Post by Sarah-chan on Jan 17, 2009 19:50:58 GMT -6
So, I randomly started writing a Death Note fanfic. Very randomly. I started this a while back and don't really have anywhere else to post it. Basically it's about a girl who is mourning the death of her friend and visits her grave. Giving away the rest would give away possible plot ideas. ^~^ I want someone to read it and /honestly/ tell me what they think of it because I wrote this for a serious evaluation. Even though it's based on Death Note I don't believe you have to understand it to read this story. It doesn't really explain anything about Death Note yet. Heck, I don't even know if this is supposed to be the prologue or end chapter yet. So, can you call this a pilot chapter? And even more shocking is that I don't even know if I'm done with this chapter yet, so it's all but an utter draft. Don't know if it's confusing, seems weird, seems awesome, whatever, I want someone to tell me what they think so I could possibly continue it or figure out where the world I want it to go. So, um, without further delay, read my draft story.
- - - - -
Death Note - Scythe
The autumn air was sweet like a rose, the rain was sour like a spoiled flower. Most of the time graveyards were not so far out in the country, so I did not understand why the wretched one l had to visit was so far out in the country. One of these objects didn't fit, and never would have a befitting settlement. It was cold and dark, and remotely even more noticable because there weren't any streetlights in this part of the countryside. I wasn't sure I had chosen the correct path in time until I had found the sign leading to the cemetery: plain and simple, white with black painted arrows pointing to say where it was. All around besides these lonely signs were fields of burnt yellow grass and large oak trees every couple feet apart so there wasn't much shade. Scents I adored, loved, hated, and couldn't bare to deal with at that moment flooded the nerves in my body so I could barely move; time had stopped. But I had tried - and failed - to tolerate the ride. Winds had picked up before the storm had started, and I had propped an old classical jazz CD in the player to content the empty five-window snow white limo. Stereo sound vibrated my ears and yet it had seemed so far away and distant. Suddenly my destination flashed in the whites of my eyes: a heavy part of the world sat before me in the shape of pointed gates and towering gravestones, but I continued to drive along the cobblestone road with fervent ease. When I had gotten near the entrance I decided to park in a lonely, small field across the road from the front; the tires of the limo squeaked to a rude end after I killed the engine. No sound but my heartbeat in my ears - or maybe that was the patter of rain on the window, softly following from angry clouds.
Everything about the scene was set. Late autumn had softly sapped the leaves dry to their ripe, golden brown flavor, the sour rain made the air produce an unpleasantly bitter feeling to the location, and the graveyard tombstones melted every little drop of courage I had stashed into my heart. As much as I had begged myself to try, I was a coward. Being strong was difficult without anyone there, and for days now I'd been forced to sooth myself like a psychopathic killer sitting in a white-room jail cell who just realized what they had done was cruel. But I wasn't evil; I wanted to believe that tempting lie.
For the first time that day I hesitated. I had not hesitated to leave without getting permission, I had not faulted when stealing this automobile, and I had not even contemplated when I'd sped here on my own about the people I had left behind to worry. That's okay, they'll worry in the end, too. They'd all cry themselves to pieces and I could cackle at their simplicy in Heaven or Hell. Slowly moving my hand to the door handle I smoothed the tips of my fingers on it to spare myself a bit of time. Only rain washing down the window commerced as my companion in those couple minutes, and felt like an eternity was flooding the area. When I decided it was time I pushed open the door and let the wind slap at me. I withdrew myself from the driver's seat while a spark of lightning flashed the skies, sheening to announce my arrival, but didn't phase a part of me. My feet dragged me to the front of the cometary, but I had to stop before even arriving inside. The doors were closed at this time of the night, but I had not come here to wait for the caretakers to open the scathingly tall and pointed gate in the morning. Throwing my foot over the edge of a lowerest part of the small picket-spiked fence that rested around the resting place I stumbled forward. Something told me that hadn't been an exective plan imeediately, and it didn't manage to save a small part at the side on my jeans to be snagged on the spikes and be ripped. However, the ripping sound and snag barely slowed me down. I stepped on top of the green lawn, and had a certain feeling that I was trespassing on sacred ground.
Really, I had been trying to ignore it, but this realization took the surge of stamina I had away. I was morbidly tired, weak, and now soaking wet, head to foot. So much my hair was dripping wet and matted to the top of my head in a crazy mop. At this point one would wish for an umbrella, but I hadn't had that luxury of a choice to acquire one before I came. This was at a cold and dark funeral. My special funeral, a cerebration, or just my mourning time. The whole time I drove here I had complempated which I had planned on it to be, but hadn't come to a conclusion of the fates. Thinking about such depressing matters opened an old wound in me that had never really stitched; a small wince made me regret my lack of strength. My eyes had dark circles around them, and my hands kept shaking and snugged a soft pink coat around my frame. It's funny how I was cold one minute with feat and drenched in hot prespiration of being alive the next. What was hilarious was how such a bubbly and pretty color like pink could make me feel so serene instead of happy. Emotions were funny that way, I guess - you never knew what you'd feel like doing next. Or maybe it was my severe decrease of trying to keep myself sane lately - I had dropped to lower heights.
