ruined my line transitions... so now this is all very messy. Just pretend they are still there. I'm sorry I am too lazy to go through this fic and fix things. I forgot where they should go too. I have no intentions for truly finishing this fic to what I was going to write it up too... but it has a sense of completion where I left it anyways.

I hope that works.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

It was hard being chained to a piano. It made his days the hardest days in his life.

He remembered the piano since the day he was born. His mother sang to him while balancing him on her lap, stroking his wild unruly hair and moving his hands up and down on the piano keys. She pressed them gently to make these sounds emit from the white keys every once in a while, never touching the black ones.

The piano was beastly thing with a certain beauty, especially whenever the light from the stained-glass window hit it in just the right places. The colors were brilliant that affected the original deep mahogany—that seemed to affect the sounds coming from it.

Mother called it a marvel.

She loved that piano.

He remembered her voice as she hummed and told him, "When you get older, I'll let you play this piano by yourself. You will have access to all of the keys. Even the black ones."

He would bat his wide gray eyes and nod as if he understood her.

But he never did.

The day Aunt Josephine went into labor was one of the hardest days of his life.

Mother wasn't there to hold him and he never knew about fathers. He just sat there on the piano seat, nibbling on a cookie and jogging his feet up and down to the melody of his mother's voice echoing in his ears.

The sounds all around him were quiet. Most would say not a creature was stirring but he heard them. He heard their sounds, the playful tapping of their feet and the soft squeaks of their squabbles.

They inhabited the walls and gave his mother grief. He knew one of the creatures had been found outside of the walls whenever he heard his mother cry. She never screamed, she just cried while she shuffled around the kitchen in her ratty old slippers.

He took this time to just stare at her from atop his piano seat—keep everything about her in his mind. The way her forehead creased when she couldn't find her broom, the way her hair stuck everywhere when she was frazzled because she couldn't find the broom, the way the corners of her mouth etched downwards because she couldn't find that bloody broom.

The way the music of her cries rung in through the air and hung onto the ceiling because when she finally found that broom another creature lay beside the first.

The day after Aunt Josephine gave birth was one of the hardest days of his life.

He barricaded himself under the piano with the piano seat.

He heard the bell ring and shouts from the front door that turned into bangs that turned into screeches that turned into thuds. The door flopped onto the ground and whoever was making those ungodly sounds entered.

"His name, what is his name?"

"It just says L."

"It can't just say "L", my sister wouldn't name her child that even if she was mentally unstable."

"It just says…L."

He quickly learned that whenever Aunt Josephine was in the house it would be the hardest day of his life.

She'd get this crazed look in her eye whenever she remembered that he was under the piano. She'd tell her husband, "He's a bit abnormal for a child isn't he?"

"He is named L for a reason."

L for what?

The child wondered this for the rest of his life.

She wouldn't let him forget it; she hung it over his head like she did the cookies and the cake, the strawberries and the cupcakes, and the scones Mother used to make. She even left a piece of dried bread on the black piano key once.

He knew better not to even attempt to grab it.

It was decided when he turned four that he was old enough to move to the chained stage.

Aunt Josephine would handcuff him to the piano seat and wouldn't let him off it for a while. She told him he'd thank her for it later.

He nodded like he was already thanking her.

But he never did.

It was when he reached the climax of two weeks later after being chained that Aunt Josephine decided he would play the piano for her.

She propped him onto the piano seat and placed music sheets in front of him, carefully teaching him how to translate each musical note from the sheet onto the piano.

She did in such a way that he almost thought she was his mother.

It was a week later that Aunt Josephine started treating him with respect and fed him like normal kids were fed. He decided that these days wouldn't be the hardest in his life.

The first day Aunt Josephine gave him a plate of strawberry shortcake that L uttered a word he thought he would never tell her, "Thank you."

And she uttered the words he expected from her, "Just eat it." She gave him a few colorful words that he thought didn't need repeating.

But he did think they sounded awful.

Some days Aunt Josephine would sit directly across from him. Those days they would have staring contests. L would always win.

His reward was a slap and piece of cake.

He only remembered the slap. To have that much dominance over someone…to show them they could hold some sort of power…that was something else for L.

It was a month later after Aunt Josephine treated him like a respectable human being in regards to earlier treatment that L decided this day was going to be a breakthrough.

He wanted to know something.

So he spoke to her for the second time he had resided with her, "Do you know where my mother is?"

She responded with cold silence and ended their staring contest.

That was the day L's grace period ended.

"I'm your mother."

"No." But there's a ninety-five percent chance that I think you are.

