It must be terrible to know that you are going to die soon, but have no idea when. It must be terrible to know that anytime during the next month or so, your heart -- which had been beating for so long, keeping you alive -- will suddenly stop (and with no warning or alert beforehand). And that would be that.

I had never actually thought about death before. Not really. I killed people, thousands and thousands of people, and I thought about life -- who deserved it and who didn’t -- but I had never thought about death. I had never thought about what it would feel like. Physically, it would be awful -- that was obvious -- but never before had I thought about the emotional torture.

I am going to die. Die is nothing more than a word, a simple word. It has a scientific definition attached to it. So why does it suddenly mean so much to me?

You have died. A sentence that used to have no connotation to me suddenly strikes me down. I feel every word, and I don’t want to. I don’t know how.

To die or to have died -- which would be worse? Which would feel worse? Suddenly, I’m not sure. I try not to think about it.

I know that I am going to die in mere seconds, but it is not so bad. I fear my death, but only because that is what reason tells me to do; I don’t have time to come to terms with what it actually means.

And that is why I suddenly pity you, you who knew you were going to die so long before it happened. You had time to reflect on what it meant while I only planned how it would be done. That is what we were both doing out in the rain; you were reflecting, and I was planning. Your time seems to have been spent more valuably than mine, I think.

Yes, I knew that you knew. I knew that you had known ever since you heard my scream in the helicopter. But, at the time, I didn’t care; it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except your death. It had to happen because that’s what I had told myself for so long (you must be killed -- that sentence was repeated over and over in my mind). There was no other reason than that.

And yet, somehow, I knew that it would eventually come to this. In death, all humans are equal. That is to say, you and I will finally be equal.

I don’t know exactly how much longer I have to live, but I do know that it is less than forty seconds. I’m terrified, of course, and yet…I’m also calm. I don’t have any final preparations or plans to make before my untimely death -- not like you. No, I just have to wait it out. That is all.

The seconds trickle by, bringing me closer and closer to nothingness. I can feel everyone’s eyes on my dying body -- angry, hurt, disappointed, and triumphant. Their stares make me uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at you when you died, too, only with worry instead of anger. But they weren’t worried about you. No, they were worried about what would happen without you. Will either of us truly be missed?

You had a funeral. It was small -- only the task force attended -- but it was nice, nonetheless. When I saw your grave, I wasn’t sure what to do, so I laughed. I laughed and laughed because L’s death is exactly what Kira had wanted, ever since the beginning. I never thought I missed you, per se, but I missed your presence. I missed our debates and challenges and fights and everything. But I didn’t let myself wonder why.

Since we met, you and I played a never-ending game of tennis, where our losses were signified by death. I thought I had won the game against you, but I only won the match, didn’t I? You won the game, really. Even after you lost, you were still was able to continue. That is one aspect of your situation I’m envious of; I will never be able to continue our game.

You only lived to be two years older than me, though you’re seven years my senior. The fact that we will have died so close in age feels significant somehow, only I’m not sure why.

Even now, as I’m dying, I wish it had been your triumph over Near’s. Near is nothing more than a mere copy of you, a back-up in case something should have happened to you. And a copy is a copy, never as good as the original. He will never be as good as you. He tarnishes the name of L. He wears the alias like a badge, pretending to be you, so he can do what you did. He’s similar to you in many ways, that’s true, but he will never be you. And that’s what matters.

I often wonder what your final thought was: triumph or sadness or something in between. You knew all along that I was Kira, and you knew exactly what would happen after your death, right down to the very last second. But I’m sure you were still sad and frustrated to have to die. You had accomplished so much, though you were still so young; you would have lived for many more years. You should have spent your limited time enjoying life to the fullest, smiling more often. I know I should have, anyway.

If I could redo everything…if I could go back…what would I do? I don’t know. I consider it until I realize that it will never happen. There’s no use clinging to a thought that means precisely nothing. But, in the back of my mind, I don’t think I’d change anything.

My thoughts are loud, and my breaths are slowly becoming quieter. My final seconds will soon be up. But, before I become nothingness, there’s one more thing I want to tell you. I want for it to be my final thought, even though I know it will be a direct opposition to yours. But it’s true. I love you, L. I love you.