I watch the same episode over and over again. Seventeen repeated minutes rolling endlessly over in my brain. I know Kira’s speech, Near’s rebuttle, Matsuda’s screams, almost by heart. I lip sync along each time.

The video cuts out each time at 17:48, and with each cut my wrists ache a little more. I slam my head against the keyboard.

The words swim around my head, screams burying their way into my soul. Gut-wrenching screams so effortlessly protrayed they seem like those of murder victims awaiting their fate.

My eyes feel heavy with a darkness beneath, pulled down by the baggage of their screams.

Suddenly their screams flow through my lips, and they pierce the quiet suburban night with their grinding edges.

My nails sink into the wall as I try and suppress my screams but they won’t stop, and soon they have control of my entire body. They take my will from me and drive me into the cool Summer night.

Now I am the character, laughing wildly in his madness.
Now I am the killer.
Now I am Kira.