Idea from Ruin
ruin_takada had an idea for a story, which she very kindly offered to me first. This is my attempt at it.
Japan had the ninth-lowest rate of accidental death in the world. The statistical likelihood of surviving being hit by a car in Japan was the eighth highest; but only when it was measured by those who died within twenty-four hours of the accident, and most of the countries it was being compared with measured by deaths within thirty days.
Japan, Light was aware, was not as safe as it wanted to seem.
The statistics he was relying on were probably inaccurate, too, he reflected with a sigh. Being honest about the number of people who were accidentally killed every year was hardly going to reassure the general populace.
Neither would being honest about how many people were killed by other people. The official statistics were tidied up for public consumption; it was so much easier to have a high rate of solved crimes when you simply refused to acknowledge most of the unsolved ones. But he'd been helping his father for several years by now; he had a fairly good idea of the real statistics.
His lips curled almost unnoticably. So many people died each year. What if he was in their positions? What did he have, really? His intelligence? It was hardly likely to find him a way out in the few seconds he'd have. His good looks? All they might do would be to attract some of the worse predators. His charm? Would he be able to charm death into letting him survive? (Later, he would think that the answer was yes, and feel bitterly disappointed. Later still, he would find it was no, and wouldn't know if what he felt was fury or exhilaration - though he'd show what was appropriate, as he always did.) His tennis skills? The thought almost made him laugh aloud.
And what if he did die now? What grand achievements would his life be measured by? National tennis champion at twelve, Japan's top student; the most he would be is a trivia question. Hardly befitting the great potential everyone saw in him.
So, if his life would mean nothing, what about his death? He tilted his head thoughtfully as he considered the matter. It would depend on how he died; if it were, say, at the hands of a mugger...
His eyes drifted half-closed as he tried to build the scenario. He would be coming home from cram school. He would... have taken a short-cut through a deserted area, that would work, and the mugger would have a knife and would be larger, stronger than him, and would have chosen him because he is always well-dressed -
He felt a moment's irritation at the thought of his death being so unremarkable, before a sick humour sparked in him at the sheer mundanity of what he was picturing. How... trite that ending would be for him. He might become a warning to other teenagers - "Don't go there alone, or you might end up like Yagami-kun!"
Intrigued by the idea, he tried to picture the scene in more detail: the first shock of the attack, the mugger's demands, his response... He snorted softly. If he couldn't persuade the mugger to let him survive, he must be trying to die. All he'd have to do would be to mention his father's position as chief of police; it wasn't as if a mugger would want to risk being found guilty of murder.
Dissatisfied with the way his little fantasy was playing out, he turned his thoughts to other causes of death. An accident - a fall - down some steps? Maybe the ones he had to climb to get to his school, if there was black ice and he was just a little more distracted than normal...
He fleshed the idea out, finding it so much easier to piece together than his previous one. Probably because part of him disliked the idea of owing anything to a criminal, he decided. He would be walking just a little faster than normal, trying to get to class after being held up by a casual acquaintance, and his foot would hit the ice at an angle and velocity that would mean he couldn't stop himself in time - there were no guard rails around there to be caught - no one else on the steps to help him, no one near enough to catch him as he fell -
- And that would make his life and death worth even less than the mugging-gone-wrong, he reflected with bitter satisfaction. What could he do to give worth to that?
The question intrigued him. If he were to die in such a plebian manner, how could he give his death meaning? If he saw his death coming, but couldn't escape it, how could he give it worth?
What was there that could be done in a few seconds?
Almost the only thing he could do would be to say something... or scream. He pursed his lips, considering. A dying scream... might do something. The domino that would topple a stack; the flap of a wing that would cause a storm...
It would have the most effect if it was heard by someone who knew him; someone he was close to. And that effect would probably be shock. Yagami Light, screaming? Yagami Light, with his perfect looks and perfect manners and perfect scores, proving that he was just as mortal and just as imperfect and just as human as everyone else?
Yagami Light, showing that there was a real person beneath the flawless perfection?
His lips curved in a beatific smile as he imagined it. The witness would be even more shocked by the meaning behind the scream, but - they might, they would, be glad that he'd chosen to show them the truth in his final seconds. And with that in mind, the meaning that his death would hold, he didn't think the pain and fear would be as all-encompassing as it should be. He might not even notice them in the relief of showing someone the truth...
His smile faded slightly. He was used to showing things to people. Showing his sister how to do her homework; showing his father how he solved those cases he was allowed to help with; showing his friends - whatever they asked for. He knew the pattern it always followed. He would show them how he did it; they wouldn't understand; he would simplify, and explain, and clarify, until they found some shallow understanding of what he was trying to get across to them. And if it took hours for them to work out what he meant with things they'd been taught at school and trained in at work, how would - how could - any of them understand what his final scream would mean? Instead of being recognised as a revelation of his true self, it would simply be incomprehensible.
The realisation struck him as if it were a physical blow. Screaming as he died would be just as worthless as any of his other attempts to communicate with the people around him. Worse, even, because it would permanently remove any further chance to do so.
And he couldn't bear the thought of his death being even more meaningless than his life was.
He sighed deeply, and stepped back from the edge of the platform before the guards could notice how close he was. He'd managed this long without doing anything drastic. He could continue trying to find something that would make him more than a statistic for a little longer.