Shifting the small blue bag on my shoulder at that moment I rounded what I had gathered about myself. There were two words to describe all the emotions running through me at that moment. Excited and perturbed were these two, dashed with a sense of loyalty.
Slowly I stepped on the muddy ground one step at a time. It wasn't hard to see the one I was looking for - not in a far shot. My eyes didn't dart in circles, didn't twitch, and didn't mourn with grief. I had resolved grief such a long time ago I had a sickness washing over me worse than remorse.
Stepping up to the white marble I gazed down at the date and name. The face of the person came into my mind perfectly, and then seemed to blur. For a moment I just let the raindrops hit my body, and roll down my cheeks. Thunder sounded, and a bolt of lightning radiated the heavens above. Was heaven trying to tell me it'd ward anyone away who tried to stop me? It couldn't have been.
Actually, it was a nice arrangement. Decorated with a white vase of red, prickly roses in front, and obviously well-dusted, the old stone could pass as being just as new. The remains of someone's blessing to the dead. Jealously had a strange way of foreshadowing its arrival when it almost rose inside my heart, but I slowly swallowed the burning ambitions I had to the pit of my stomach and stayed how I was for a moment. It was okay, someone else was like me and understood the burden. I hadn't done it though someone else was kind in this rotten world - what a pitiful laugh that would force. But that's not what bothered me the most. It was that body under it that had all these powerful effects on me, the kind that just lingered. I'd never loved anyone as much before, and after so long the nagging feeling of the torch to my memories of them was nauseating.
Gently, I bent over and picked the vase up, a small splash of water running over my fingers from its tiny enclosure. I sat down with my back against its front and leaned into it very lightly, gazing up at the sky. Raindrops plummeted into my eyes from the puffy gray clouds above and I couldn't see for a moment, but instead I sighed, and then found myself looking back at the gate out of the cemetery. It was the sad rain that came when people were dying. Gray, everything was pure gray looming around me with the rest of the dark colors in my vision of the world.
People who laid in darkness could hear even when they were dead. I needed my presence known. "Hi. It's been a while. I sure hope I haven't been forgotten, my friend?" I asked, my voice in every way betraying to be as chirpy and alive as a wanted it to; it cracked and sounded like I had strep throat. That's what you get for not talking for days on end. No, it wasn't a statement - everything about that sentence needed holes patched in to be fulfilled.
Truthfully I expected an answer - a direct reply. Either if it was in the normal voice, or a screechy voice that zombies had in old movies I still had anticipation for some type of comment back. A lonely word would have sufficed. Still I received nothing for my exhilarating journey and drolly took comfort in the fact that I had a nice present. Maybe it wasn't good enough that it surpassed a flaunting artifact as a large sum of money, but I had always said "eye in eye for plenty." Lame phrase in every aspect, but it had a very strong sense for my personality.
The rain answered me before silence could pile atop the soothing patters, and then I answered myself just to block out the annoying water drips. "Of course not. You wouldn't forget me." Silently I unzipped my bag and reached to fix my grip on something. With my return out I pulled into the air a small blue diary that showed ancient age. Ripped, tattered yellow pages, and on the front in scrawled letters was a word that had been worn away. Strangely enough it wasn't really that old, but it been through rough encounters over seas and land. It was to be expected.
"Hey, see, I brought it," I commented with a smile drilled into the nap of my voice, talking to perhaps myself more than who laid in the coffin below. "I know you liked these passages, so I wanted to read you one. It's okay, I have plenty of time." Lies, one after another in a row - it stung. But it was true they had been fond of these passages while alive by their hero. I couldn't just rip that little sense of they had away or mine. There had been a lock at the side, but had broken off, so I could just open it. Flipping through the pages I wasn't even searching for a particular one - all I was doing was just seeing where I landed. Staring at the pages gave me a false sense of old times - nolgalistic feelings, but I pushed those to the sides. Without thinking I stopped and read the first few lines of the top left side; what a perfect riddle to my current situation. The memories of how familiar these words were melted into my mind, and began to open a pit in my hands. They seemed to stretch into heatless baggages and the diary suddenly got lighter resting in my palms. "Here we are. It's titled 'Unmistakable Presence.' Isn't that kind of funny?" I persisted with a rather good sense of humor. Everything for this person - I still wanted everything for them. Clearing my throat of a lump I began plainly and bluntly. "'Today I asked God for forgiveness, and I was rejected. Yesterday I asked for love, and I was told to find it. And tomorrow I'm going to ask for love again, because love is an never-ending story." Blinking rapidly for a second I had to clear my throat again for my voice to break through. Eventually I finished the last couple words. A reaper haunted these words - a dishonestable ghost. "'Because God told me so, and I love God, the idol and savior.'"
