So... this was it, then. This deep, oppressive silence. This really was the end of the road
to fixing humanity, snuffed out before it had even truly begun to take on form.
God had fallen. Fallen at the hands of that... heathen, Ryuuzaki. L. The cursed
name tasted like vile poison on the back of Light's tongue, and he hadn't even
spoken it. He wanted to cough, choke it up, spit it out and stamp down on it,
but he physically could not, and so it resided, persisted, turning more and
more foul as it bubbled and boiled like a stew at the forefront of his brain. L. L.
L. That complete bastard. Light would kill him. Somehow, some way, Light would fucking kill him with his bare hands; latch his fingers around L's throat and squeeze as hard as possible, squeeze until L's lips were blue and eyes were bulging and-
These thoughts were derailing. These were the thoughts of one going insane. Light didn't... Light was not insane, he wasn't. How could he possibly be? He was calm, collected, and had a perfect grasp on reality, people, and how to manipulate these things to appease to his desires. He knew more than anyone how to tell between right and wrong, and then how to make each one bend to his will. Or so, he'd thought he had. Until that bastard L... Had ruined him. He'd completely ruined him, and ruined everything. L couldn't possibly be human. L was a demon. L had been fashioned by the universe specially to terrorize him and ruin his plans, he had to have been, otherwise how could he, Light, God of his New World, have fallen from such a great height?
He had fallen, and in no way had the fall been dignified. He had tumbled and rolled painfully down a hill of grime and dirt in the form of humiliation, landing at the bottom dirtied and completely disheveled, so disoriented that his brain was still dizzy from it all. And at the end of everything, he had been sprawled at L's feet, completely hogtied and at the detective's mercy.
It turned out that L had some. Mercy, that was, or so he had claimed... Though Light failed to see what was so merciful about being torn down from his pedestal and then stuffed into a cage to rot for the rest of his miserable life. Light wasn't crazy, he swore it, but his own mind was already pressing walls in around him, a cloud of hysterics creeping in at the edges of his conscious, and he just couldn't believe this was what he had become. Though he supposed it was better than... execution. There was room to improve, to turn things around somehow, some way. There was always a way, and Light would always find that way, no matter how unlikely.
When Light had first received his sentence, he had been confused. And then he had wanted to scream. The effort that he had needed to instill into himself in order not to do so in the middle of the court room had been so great that he had begun to hyperventilate, and his eyes had gone into tunnel vision. His breathing had sounded so embarrassingly loud in the court room, and he had only barely been able to register himself slumping forward, his palms resting on the table before him firmly in order to keep himself upright, and then he had been escorted out. L had been watching, Light knew; with his stupid computers and surveillance cameras. The utter bastard, the devil. He still wanted to smash his fists down onto a solid surface and scream it; L was the devil.
Light hadn't seen L since he had been arrested, and on the one had, good riddance, but on the other, Light had a piece of his mind to tell to the detective. Just who did he think he was to dictate Light's life? To have him sent to a place where insane people were kept? Just how stupid was L? Had he learned nothing at all from working with Light all of that time? Light wasn't like them, any of them! God didn't belong here, in such a mortal kind of hell.
The walls were too close together. They only closed in more every time that Light dared to glance at them. He sat in the small room in the mental asylum on the single bed provided with his legs crossed and his back pressed to the wall, hands pressed together in his lap, head bowed and eyes closed. So, this was it then. This was where he was to live the rest of his long, long life. The room was barren of furniture except for the bed and the end table, which were both bolted to the ground. There was one window that let in weak rays of sunlight, but it was barred and too high for Light to look through it. He was deprived of any possible communication with the outside world, as well as any free movement without being escorted by a staff member. He was dumped into a daily routine that had to be followed. He couldn't even go to the bathroom without asking for permission. This... was almost similar to the life he had lived as Kira; constantly under suspicion, prying eyes and accusations, but at the same time it was completely different. There was deliberately no excitement anymore, no motive, nothing to fight for. Light was a fallen god, and no longer looked at as a god, but instead as some crazy mass murderer. It wasn't right.
The sound of the door to his room unlocking, an electrical humming sound that grated on the ears, pulled Light from his stupor, but he did not physically react in any way. Though he felt immense relief wash over him knowing he was going to be taken out of this damned tiny, shrinking room, though all of his focus zeroed desperately on the feeling of cooler air rushing in from the threshold as the door was opened, Light didn't so much as twitch. It was only when he was ordered to stand that Light raised his head and opened his eyes, settling his gaze with a deliberate, calculated serenity on the staff member before him. He wanted and hoped to will anyone who looked at him with his eyes that he was not crazy, he didn't belong here, they must understand, let him out... Light obeyed the order after only a moment's hesitation, swaying gracefully to his feet and letting himself be followed out the door and down to the food court. It was part of the routine. He was expected to eat now, and so he had to. Failing to follow the rules would lead to restrictions on the already strict routine, and Light wanted to avoid that at all costs.
Light was among the inmates who were considered to be high functioning. He, once let out of his room, was allowed to wander and generally do as he pleased. Well, as long as it wasn't breaking any rules and as long as he didn't leave the premises indicated and as long as he was under near-constant supervision, Light thought bitterly to himself. Once he had had all of the power in the world. Now, quicker than lightning, he was under the power of everyone else around him. With startling speed, his youthful beauty and exuberance had felt like it had been leeched out of him. His hair, once glossy and perfectly combed; his eyes, once liquid pools of russet determination; his cheeks and skin, once unbearably soft and sun-kissed and unblemished... it had all slipped from his control or care ever since his arrest. Now his hair looked rather dry and wouldn't part correctly; his eyes, though still full of intelligence, had grown dull with defeat, dark circles smearing beneath them; his skin had lost much of its healthy colour. He looked, in a word, worn. The asylum uniforms didn't do him any favours, either. As a boy who had prided himself on his appearance all of his life, this change had more impact on him than it had any right to. It was frustrating, but unfortunately something that had had to be disregarded, as he was helpless to fix it.
Obediently, Light parted ways with his escort and took the only meal offered from where it was served, his skin prickling with the stares that he felt on him but was unsure if he was only imagining, and brought it to the most empty area of the room, setting it on the table and then sitting primly. There were other inmates there, but Light never bothered to acknowledge them or even look at them. He didn't want to associate himself. He didn't belong with them, and he never would, no matter how much everyone believed that he did. The food was unappetizing, but he intended to eat whatever he could stomach, and then leave as soon as possible, eyes fixed determinedly downwards as he remained in his own head.
