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Under a Shinigami's Watch Empty Under a Shinigami's Watch

Post by St. Elmo on March 28th 2013, 5:26 pm

[This just a little Death Note snippit thing I wrote. I'm not sure what to call it. Anywho- Here it is.]

A large, dilapidated warehouse sat in the Kanto Region of Japan after all these years. It hadn't changed much, although it was in a little heavier shape than it used to be. The structure was composed mostly of wood, but the outside edges appeared to be lined with steel for support. Some of the wooden planks had rotted thoroughly, while some had completely fallen through. It seemed to be divided into three large sections of wood on each side, with each section separated from the other by a small steel beam in the middle. Another slim beam ran across the top, and lined the edges of a triangular roof area. In the center of each roof section, a large circular fan would continue to spin. It would be the same with each of the warehouse's four sides, with two exceptions. On the back side of the warehouse, there would be a large, closed, locked garage-esque door. On the left side, there would be a worn door, with the paint peeling off, revealing the crude surface beneath. It was left cracked open, with blood stains on frame's right side.

Leading from the cracked door, the blood stains would continue, until they ended in what used to be a puddle of blood, close to the back wall, which was the aforementioned garage door. More stains would be splattered across the large door, and a rusty watch would lie shattered off to the side, next to a no longer functional pen.

In the distance, was a face down notebook. It would be almost impossible to spot, avoiding the light of the windows, which was cast upon the ground. On the cover, words were printed in a language foreign to even the most rounded linguist. To a Shinigami, a God of Death, however, the slanted, white print would clearly read 'Notebook of Death,' literally translating to 'Death Note.' All of the pages of the notebook were filled with names, and sometimes causes of deaths and times. The circular fan would cast a light into the center of the warehouse, and onto the notebook which would be covered in shadow the next second, as the fan rotated.

The fan. One of the only steady, sure things in the world. It spun, regardless of the state of its surroundings; regardless of the world around it; and regardless of the ghosts of the past that haunted this place, the fan took its course. An endless cycle that would not be stopped. People are born. People live. People die. This would not change. Some people took the course of their life caring only for themselves. Striving for power, wealth, and other materials that would make their fragile lives more bearable. In this, they lost sight of everyone else, not caring who they hurt for personal gain. People like this always fell. However, the people they hurt, more often than not, fell harder.

However, others took a different path. Some people tried to lift others with their life, doing all they could to make a difference in others' lives. They forsook all traces of want for personal gain and greed, in return for changing things, people, or the world for the better. This different breed of humans were rare, and as the fan turns, they fell the hardest.

What is a world such as this other than rotten? When greedy scum get what they seek, and righteous saints get little of whats left, there was something wrong. Nobody ever finds power to go hand-in-hand with misfortune, even when that power is used righteously. Time and time again, they choose carry on where no one else could. They learn that they are the only one who can do what they have the power to do, and for the sake of everyone besides themselves, they continue their work. Then, the evil, deluded, selfrighteous win, and despite all of its best efforts, justice loses. The cycle has no choice but to repeat, as the fan has no choice to turn. And there's not a thing anyone can do about it.


[14:48:36] Cool : Sorry for being a bitch earlier guys
St. Elmo
St. Elmo

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