A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, a81 - write a fic that is M rated.
He's still alive when they find him.
There's no point saying he'll live, though. He won't. His blood's painted a merry trial for them but it's all to no avail.
It's deliberate, people whisper. The other boy wasn't hurt at all.
It's deliberate, people whisper. There's a lotus painted on the wall.
A merry poem, in the end, he makes. His last words become famous in the courts now and years later as well. But his body is the starker picture now, smiling lips painted red with his chest's blood.
There are no lip prints else the tale will have twisted further, but there are handprints from the ground to the console and back. There are flecks on the glass but it's untouched; a wave of farewell, then, macabre and red.
They feel a little sorry for the boy who'd been on the other side of the glass, presumably, to receive that wave.
But at least he hadn't seen under the blood. The teacher has, though. They can tell when they find him: hopeful and hopeless. He's got a wry little smile on his lips. Too late, they seem to say. Too late, coils of gut – pink and blue – say to them, as they peek out from the slit on his stomach. Such nice words they cast around. Such false hope as they bustle, taking photos and helping him onto a stretcher as though they can magic it all back into him.
It's only blood on the walls, right?
It is but it doesn't matter.
It's a long road to die, bleeding out from the gut. George knew that, when he shot Lennie in the head.
It's too bad for Nishijima Daigo that Yagami Taichi isn't the George to his Lennie, then. But then how many more will have screamed murder, screamed conspiracy, at the boy?
It took guts for the man to die with a smile on his face, regardless.
It's a bad pun that makes it into a history book with the rest.