ratt9
drainedratt9 drainedratt9 hotratt9ratt9Note: Any grammatical errors, particularly regarding comma usage, are strictly on purpose and used for literary effect.
The colour white.
White walls white floors white ceiling.
Such is the nature of a mental asylum.
It’s meant to keep the patients from going mad, or so they say, but to Beyond Birthday, it was as if the neutrality of it all was ripping away what sanity was left.
Beyond Birthday had never been insane.
Beyond Birthday was brilliant.
(Always was always had been always would be.)
As brilliant as the white walls, oh yes, as brilliant as the gothic letter that landed him here. Beyond was greater as his name suggested greater greater yes that’s right greater than all the rest out there. Better and greater and beyond A and beyond L and everyone absolutely everyone else.
It was only his thoughts that were a mess, now. It was the insane asylum that was making him insane and the white walls that were making him see red and the neutrality that was jumbling his thoughts to the point where they no longer made sense.
Not that he let it show.
Because if he let it show then they’d never let him out and if they never let him out then he’d never be able to beat L and if he never was able to beat L then he might as well just die now because oh god beating L is the only thing he has to live for. Not these goddamn white walls white floor white ceiling just make it all stop just disappear oh please oh please god I can’t live like this.
Not like this.
Not like this.
The walls needed to be painted red SO LET ME PAINT THE WALLS RED WALLS RED WALLS RED WALLS PAINTED FUCKING /RED/.
Red with blood.
L's has red blood.
L would make great paint.
ratt9Innie?
TOO BAD I WASN'T LISTENING
ratt9ratt9ratt9| 001. | Imaginary City. | 002. | Shadows on Snow. | 003. | Touching the Edge. | 004. | Plastic Emotion. | 005. | Where Dreams Come to Dance. |
| 006. | Hearts and Flowers. | 007. | Instructed to be Gracious. | 008. | Exhausted Trend. | 009. | A Place of Misery. | 010. | An Ignored Text. |
| 011. | Starting With Numb. | 012. | Whatever Will Be, Will Be. | 013. | Against All Reason. | 014. | Muddy Pitfall. | 015. | Beneath the Streetlights. |
| 016. | Racing the Rain. | 017. | Just a Trick of the Air. | 018. | Power of Fright. | 019. | Sea Shells. | 020. | Just a Formality. |
| 021. | Newspaper Clippings. | 022. | Rewritten Letters. | 023. | Imperfections on Display. | 024. | Difference Between Two Darks. | 025. | Painting Double Images. |
| 026. | What Time Steals Away. | 027. | Orbital, Dear. | 028. | Nonsensical Office Gossip. | 029. | Footnote to a Scream. | 030. | In Death’s Hands. |
ratt9"It rises from the dim, far distant plain toward the sky, as if by an old birthright."
I am a headstone, bare amongst the rows of bones that rest in this field of the dead. Being unmarked as I am, there is no way for me to know the name of the former human resting beneath me. Although I am deeply curious about both the corpse's name as well as to why the name has been made to die with it, I know that it is perhaps for the best—it is blasphemy to speak the names of the dead, so never knowing the word at all is, I suppose, fitting.
The death ceremony for my decaying human was fairly short,
(fairly formal).
Eyes were dry, and words—stiffly spoken; the deceased was not a family member but a business colleague, or something of that nature. In the procession of the ceremony, only the youngest remained at the site.
The inferiority of his age was obvious, but his madness was most clear. Once he had seen to it that those formerly in his company had gone, he threw himself to his hands and knees, suffocating the fresh dirt with his fingers. He laughed, and his eyes screamed insanity.
