Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ The Angel and the Scarecrow ❯ The Journey ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: selena281 
Anime/Manga: Death Note Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Drama / Fantasy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.28.2012 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 310 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Death Note Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Drama / Fantasy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.28.2012 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 310 | Status: Work In Progress
Chibi Theatre:
The Angel and the Scarecrow
Part 3: The Journey
_________________________________________________________
As is the way with many things of this earth, the unexpected managed to happen. And so it happened that night, when Scarecrow stepped off his perch.
There was a trick to it, walking. A seemingly easy thing to do, one foot in front of the other, but for those made of straw, it was dodgy at best.
Scarecrow hobbled along the winding dirt path that led out of the village, slouching (rather horribly, he suspected), now that he no longer had a firm stick at his back. He missed it, a little, but reminded himself that freedom came at a price.
---
“No, NO, Light, you mustn’t rush the song, you must feel the flow of it through your very being, like a golden wind, through to the tips of your wings!” the Choirmaster instructed him.
What if I don’t want to ‘feel it to the tips of my wings’? Light thought churlishly. The man-angel was insufferable. Prancing about like he knew everything about everything. Light knew full well how to sing. He just didn’t want to.
“Let your heart soar and let your Essence guide you.”
Yeah, I’ll let something ‘soar’ all right, the littlest angel responded silently, snotty as hell. “Ow!” he yelped, a stinging pain zinging him suddenly.
The choir angels looked at him in concern. “Is something wrong, Light?” many of them murmured, eyes looking him over.
“Heh heh,” he laughed awkwardly as he started freaking out a little. “Fine. I’m fine. Just a little joke. Gotcha.” Angels weren’t supposed to feel pain. What in heaven was going on?
---
Scarecrow walked all night before coming to a large gray rock, upon which he decided to sit and rest. He couldn’t remember ever feeling tired before.
While he waited for this strange ‘tired’ phenomena to pass, he took out his second-most treasured possession in the world. It was a feather, the twin of the one gifted to him by the crows. It, too, had that fascinating shine to its otherwise dull silver surface.
He turned it this way and that, admiring the microscopic prisms held in each little sparkle of light the feather reflected and wondered what sort of bird it had come from. Certainly none that he had seen before. Perhaps, if he kept on his journey, he might encounter one.
Bolstered by that thought, he got to his feet, not realizing that in addition to feeling fatigue, having feet at all was also new.
---
“Ow-ow-owie,” Light ground out as he plucked another dull feather from his gleaming wings. It was a stubborn one, making him screw up his face as he yanked at it.
He was getting used to the pain. Sort of. He just hoped he figured out what was wrong before he suffered premature balding of the wings.
“Sonnuvabit-” he gasped as it finally loosed its hold, making his head swim in a most unpleasant way. There was a trail of blood trickling from the spot on his wing. Before he could catch his breath, however, a new twinge jolted through his other wing.
He was pretty sure now that he was going to cry.
---
“Light, where are you hiding?”
“Nowhere,” he called back.
“Then why can’t I see your shining face?”
“Because I’m invisible,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the arch-angel Tobias said, not taking him seriously in the least. “Everyone knows only demons are invisible.”
Oh, God, Light wailed internally, am I turning into a demon??
“Light, come out,” Tobias demanded, his tone becoming just this side of testy.
“What else do you know about demons?” Light asked fearfully. “Where do they come from?”
Tobias sighed, though not unkindly. “Why all the questions?”
“Please,” Light implored, voice fearful.
The arch-angel sighed again. “Well, as you know, demons are simply angels who fell from grace.”
“But what does that mean? How did they fall? Was it all at once? Or did something happen to them that slowly changed them?”
“Light, is something bothering you?”
“Just answer the question, Tobias!” the young angel snapped, violating one of the pacts of speech that bid them to always speak respectfully and gently. Gah! He cried silently, curling in on himself as pain spiked in his wings.
The arch-angel, not knowing anything was wrong, continued speaking in his leisurely voice. “Some say that part of the host just fell that day, dropping right from the sky like so many raindrops. Though I have also heard that some of the fallen had slower changes of heart and mind which slowly made them unable to fly. That was all before my time, so I cannot tell you for certain.”
Great rolling tears flooded down Light’s cheeks one by one. Plip, plip, plip. More than the fear of Ascension, he now feared that he was going to become one of the fallen.
---
Scarecrow traveled and traveled. The people he met still looked upon him strangely, but it was less and less as time went on, and it was better than not being looked upon at all.
