His perfect world, shattered.

That's all Light could think about in the Yellow Box Warehouse. His broken dreams. But when he slipped out and began to run, knowing his life was going to end soon, he thought about his life before the Death Note.

He wished he'd never picked the damn thing up.

It had ruined his life. Once you picked up a Death Note, no matter how good a person you were, it corrupted you. And Light, though he had always held himself above the rest, had been just like them. What would his life have been like if he had never picked up the Death Note?

Well, he wouldn't have been about to die, probably. He would have been on the right side of the law. He would've led a highly successful, honest life. But that dream was long gone.

But also, he never would have met L. If there was one thing in all this mess he was thankful for, it was L. He had never before met someone who could match him for intelligence and provide any form of stimulating conversation. He had never met someone he loved so much. He could've had a life with L.

But he had shattered that dream, too.

He could have given the Death Note back to L and forgotten everything. He didn't have to kill Higuchi and become owner of the notebook again. He chose to, just like he chose to kill L, telling himself that he shouldn't let his selfish desires get in the way of helping mankind.

But the dream of a perfect world had been broken, too. So what the hell had he killed L for? Nothing. A big, fucking, horrible nothing. He had killed, then stabbed and slashed the corpses of his dreams until they became disturbingly mutilated, all for nothing.

And now, as he hobbled as far as he could, bullet wounds having torn up his body, Light realized that none of it was worth it.