He began playing the same song over and over again because to Aunt Josephine he could never get it right.

He doesn't remember what his mother's voice sounds like anymore because his stomach's voice is louder.

It was when he turned five that Aunt Josephine forgot to let him off the chain.

She hadn't gotten home and L was beginning to wonder if she forgot about him. After all, she began to just leave a bucket to his own devices instead of leading him to the bathroom.

He couldn't blame her though, because along the course of time he forgot what his mother looked like.

He was so afraid that he would forget forever that he started losing countless hours of sleep.

He spent nights just staring at the darkness trying to piece together fragments of his mother's likeness.

The way her forehead wrinkled in anger—no, that was Aunt Josephine.

The way that her eyebrows lifted in surprise—no, that was when Aunt Josephine was surprised when he lived without food for a week.

The way that her voice clogged his throat—no, that was when Aunt Josephine would get angry whenever he won staring contests and tried to throttle him until her husband stepped into the room.

What were her ways?

And had she forgotten him too?

It was two months after that heavy dark blue bags developed beneath his eyes. It was those days when he read many musical sheets that he found inside the piano seat.

He always hid them before Aunt Josephine would come in the room and he would always ask for more when her husband came in.

Aunt Josephine's husband was like a ghost of a man. He came and went though the front door, only talking to L whenever he deemed it necessary. He sometimes let L have more music sheets and even gave him an occasional scrap of food.

Other times he just stared at him.

And L stared back.

It was three weeks after when Aunt Josephine's husband gave him a book.

He read the whole thing within an hour and craved more.

But he never begged for such items; he never showed any more weakness than Aunt Josephine knew already.

The only thing he held dear: easing his hunger. But wait! There was another!

Did he forget what it was called?

Or did he just never have the opportunity to find out what it was?

On the days right before his birthday, it either rained hard, fast with whipping winds and scorching drops or had a light drizzle that washed away the prints on the grass.

Those were the days he heard his mother again.

Her voice enchanted him, like the tingling of bells. He always wanted to go out and feel those curious diamonds that fell from the sky but he was always chained to the piano.

Sometimes he couldn't hear anyone else.

It was like his mother was calling for him—calling down to him.

Calling to take him away.

But the harsh, wringing hands of Aunt Josephine, the empty stares of her husband, and the cold reality of the chain always brought him back.

Always.

It was on his birthday that he figured out what to call his forgotten language.

Aunt Josephine had put a sign on the door and left him at his usual spot. She and her husband went somewhere. Somewhere without him as usual.

"Just keep playing," she told him before she patted his head. It was his gift to be patted instead of being hit. Just keep playing…just keep playing the game.

So he did.

It was already nearing ten o' clock when he got to the ending of the same song the fortieth time when the bell rang.

Odd. The sign probably said something in Aunt Josephine's colorful words to back off.

He stopped playing and ducked underneath the piano.

"Hey! I saw you!"

Hmm…

L got up and looked out the window.

A little girl was standing there, holding a bag of goodies and dressed in just a white dress with crude wings tied around her.

He stared at her, trying to figure out what she was.

She stared back.

He was about to narrow her eyes when the girl blinked.

I won, he thought. He slightly smiled to himself. The girl interpreted this the wrong way and smiled at him, revealing brilliant white teeth.

"Why are you in there all alone? And in the dark!" she said. Her voice sounded like those bells he heard a long time ago.

...It was when Mother had this strange urge to decorate the house with tinsel and these little red berries connected to green leaves. She began weaving these in the railings of the stairs and hung them on the windows.

L watched her from his piano seat; he was in fetal position with his arms wrapped around his knees hugging tightly. She was almost finished decorating when she gasped and looked at him.

"I can't believe I almost forgot!" she had said to him. She flew down the stairs and appeared next to him again with a box in her arms a wry smile on her lips. She set it down and opened it, exposing its contents to L. Bells. Tiny, silver bells.

Magical bells.

But that was a long time ago.

L frowned. What do you say to someone who can't hear you? "Can you hear me?" He hadn't spoken in so long, and for a long period of time he almost forgot he had his own voice.

"Yes." Not bothering to listen to what else he might say, she called to him, "Why aren't you outside trick or treating? It's fun!" She popped a piece of candy in her mouth and smiled at him again.

Trick…or treating?

Ah, now he remembered what that was associated with. Aunt Josephine always told him he had the devil's birthday. Halloween. The day when little kids dressed in costume and went around houses begging for candy.

Begging was not his style.

However, there was no harm in asking.

"What are you?"

She looked taken aback a little bit and pressed her small rounded nose against the window and replied, "An angel."