He’d found more feathers as he journeyed, not more than three, but it convinced him more than ever that he was on the right path.
His feet itched as he made his way, so he shuffled off the burlap booties that had covered them up till now. Dirt underfoot was an interesting sensation indeed. He wiggled his toes and found the action both pleasing and addictive.
The sun was bright overhead and the wind stirred his hair restlessly. He found himself wishing for his old hat. But, perhaps a new one?
“Excuse me, sir,” he said politely to a portly man in the small town square. “Where might I get a hat?”
The man looked at him with a gimlet eye, not sure what to make of him. In the end, however, he pointed to a shop on the other side of the busy area.
“Thank you kindly,” the scarecrow said.
The man nodded, then went about his business.
He made his way to the shop of hats and spoke to the women at the counter. “I would like a hat, please,” he said in his most polite of voices.
She looked him up and down. “Are you to pay for this hat?” she inquired skeptically, suspicious due to his attire that he had little or no money.
He stared back at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about.
“What is your name, sir?” she inquired primly.
“I am the scarecrow,” he said in confusion.
“That is not a name,” she announced. “How can I possibly have a hat for someone without a name?” she said unreasonably, wanting rid of one who could not pay for her wares. “Begone, scarecrow.”
Scarecrow shuffled from the shop sadly, feeling rather empty and unsure of what to do. What’s in a name? he wondered.
---
All of heaven was surprised with young Light’s turnabout. He was suddenly making the most supreme of efforts in all of his endeavours and the host of angels was simply thrilled with the beauty of his song, the playing of his lyre, and his new, spotless record of behavior. He was a shining example of all that anyone wished to be as one of the elite angels. They just hoped he wasn’t chosen soon as he was now very pleasing to be around, and an inspiration to them all.
As it turns out, fear is a great motivator.
Terror of falling from grace drove Light to try to master everything that came his way, in the hopes of saving himself from damnation.
He told no one what was on his mind.
No angel could be trusted with such a thing. He had to keep it secret by keeping it all silent.
As long as he’d kept himself insanely busy bettering himself, he hadn’t had any of the pains. It seemed like his plan was working. The only problem was, he was wearing himself right out. If he didn’t take a break from it all, and soon, he wasn’t sure how long he could last. Could angels expire from stress?
And, well, the other other problem seemed to be that everyone liked him so much better when he was not himself. They praised him for his conformity, for making himself not himself on the outside, and that pained him in a way that didn’t just hurt, but made him very sad.
---
TBC
As is the way with many things of this earth, the unexpected managed to happen. And so it happened that night, when Scarecrow stepped off his perch.
There was a trick to it, walking. A seemingly easy thing to do, one foot in front of the other, but for those made of straw, it was dodgy at best.
Scarecrow hobbled along the winding dirt path that led out of the village, slouching (rather horribly, he suspected), now that he no longer had a firm stick at his back. He missed it, a little, but reminded himself that freedom came at a price.
---
“No, NO, Light, you mustn’t rush the song, you must feel the flow of it through your very being, like a golden wind, through to the tips of your wings!” the Choirmaster instructed him.
What if I don’t want to ‘feel it to the tips of my wings’? Light thought churlishly. The man-angel was insufferable. Prancing about like he knew everything about everything. Light knew full well how to sing. He just didn’t want to.
“Let your heart soar and let your Essence guide you.”
Yeah, I’ll let something ‘soar’ all right, the littlest angel responded silently, snotty as hell. “Ow!” he yelped, a stinging pain zinging him suddenly.
The choir angels looked at him in concern. “Is something wrong, Light?” many of them murmured, eyes looking him over.
“Heh heh,” he laughed awkwardly as he started freaking out a little. “Fine. I’m fine. Just a little joke. Gotcha.” Angels weren’t supposed to feel pain. What in heaven was going on?
---
Scarecrow walked all night before coming to a large gray rock, upon which he decided to sit and rest. He couldn’t remember ever feeling tired before.
While he waited for this strange ‘tired’ phenomena to pass, he took out his second-most treasured possession in the world. It was a feather, the twin of the one gifted to him by the crows. It, too, had that fascinating shine to its otherwise dull silver surface.
He turned it this way and that, admiring the microscopic prisms held in each little sparkle of light the feather reflected and wondered what sort of bird it had come from. Certainly none that he had seen before. Perhaps, if he kept on his journey, he might encounter one.
Bolstered by that thought, he got to his feet, not realizing that in addition to feeling fatigue, having feet at all was also new.