(And I, helpless).
the moths whisper
and my life is now made up
of seconds
the pendulum swings
becoming three shades of white
there's a ladder at the edge of the world
suspended
sometimes i wonder what
happens between the
silences
the sound of footsteps die
like everything
but death
a shallow breath is drawn
white noise
time passes
like an antique paper weight
and
it will show you hidden realities
the dark doves fly
and then they scatter
in the wild quiet
is our last salvage of sympathy
embers dance and fade
bright in the sky
in the end it didn't
the thistle butterfly
the flowers are the sound of silence
the flowers are the sound
the flowers are
the flowers are
the flowers
Rain falls.
The body is long decayed, with nothing left of it but bones, and only when the world is silent but for the falling rain do we become aware once again of time's hollow passage.
The rain tastes of the sky, and the sky tastes of bloodshed. I ask why the world must be painted red before the ranting pendulum will slow and paint clarity over fragmented eyes, but the electric sky flashes as though the gods themselves were once again at war and the bones remain silent because we are not alone.
There stands the boy, but his madness is less prominent in his eyes—they appear now to be dulled, as if he has been crazed for so long now that it has been etched into his irises, ever-present and tainting his vision. He sounds like fury but looks and feels of fear. He shouts at the bones, and the bones listen because they have always listened, but now they must hear his words in silence.
I know that the bones are curious, though, because the boy holds in his hand a flower.
The bones grant me brief awareness. This boy has brought death upon many.
He puts down the single red flower, petals trembling softly, and leaves.
the world turns to
chalk dust at your
fingertips
it's the last tree in the forest
the world needs
a cradle of beliefs
and
an inch of scorn
to write with chalk
on paper
we all fall but
maybe death wants to die
too
falls an avalanche of words
tadpoles become
birds fly like watercolours
in the sky there are angels
bringing death
and the overdrawn flowers still remain
the overdrawn flowers remain
they still remain
they shouldn't still rem
Light spills from an underground window, its mind lost in all that is past.
The bones speak, breaking their long, silent years of going without. Its words are silent dust in a world buried under sand, and I see a broken watch, a bloody dress, an antique teacup. More pronounced than the rest is an ancient notebook, tattered with age. The objects seem to hold some importance, but somehow, I no longer can remember why.
I realize that they were likely never meant for me to begin with. Nothing truly is meant for me; I am nothing but an unmarked headstone resting atop bones without a name.
I am not even meant to be with the bones, yet here I remain.
The flower is still inexplicably resting upon the ground, dried and dead.
(Though it is probably nothing but a passing illusion.)
The bones tell me that the boy who set it down no longer belongs to the earth, but instead to a world that used to be but no longer is.
In the end, it fails to matter. None of it matters.
The bones speak of a time when there was only rain on a tin roof. Maybe that's still all there is, just rain falling on a tin roof.
But not even the rain falling in torrents from the ruined, paper sky will save the flowers.
Well, this turned out much differently than I thought it would. I kind of like it.
So, there was some heavy symbolism in this (as well as some things that don't really mean anything at all), so here's an explanation to anyone who doesn't understand what the hell they just read: Basically, it starts out around the time of L's funeral, and then describes Light laughing on L's grave. Once L's body decays completely, time is perceived (by the headstone and by L's bones) to have disappeared, so everything seems to happen in fragments and pieces (thus, the random italics). But, time seems to move normally again when it rains. The headstone is capable of speaking with L's bones, and L's bones can communicate with the headstone through sending weird sorts of images and memories; L's bones, however, remain essentially silent until Light is dead. In this, I imagine that when Light visits L's grave with the flower, it's around the time when Near has just made one of his first appearances. Light is frustrated (for the reason that either he does not deem Near to be a worthy opponent, and/or that he hates that L is still hindering his progress after he's already in the grave), and yells words of hatred at L's grave. But, for reasons unknown, the headstone seems to think that he feels slightly scared (it is up to the reader to decide whether the headstone's judgement was accurate or not). Light probably left the flower on L's grave out of a sense of respect. The very last bit takes place years after Light is dead, and finally L's bones speak to the headstone.
Make what you want of it—the entirety of its meaning is completely up to you.
matt_uza