- - - - -
Death Note - Scythe
The autumn air was sweet like a rose, the rain was sour like a spoiled flower. Most of the time graveyards were not so far out in the country, so I did not understand why the wretched one l had to visit was so far out in the country. One of these objects didn't fit, and never would have a befitting settlement. It was cold and dark, and remotely even more noticable because there weren't any streetlights in this part of the countryside. I wasn't sure I had chosen the correct path in time until I had found the sign leading to the cemetery: plain and simple, white with black painted arrows pointing to say where it was. All around besides these lonely signs were fields of burnt yellow grass and large oak trees every couple feet apart so there wasn't much shade. Scents I adored, loved, hated, and couldn't bare to deal with at that moment flooded the nerves in my body so I could barely move; time had stopped. But I had tried - and failed - to tolerate the ride. Winds had picked up before the storm had started, and I had propped an old classical jazz CD in the player to content the empty five-window snow white limo. Stereo sound vibrated my ears and yet it had seemed so far away and distant. Suddenly my destination flashed in the whites of my eyes: a heavy part of the world sat before me in the shape of pointed gates and towering gravestones, but I continued to drive along the cobblestone road with fervent ease. When I had gotten near the entrance I decided to park in a lonely, small field across the road from the front; the tires of the limo squeaked to a rude end after I killed the engine. No sound but my heartbeat in my ears - or maybe that was the patter of rain on the window, softly following from angry clouds.
Everything about the scene was set. Late autumn had softly sapped the leaves dry to their ripe, golden brown flavor, the sour rain made the air produce an unpleasantly bitter feeling to the location, and the graveyard tombstones melted every little drop of courage I had stashed into my heart. As much as I had begged myself to try, I was a coward. Being strong was difficult without anyone there, and for days now I'd been forced to sooth myself like a psychopathic killer sitting in a white-room jail cell who just realized what they had done was cruel. But I wasn't evil; I wanted to believe that tempting lie.
For the first time that day I hesitated. I had not hesitated to leave without getting permission, I had not faulted when stealing this automobile, and I had not even contemplated when I'd sped here on my own about the people I had left behind to worry. That's okay, they'll worry in the end, too. They'd all cry themselves to pieces and I could cackle at their simplicy in Heaven or Hell. Slowly moving my hand to the door handle I smoothed the tips of my fingers on it to spare myself a bit of time. Only rain washing down the window commerced as my companion in those couple minutes, and felt like an eternity was flooding the area. When I decided it was time I pushed open the door and let the wind slap at me. I withdrew myself from the driver's seat while a spark of lightning flashed the skies, sheening to announce my arrival, but didn't phase a part of me. My feet dragged me to the front of the cometary, but I had to stop before even arriving inside. The doors were closed at this time of the night, but I had not come here to wait for the caretakers to open the scathingly tall and pointed gate in the morning. Throwing my foot over the edge of a lowerest part of the small picket-spiked fence that rested around the resting place I stumbled forward. Something told me that hadn't been an exective plan imeediately, and it didn't manage to save a small part at the side on my jeans to be snagged on the spikes and be ripped. However, the ripping sound and snag barely slowed me down. I stepped on top of the green lawn, and had a certain feeling that I was trespassing on sacred ground.
Really, I had been trying to ignore it, but this realization took the surge of stamina I had away. I was morbidly tired, weak, and now soaking wet, head to foot. So much my hair was dripping wet and matted to the top of my head in a crazy mop. At this point one would wish for an umbrella, but I hadn't had that luxury of a choice to acquire one before I came. This was at a cold and dark funeral. My special funeral, a cerebration, or just my mourning time. The whole time I drove here I had complempated which I had planned on it to be, but hadn't come to a conclusion of the fates. Thinking about such depressing matters opened an old wound in me that had never really stitched; a small wince made me regret my lack of strength. My eyes had dark circles around them, and my hands kept shaking and snugged a soft pink coat around my frame. It's funny how I was cold one minute with feat and drenched in hot prespiration of being alive the next. What was hilarious was how such a bubbly and pretty color like pink could make me feel so serene instead of happy. Emotions were funny that way, I guess - you never knew what you'd feel like doing next. Or maybe it was my severe decrease of trying to keep myself sane lately - I had dropped to lower heights.
