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Notes

Notes

Imagine your favorite song in the world.

The song you listen on repeat when you need a comforting sound in the midst of the discord that this world puts us through.

The song that makes you stop everything you’re doing just to devote your entire being to it.

Like the strongest of addictions, it draws you in and makes you take it in your veins before letting go of you when the dopamine fades away shortly after the notes do.

Now, imagine you’re on a ship, you haven’t seen land in weeks, yet somehow that familiar chord hits, and you’re willing to jump in those shark-infested waters just to get a small taste of the sound every part of your body aches for.

That is a modicum of the power the Sirens wielded with merely their voice.

Countless men have been lured to their peril by that haunting sound.

Entire crews fell to their demise because their captain could only focus on the Siren’s song.

The sea floor off the coast of Naples is littered with the skeletal remains of men lost to the annals of history.

Those notes of death were the precursor to everyone’s fate in those waters albeit for one.

Odysseus was warned before sailing towards the island that had taken so many before him.

To protect himself, he tied himself to the mast of his ship so he could still hear the music no one ever forgets and survive to tell the tale.

It was almost too tempting, if it wasn’t for the ropes that cut into him as he struggled to escape, we wouldn’t even know the name Odysseus.

As frightening as the Siren’s song is, there’s one sweeter voice that’s more inviting and deadly than all the Sirens combined.

Yours, Deathnote, it’s in your very name, you don’t simply write names in a book, you lure people and invite them to enter those final gates and perish.

You see them approaching their final days and start belting out a familiar tune they can’t escape.

That song has been on repeat within the deep recesses of my mind since the first time I succumbed to death all those years ago.

I know every part of it, that familiar beat, the medley that I can’t escape from, every word, every note, it is the soundtrack of my life.

However, familiarity breeds contempt and those notes don’t do anything for me anymore.

I don’t need a mast to protect myself from you, I have already succumbed to your one-hit wonder, it is simply white noise to me now.

Your notes, your book, your invitation means nothing to me.

I stopped truly listening long ago.

Do you know what happened to the sirens after people stopped listening to them?

They committed suicide to give death what they could no longer offer from others.

When you can’t give your father what he demands, will you be next and belt out that same painful melody they did at their end?

Now that’s a song I’d love to hear.