not clever enough to work out that he was Kira, but suitably independent - sure in herself - in such a way as she did not cause a scene if things went wrong. Light, walking on the shore, ignored the girls around him, glanced after the men, and as they walked past a line of dark suited, shadow-faced men, he slipped forward and snagged Takada by the waist, holding her close to him. There was no emotion here, no care for the woman he held.
All three Lights, all three walking, halted very suddenly as darkness turned to bright light. The moon rose ahead of them, but it was blinding - coming closer, getting wide, and in the very center of it an L in London font; an L that shone black on white like an overbright computer screen, forcing him to shield his eyes. His whole body was cold now, chest high in the water, and--
Bodies began to float past.
Bodies upon bodies, hundreds of them, some bumping into him, some under the water, some on top of it, all twisted as though they had died suddenly and in great pain. Some he recognised. Some he'd forgotten. Ray Penber. Naomi Misora. Lind L. Taylor. Light took a step back, but a cold arm - was it of a dead body?! - wrapped around him, holding him tight. An arm that belonged to L -- a scruffy dark haired man, little older than him, a familiar and yet resented genius. His white shirt clung to his body, near transparent. His black hair stuck to his face and neck.
Though his Japanese was good, Light could just about hear the accent in it that proved that he was foreign. Even so it was excellent, better spoken Japanese than that all but the most highly educated of his contemporaries - clear and precise. "The dead travel along this river," he said. "But you, Light, you're neither living or dead, are you? A man like you has no right to go where they are going; no right to rest with them. Don't worry--" L smiled, a macabre and unpleasant smile. "--I'm almost here now. There's not much time left. How do you think I will punish you, when I had Beyond Birthday killed for far less? Not long. Not long now. Not with this proving your guilt. A dream doesn't mean anything, though, does it?"
L laughed. "You are funny, Yagami-kun. It's time to wake up now."
And pulled him under the water.
__________________________________________________________
Light gasped for air as he started awake, heart beating frantically, eyes very wide. L lay beside him, but tonight Light decided to avoid his company - at least, he did when he discovered the dream had been recorded. All those peaceful, harmless dreams he'd been having had been fine, but the last week had been full of dreams about being discovered -- caught red handed. This was perhaps the least dangerous of those. Better by far than his dream of the previous night in which he'd walked up the steps onto the platform at To-Oh and announced, with L beside him, that he was Kira, and that everyone who committed a crime was supposed to line up in front of the stage.
He could explain this away. He could do his best, at least, but the noose was closing tighter. His ability to breathe freely was being taken from him. It would all be over as soon as L could prove it, and with everything around him repeating the same thing - that Light was Kira - how could he hope for a different conclusion?
The longer he stayed here, the less safe he felt, and yes, they were building things together - a way for L and the others to remain dependent on him even if they discovered the truth - but it was still only a matter of time, and time was running short.
Outside, Light circled the barn, moving to check in on the sleeping animals and make sure there weren't any foxes around. It was a warm, cloying night, the baking heat of the day still clinging to the stone walls of the house, a static buzz in the air that might be a promise of thunder later. At least in this fresh, starstudded world, he could pretend to be still, harmlessly, asleep. If Kannagara was a dream, then he could wake up from it. It was the very best he could hope for.