Shifting the small blue bag on my shoulder at that moment I rounded what I had gathered about myself. There were two words to describe all the emotions running through me at that moment. Excited and perturbed were these two, dashed with a sense of loyalty.
Slowly I stepped on the muddy ground one step at a time. It wasn't hard to see the one I was looking for - not in a far shot. My eyes didn't dart in circles, didn't twitch, and didn't mourn with grief. I had resolved grief such a long time ago I had a sickness washing over me worse than remorse.
Stepping up to the white marble I gazed down at the date and name. The face of the person came into my mind perfectly, and then seemed to blur. For a moment I just let the raindrops hit my body, and roll down my cheeks. Thunder sounded, and a bolt of lightning radiated the heavens above. Was heaven trying to tell me it'd ward anyone away who tried to stop me? It couldn't have been.
Actually, it was a nice arrangement. Decorated with a white vase of red, prickly roses in front, and obviously well-dusted, the old stone could pass as being just as new. The remains of someone's blessing to the dead. Jealously had a strange way of foreshadowing its arrival when it almost rose inside my heart, but I slowly swallowed the burning ambitions I had to the pit of my stomach and stayed how I was for a moment. It was okay, someone else was like me and understood the burden. I hadn't done it though someone else was kind in this rotten world - what a pitiful laugh that would force. But that's not what bothered me the most. It was that body under it that had all these powerful effects on me, the kind that just lingered. I'd never loved anyone as much before, and after so long the nagging feeling of the torch to my memories of them was nauseating.
Gently, I bent over and picked the vase up, a small splash of water running over my fingers from its tiny enclosure. I sat down with my back against its front and leaned into it very lightly, gazing up at the sky. Raindrops plummeted into my eyes from the puffy gray clouds above and I couldn't see for a moment, but instead I sighed, and then found myself looking back at the gate out of the cemetery. It was the sad rain that came when people were dying. Gray, everything was pure gray looming around me with the rest of the dark colors in my vision of the world.
People who laid in darkness could hear even when they were dead. I needed my presence known. "Hi. It's been a while. I sure hope I haven't been forgotten, my friend?" I asked, my voice in every way betraying to be as chirpy and alive as a wanted it to; it cracked and sounded like I had strep throat. That's what you get for not talking for days on end. No, it wasn't a statement - everything about that sentence needed holes patched in to be fulfilled.
Truthfully I expected an answer - a direct reply. Either if it was in the normal voice, or a screechy voice that zombies had in old movies I still had anticipation for some type of comment back. A lonely word would have sufficed. Still I received nothing for my exhilarating journey and drolly took comfort in the fact that I had a nice present. Maybe it wasn't good enough that it surpassed a flaunting artifact as a large sum of money, but I had always said "eye in eye for plenty." Lame phrase in every aspect, but it had a very strong sense for my personality.
The rain answered me before silence could pile atop the soothing patters, and then I answered myself just to block out the annoying water drips. "Of course not. You wouldn't forget me." Silently I unzipped my bag and reached to fix my grip on something. With my return out I pulled into the air a small blue diary that showed ancient age. Ripped, tattered yellow pages, and on the front in scrawled letters was a word that had been worn away. Strangely enough it wasn't really that old, but it been through rough encounters over seas and land. It was to be expected.
"Hey, see, I brought it," I commented with a smile drilled into the nap of my voice, talking to perhaps myself more than who laid in the coffin below. "I know you liked these passages, so I wanted to read you one. It's okay, I have plenty of time." Lies, one after another in a row - it stung. But it was true they had been fond of these passages while alive by their hero. I couldn't just rip that little sense of they had away or mine. There had been a lock at the side, but had broken off, so I could just open it. Flipping through the pages I wasn't even searching for a particular one - all I was doing was just seeing where I landed. Staring at the pages gave me a false sense of old times - nolgalistic feelings, but I pushed those to the sides. Without thinking I stopped and read the first few lines of the top left side; what a perfect riddle to my current situation. The memories of how familiar these words were melted into my mind, and began to open a pit in my hands. They seemed to stretch into heatless baggages and the diary suddenly got lighter resting in my palms. "Here we are. It's titled 'Unmistakable Presence.' Isn't that kind of funny?" I persisted with a rather good sense of humor. Everything for this person - I still wanted everything for them. Clearing my throat of a lump I began plainly and bluntly. "'Today I asked God for forgiveness, and I was rejected. Yesterday I asked for love, and I was told to find it. And tomorrow I'm going to ask for love again, because love is an never-ending story." Blinking rapidly for a second I had to clear my throat again for my voice to break through. Eventually I finished the last couple words. A reaper haunted these words - a dishonestable ghost. "'Because God told me so, and I love God, the idol and savior.'"
