You, you and your mistakes. Any other person, I'd just ask- when will you learn? But I know you already did.

Do you really feel the need to burn so badly? Because you will. And you will be the final victim, as I'm sure we both know. I've never underestimated you. You're a beautiful little boy, but you never grew all the way into your mind, your body. You're just a little boy torn up, ripped up, cut and pasted. Oh yes, I steal your words. Oh yes, I heard that. I heard it all. Not commutative, is it, the statement? I never underestimated you. Because you underestimated me.

And still I'll never find you.

Even if I find your body, your mind, I will never find you. And yes, it did, still does interest me, the way we are. This is why I didn't run after you while you're still you. Because, yes, like you said. Remodeling. We, uniquely enough, can tear up pieces of our selves to remake them. Copy and paste. Like you teach four-year-olds to cut and paste pieces of pictures to make collages, you teach them to form collages of humanity.

Caricatures, caricatures that make themselves into the real thing.

That's why it's so interesting. Because even though this is so wonderfully complex, so wonderfully esoteric, we're still trapped in these bodies.

I can break these ideas.

You're right, I would do that. You're exquisite. An exquisite tragedy, but of course true tragedies must be exquisite.

They must find the way to manipulate these strings, make us submit to them, make us forget they're even there. And the idea of such beauty being so twisted is certainly so. I can't explain why (this is my great failure- humanity) but we're supposed to care.

Maybe you were right, after all, with your idea of a God, but I think we're our own gods.

Damn you to hell, immortalize you. Didn't you ever read the Iliad? Of course, I remember watching you run outside and scream into the sky at the end. That was quite the dramatic move, but very appropriate.

And I think that should explain my reasoning for the way I am. Playing God, cutting at the strings.

I have to wonder how much we did for each other. How much we influenced each other's collage- the cutting and the pasting and the collecting all the pieces.

I think you might've taken some of me.

I think you left some of yourself.

And you may be right, misguided belief, but only because you don't realize that you are the master of God. But you were wrong about one thing. I don't believe we don't matter. You took me wrong. I believe we matter exactly as much as we make ourselves matter.

And yes. Is it really easier? To accept? To live, to die as nothing? You know the way we are. We're different. We're special, so they would have us believe. Special enough to be separated from the rest, at least. But what does it matter if you do suck your humanity out like that?

Maybe you are getting it. That's what God is. God is human when we are animal. No, God is human and how we are animal.

Another thing you had right, it's hard to distill thoughts like these into words. Especially with the noise outside- funny, they don't know you're so long gone by now. And hard to trust.

Perhaps I should follow you after all. It's not often one like you comes around, it's like-

it's like you were somehow cheated out of being a god, isn't it?

Because the way things are, the way we are, you were taught so much even in this place meant to be safe. Meant to make you everything you could be. I almost want to say you're beyond human, but that's not true. You are fully human, and that is what makes you seem so different from the rest of us.

And yet I know out in the world you'll snap. You'll break. You'll become another animal. I'll see your name, but at the price of remembering it. At the price of deserving it.

I suppose I'll have to go, if that's what you think. Wake you up. I know you said goodnight, I know you're happy to sleep, but I hear you screaming in your nightmare.

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Author's Note: (wake up wake up wake up)

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Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. The idea of being cheated out of being a god is not mine. It came from a theory some hold regarding Achilles that I was told about by a prospective Classics tutor.