---
“Ow-ow-owie,” Light ground out as he plucked another dull feather from his gleaming wings. It was a stubborn one, making him screw up his face as he yanked at it.
He was getting used to the pain. Sort of. He just hoped he figured out what was wrong before he suffered premature balding of the wings.
“Sonnuvabit-” he gasped as it finally loosed its hold, making his head swim in a most unpleasant way. There was a trail of blood trickling from the spot on his wing. Before he could catch his breath, however, a new twinge jolted through his other wing.
He was pretty sure now that he was going to cry.
---
“Light, where are you hiding?”
“Nowhere,” he called back.
“Then why can’t I see your shining face?”
“Because I’m invisible,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the arch-angel Tobias said, not taking him seriously in the least. “Everyone knows only demons are invisible.”
Oh, God, Light wailed internally, am I turning into a demon??
“Light, come out,” Tobias demanded, his tone becoming just this side of testy.
“What else do you know about demons?” Light asked fearfully. “Where do they come from?”
Tobias sighed, though not unkindly. “Why all the questions?”
“Please,” Light implored, voice fearful.
The arch-angel sighed again. “Well, as you know, demons are simply angels who fell from grace.”
“But what does that mean? How did they fall? Was it all at once? Or did something happen to them that slowly changed them?”
“Light, is something bothering you?”
“Just answer the question, Tobias!” the young angel snapped, violating one of the pacts of speech that bid them to always speak respectfully and gently. Gah! He cried silently, curling in on himself as pain spiked in his wings.
The arch-angel, not knowing anything was wrong, continued speaking in his leisurely voice. “Some say that part of the host just fell that day, dropping right from the sky like so many raindrops. Though I have also heard that some of the fallen had slower changes of heart and mind which slowly made them unable to fly. That was all before my time, so I cannot tell you for certain.”
Great rolling tears flooded down Light’s cheeks one by one. Plip, plip, plip. More than the fear of Ascension, he now feared that he was going to become one of the fallen.
---
Scarecrow traveled and traveled. The people he met still looked upon him strangely, but it was less and less as time went on, and it was better than not being looked upon at all.
He’d found more feathers as he journeyed, not more than three, but it convinced him more than ever that he was on the right path.
His feet itched as he made his way, so he shuffled off the burlap booties that had covered them up till now. Dirt underfoot was an interesting sensation indeed. He wiggled his toes and found the action both pleasing and addictive.
The sun was bright overhead and the wind stirred his hair restlessly. He found himself wishing for his old hat. But, perhaps a new one?
“Excuse me, sir,” he said politely to a portly man in the small town square. “Where might I get a hat?”
The man looked at him with a gimlet eye, not sure what to make of him. In the end, however, he pointed to a shop on the other side of the busy area.
“Thank you kindly,” the scarecrow said.
The man nodded, then went about his business.
He made his way to the shop of hats and spoke to the women at the counter. “I would like a hat, please,” he said in his most polite of voices.
She looked him up and down. “Are you to pay for this hat?” she inquired skeptically, suspicious due to his attire that he had little or no money.
He stared back at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about.
“What is your name, sir?” she inquired primly.
“I am the scarecrow,” he said in confusion.
“That is not a name,” she announced. “How can I possibly have a hat for someone without a name?” she said unreasonably, wanting rid of one who could not pay for her wares. “Begone, scarecrow.”
Scarecrow shuffled from the shop sadly, feeling rather empty and unsure of what to do. What’s in a name? he wondered.
---
All of heaven was surprised with young Light’s turnabout. He was suddenly making the most supreme of efforts in all of his endeavours and the host of angels was simply thrilled with the beauty of his song, the playing of his lyre, and his new, spotless record of behavior. He was a shining example of all that anyone wished to be as one of the elite angels. They just hoped he wasn’t chosen soon as he was now very pleasing to be around, and an inspiration to them all.
As it turns out, fear is a great motivator.
Terror of falling from grace drove Light to try to master everything that came his way, in the hopes of saving himself from damnation.
He told no one what was on his mind.
No angel could be trusted with such a thing. He had to keep it secret by keeping it all silent.
As long as he’d kept himself insanely busy bettering himself, he hadn’t had any of the pains. It seemed like his plan was working. The only problem was, he was wearing himself right out. If he didn’t take a break from it all, and soon, he wasn’t sure how long he could last. Could angels expire from stress?
And, well, the other other problem seemed to be that everyone liked him so much better when he was not himself. They praised him for his conformity, for making himself not himself on the outside, and that pained him in a way that didn’t just hurt, but made him very sad.
---
TBC