It all started with L.

We all wanted to be L. That was how we were brought up, how we were taught. Other British children grew up being told the God is divine, Allah is divine, Master Yoda is divine, or whatever they were taught. Because what we're taught as children is supposed to stay with us forever. But it doesn't. That's how we have atheists, criminals and homosexuals. Not that I have a problem with atheists, criminals and homosexuals. What I'm trying to say is; it's hard to lose the morals we were given as children.

I can remember the girl who came to Wammy's as a teenager. She gave us the name Oak Platinum, but her real name was Laurel Silver. She was only at Wammy's for a couple of weeks. They sent her home, soon after she had a healthy rant at Wammy.

"It's unnatural," she'd said, in a Yorkshire accent that felt like a truncheon to the head with every syllable, "You can't bring kids up like this; it ain't natural! You can't make them compete like this, you can't make them work like this, and you can't make them learn this much to this extent! It ain't natural! This is child abuse, old man, and it's wrong."

The following day, she was gone. Not many people missed her. She was loud, and large, and she walked heavily, with thick black Doctor Marten's on her small feet. She had small hands, too. She was a writer. And, boy, the stories she could come up with. I'd sit with A, Matt, Mello and Near, as she'd create tales and narratives and yarns from scratch, basing the characters on us, or Near's toys, or Matt's video game characters. When she told stories, the accent would drop, and she'd speak with a more English accent, with a grin on her face that showed us shiny silver braces. She'd tie back her unruly auburn hair in a black scrunchie, little tufts of short hair standing on their ends, encircling her face like a lion's mane. She'd sit cross-legged, and let Near sit on her lap, and would bounce him up-and-down, humming, when she was stuck. Hoppe hoppe rieter, she'd hum, and would end up singing the German nursery rhyme with Matt. Not as eccentric, or as intelligent, as the rest of us, but she got on well with us all, especially young children, as stories came to that girl naturally.

Laurel was atheist. She was anti-royalist, anti-parliamentarian… anti-authoritarian in general. She had her own views, and I could sit for hours with her, discussing politics, authority, religion. She was intelligent enough for that sort of conversation, and her mad ideas made the conversation interesting, even if they'd go off on odd tangents.

Speaking of tangents, I should get back to my point now.

L came first. Then came A.

A was from Yorkshire, like Laurel. Same accent. Auburn hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Always happy, and calm, no matter the situation. There were so many similarities between 'Alternative' and 'Oak'; anyone would think they were siblings.

But Almost was much more intelligent, and his forefront was Mathematics, not stories.

Yes, his name was Almost. No surname. Baron Kelvin had named him Almost, to taunt him. Y'see; Almost grew up in a circus. He was an escapist. He could escape any binding, any cage, except one. That one cage was the cage that Baron Kelvin would keep him in, unless he was in the ring. Baron Kelvin was a paedophile. Do I need to elaborate any further?

Wammy gave him the name 'Alternative', but I gave him the name 'Angel'. Why, you ask? Because he was one. An absolute god-send. He looked after me, and was the older brother that Matt, Mello and Near never had, but truly deserved. I could never have done that. L could never have done that.

L… L killed Angel. He killed my best friend, he killed Laurel's biggest fan, he killed Matt, Mello and Near's older brother.

Okay, so he didn't physically murder him. But he might as well have done. The system he created. The work he set. The rankings to become him. He put so much stress onto Angel, and Angel snapped. He put Matt, Mello and Near to bed, just like he usually did, and kissed each of them on the forehead. He wrote an apology and a goodbye on a piece of paper, and opened his veins with the blade of a pencil sharpener.

I walked in to say goodnight. I watched him, watched his numbers count down. I was too late. He died right in front of me. Above his head, the numbers vanished, leaving just the word 'Almost', the word that forever plagued and taunted him. He could escape almost any cage that Baron Kelvin put him in. He was almost L. Almost. Almost is dead.

L. Then A. Then comes me; Beyond 'Back-up' Birthday.

Here I am; Los Angeles loony-bin. No L, Laurel, Angel. No Matt, Mello or Near. Alone. Not that it bothers me.

I just hope that Matt, Mello and Near are still close, like they were when I was still there. I hope the rankings don't tear them apart. If they worked together, they could surpass L. Hell, they obliterate him. Better than I did. And also, I hope that Laurel gets some of her writing published. Not just because she's good at it, but because she'd struggle to maintain a mainstream job. She'd hate having a boss telling her what to do.

And above all, I hope L dies. I hope he's killed by the penultimate foe. Maybe this new 'Kira'. Yeah, that'd work. Killed by Kira… or better still, dies in Kira's arms, gazing up into Kira's eyes, Kira knowing full well that it's the end of L, that Kira has won.

Then, of course, Matt, Mello and Near would defeat Kira. Or rather, Matt plays his video games, Mello pulls some stupid stunt, and Near plays with his toys, and that somehow solves the case that L couldn't.

L, then A, then B.B. L, A, B.B. It's ironic that L decided to call my crime the 'LABB' murder case. I bet he did it on purpose.

L. In my mind, that doesn't stand for L. Lawliet. It stands for Laurel. Because she was the first to break out of the Wammy's regime, the first to fight Wammy's morals.

A. That stands for Angel, not 'Almost' or 'Alternative', not the names he was given by cruel old men. Angel was the second to break away from the Wammy's regime. If you call suicide 'breaking away', then he smashed it. The Yorkshire escapist couldn't escape death, so he'll be a real angel now.

B.B. stands for Beyond Birthday. The third to break away.

I honestly think that Laurel was the best at leaving Wammy's.

The world seems to slow down at pain shoots through the left of my chest. If I'd been anyone else, I'd be panicking. But I am Beyond Birthday; Wammy's number two. I'm intelligent enough to know that this is Kira.

Goodbye, L. Lawliet/Eraldo Coil/Deneuve. I hope you die. L. Lawliet dies of a heart attack, in the arms of Light Yagami, who is later confirmed to be Kira.

Goodbye, Laurel Silver/Oak Platinum. I hope you get over your issues with authorities, and lead a relatively normal life. Laurel Silver, just after Kira's death, murders a total of fifteen people in a Yorkshire town named Sleepy Hollow. She is caught by the police, with the help of Near, and commits suicide in Bleakmoor mental asylum.

Goodbye Matt/Mail Jeevas. I hope you stand on your own two feet, and don't get too caught up in Mello's schemes. Mail Jeevas is shot by Takada's bodyguards, helping Mello in kidnapping Takada. He does not survive, and uses his last breath to smoke a cigarette.

Goodbye Mello/Miheal Keehl. I hope your crazy schemes don't get you killed. Miheal Keehl is killed by Takada while kidnapping her. The church he is in is then set on fire. His ashes are never found.

Goodbye Near/Nate River. I hope you get Kira. With the help of Miheal, Nate River gets a confession from Light Yagami. Light is killed by his own Shinigami. Three year later, Near is shot and killed by Laurel Silver; the very girl who'd bounced him on her knee singing Hoppe hoppe rieter, and had told him stories. He was the last of her victims.

Hello, Angel. I hope you waited for me. Of course I have, B.

A/N:

I don't own anything except Laurel Silver/Oak Platinum. She is from my GHS series on a website called figment, and she is one of the main characters in my Death Note story 'Remember the Toy Soldiers', if you want to find out more (despite the major spolier in thes story.

-Laurel Silver