It wasn't as if this would be his only opportunity to end things. The trains ran to a very strict timetable.
Japan had the ninth-lowest rate of accidental death in the world. The statistical likelihood of surviving being hit by a car in Japan was the eighth highest; but only when it was measured by those who died within twenty-four hours of the accident, and most of the countries it was being compared with measured by deaths within thirty days.
Japan, Light was aware, was not as safe as it wanted to seem.
The statistics he was relying on were probably inaccurate, too, he reflected with a sigh. Being honest about the number of people who were accidentally killed every year was hardly going to reassure the general populace.
Neither would being honest about how many people were killed by other people. The official statistics were tidied up for public consumption; it was so much easier to have a high rate of solved crimes when you simply refused to acknowledge most of the unsolved ones. But he'd been helping his father for several years by now; he had a fairly good idea of the real statistics.
His lips curled almost unnoticably. So many people died each year. What if he was in their positions? What did he have, really? His intelligence? It was hardly likely to find him a way out in the few seconds he'd have. His good looks? All they might do would be to attract some of the worse predators. His charm? Would he be able to charm death into letting him survive? (Later, he would think that the answer was yes, and feel bitterly disappointed. Later still, he would find it was no, and wouldn't know if what he felt was fury or exhilaration - though he'd show what was appropriate, as he always did.) His tennis skills? The thought almost made him laugh aloud.
And what if he did die now? What grand achievements would his life be measured by? National tennis champion at twelve, Japan's top student; the most he would be is a trivia question. Hardly befitting the great potential everyone saw in him.
So, if his life would mean nothing, what about his death? He tilted his head thoughtfully as he considered the matter. It would depend on how he died; if it were, say, at the hands of a mugger...
His eyes drifted half-closed as he tried to build the scenario. He would be coming home from cram school. He would... have taken a short-cut through a deserted area, that would work, and the mugger would have a knife and would be larger, stronger than him, and would have chosen him because he is always well-dressed -
He felt a moment's irritation at the thought of his death being so unremarkable, before a sick humour sparked in him at the sheer mundanity of what he was picturing. How... trite that ending would be for him. He might become a warning to other teenagers - "Don't go there alone, or you might end up like Yagami-kun!"
Intrigued by the idea, he tried to picture the scene in more detail: the first shock of the attack, the mugger's demands, his response... He snorted softly. If he couldn't persuade the mugger to let him survive, he must be trying to die. All he'd have to do would be to mention his father's position as chief of police; it wasn't as if a mugger would want to risk being found guilty of murder.
Dissatisfied with the way his little fantasy was playing out, he turned his thoughts to other causes of death. An accident - a fall - down some steps? Maybe the ones he had to climb to get to his school, if there was black ice and he was just a little more distracted than normal...
He fleshed the idea out, finding it so much easier to piece together than his previous one. Probably because part of him disliked the idea of owing anything to a criminal, he decided. He would be walking just a little faster than normal, trying to get to class after being held up by a casual acquaintance, and his foot would hit the ice at an angle and velocity that would mean he couldn't stop himself in time - there were no guard rails around there to be caught - no one else on the steps to help him, no one near enough to catch him as he fell -
- And that would make his life and death worth even less than the mugging-gone-wrong, he reflected with bitter satisfaction. What could he do to give worth to that?
The question intrigued him. If he were to die in such a plebian manner, how could he give his death meaning? If he saw his death coming, but couldn't escape it, how could he give it worth?
What was there that could be done in a few seconds?
Almost the only thing he could do would be to say something... or scream. He pursed his lips, considering. A dying scream... might do something. The domino that would topple a stack; the flap of a wing that would cause a storm...
It would have the most effect if it was heard by someone who knew him; someone he was close to. And that effect would probably be shock. Yagami Light, screaming? Yagami Light, with his perfect looks and perfect manners and perfect scores, proving that he was just as mortal and just as imperfect and just as human as everyone else?
Yagami Light, showing that there was a real person beneath the flawless perfection?
His lips curved in a beatific smile as he imagined it. The witness would be even more shocked by the meaning behind the scream, but - they might, they would, be glad that he'd chosen to show them the truth in his final seconds. And with that in mind, the meaning that his death would hold, he didn't think the pain and fear would be as all-encompassing as it should be. He might not even notice them in the relief of showing someone the truth...
His smile faded slightly. He was used to showing things to people. Showing his sister how to do her homework; showing his father how he solved those cases he was allowed to help with; showing his friends - whatever they asked for. He knew the pattern it always followed. He would show them how he did it; they wouldn't understand; he would simplify, and explain, and clarify, until they found some shallow understanding of what he was trying to get across to them. And if it took hours for them to work out what he meant with things they'd been taught at school and trained in at work, how would - how could - any of them understand what his final scream would mean? Instead of being recognised as a revelation of his true self, it would simply be incomprehensible.
The realisation struck him as if it were a physical blow. Screaming as he died would be just as worthless as any of his other attempts to communicate with the people around him. Worse, even, because it would permanently remove any further chance to do so.
And he couldn't bear the thought of his death being even more meaningless than his life was.
He sighed deeply, and stepped back from the edge of the platform before the guards could notice how close he was. He'd managed this long without doing anything drastic. He could continue trying to find something that would make him more than a statistic for a little longer.
It wasn't as if this would be his only opportunity to end things. The trains ran to a very strict timetable.