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Memory Touch by crazykittylover

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Story notes: blah
Chapter notes: ok this chapter is an intro basically to my fanfict in DeathNote. i do not own DN and if i did Light would be alive and Misa would be the one that got shot and then had her name written done in the DN.

and....don't steal ppl's ideas....its wrong and u'll get punished for it, so dont do it baka. And REVIEW PLZ! EVEN IF ITS NEGATIVE!
My name is Memoria Honda, I’m 18 years old. How everything came to be with Light and his perfect world is a complicated matter. I guess I should start from the very beginning…before all the deaths, before the blood, before everything. Back to when Light first noticed the signs of my gift. My gift…more like a curse in many ways was given to me back before my birth.

The first signs of my indifferent nature were when I was in my mother gave birth to me. I first gained knowledge of the world through the touch of her hands onto mine. I did not understand what I saw when my bare hands touched hers and then my fathers. I saw flashes of them when they were young; babies to the very moment of my birth. I felt immense pain as well confusion with these flashes; causing me to blackout.

Blacking out as a newborn was grave but, my mind needed to be somewhere else. I found myself in a giant library, it was so vast and filled with bookcases I did not understand what these things were; what child or baby would? Then I noticed that the library was entire empty except for 1 book on a low shelve. It was labeled Memoria’s birth. Next a thunderous crash echoed through the room and I saw hundreds of books scattered and piled on the ground next to the doors that seemed to be the exit. All labeled different things, like Mary’s College Years and Mark’s High School years.

I felt curious about these books and why they were there in my library; I floated to them and started look at them. I couldn’t understand what they said till I came upon Mary’s first reading. I soon learned how to read all of the books and sorted them into two sections: one for my mother Mary and one for my father Mark. All the books took twelve back to back shelves apiece. I felt strange being able to read my parent’s memories like they were books.

I figured out later that my library was my memory and I could add to it by learning things on my own or… touching other people’s bare hands with mine. This gift however came with a price; I didn’t wake up till three days after my birth. This gift takes a huge toll on my mind causing it great pain. It’s like taking gel and forcing it through a needle thick tube. In the future I tried to avoid touching other people’s hands if I didn’t cover mine.


A month after my birth my father left my mother. I remember the night; he accused my mother having an affair and I was the result of it. I knew it wasn’t true but, I could not yet speak so my parents could understand me. It sounded like attempts at sounding out vowels or consonants. I then tried to show him with my small hands that he was wrong, I was his child, but nothing worked; he still left. My mother was distraught…I promised that I would do everything in my power to make her happy.

I never cried as much as baby would, only when I couldn’t stand the hunger pains did I cry showing with my hands that I needed food. I giggled and smiled at her acting as joyous as I could to make her smile. She seemed so happy after my acts and funny sounds. Oh I remember all the times I tried to say I loved her so much. She use to brag to her friends how I never seemed unhappy with her; I knew because she always touched my bare hands with hers, saying how I was such a beautiful baby.

But, the first time she had brought me to work with her, to show what a joyful child I was at the age of 5 months old; I had a seizure from all the people touching my hands with theirs. I tried to endure the pain but, it overwhelmed my ever-growing brain and I blacked out once more.

I woke up at the hospital hooked up to strange machines with my mother not in site. I screamed so loud and shrilly for her, my voice nearly gave out, but did it send all the nurses running in. I kept screaming till I saw my mother and made frantic gestures to her to hold me. I even started to slap the nurse that was holding me till they stuck a needle into my arm and I fell unconscious.

The second time I woke up my mother’s terrified face hovered above me. I clapped my hands joyously and giggled, silently begging for her to hold me. She was sobbing when she snatched me up and held me close. I snuggled close to her and purred. A doctor followed by three nurses came in; one of them being the one I had slapped continuously. They tried to take me from my mother’s arms but, I screamed and clawed desperately to stay with her. They let me stay in her arms as they did test upon me. I was diagnosed with Epilepsy and was started medication.

I knew that this was wrong, that I only blackout and have seizures because of my bizarre gift, but I had no way of telling these people so I accepted it.


At the age of 3 my profound vocabulary that I collected from all the people I’ve been in contact finally was revealed. My first word to my mother was when she was talking on the phone with my pediatrician; the word was pediatrician. It took me nine times trying to pronounce it and when I finally got it right my mother was shocked beyond belief. She took me to the pediatrician that very day; ironic was it not?

The pediatrician was flabbergasted when I told her to stop using such a patronizing tone with me; I mean seriously I wasn’t like other kids that didn’t mind that. I had stored the vocabulary of an educated professor.

The lady called up a psychologist, a neurologist, and several other kinds of doctors to see me. I nearly blacked out from all the handshaking. They concluded that I was genius and congratulate my mother…I was only smart because of my ability so I didn’t see how I was so smart till I thought that other geniuses must have my gift as well being so smart. I soon found out that wasn’t the case when I went to a private school the next year when I was four.

I was put into preschool at the school but, was soon moved out of it when the incident between me and the teacher aroused:


“Mindy please stop making other children cry; that kind of behavior is not accepted here!”

“First off, Mrs. Toffler: my name is not Mindy, its Memoria. Secondly I was by no means trying to instigate my fellow colleagues into showing a display of theatrics means; I was trying to prove to them that it’s impossible for the Bos primigenius, a common type of large domesticated ungulates more commonly known as the cow to be bright lavender with neon orange spots because the genetic code for their skin can’t possibly produce it. It serves no purpose in the mammal’s environment factor as camouflage or as a warning for predators to stay way.”

Mrs. Toffler stared at me dumbfounded as I continued, “It does not lie to being my fault that they refuse to belief in exact science. So may I be excused now?”

Mrs. Toffler finally snapped out of it with my question and appeared fluster in what to do. I choose this moment to walk off from the table I was assigned to work at for our farming making project to an empty table. There I went and gathered my proper supplies and started on a new farm with real animals.


I was tested and placed in first grade honors. It was odd being so young and being in a room full of six to seven year olds. I found out there it was best to keep my big word mouth shut for I was constantly harassed for being a book worm and I found out none had the same gift that I had. Only when did I learn karate and then beat a boy up for name calling did I get what I wanted: to be removed from the school. I apologized to my mother and asked if she could home school me instead. It was more suited for my needs and I could choose what I wanted to learn.

It was that for many years till my mother passed away from breast cancer. I was ten at the time and at a high school level of learning; technically a tenth grade level. I was adopted after two months from a foster home. I had a growth problem and was very short for my age…so I looked like a seven year old when I wore cute little girl clothing. The family that adopted me let me keep my last name Honda; my father’s name. I mourned my mother’s death in silence then rage. I was never allowed any daycares afterwards because the children would make fun of how I look so out of place with my new family and how my eyes mismatched; so I went and beat the snot out of them then the adult when they tried to interfere.

I took on my mother’s looks except my father’s eyes and hands; I had one of his and one my mother: jade green and deep sky blue; I had my father’s medium hands while my mother’s were small and delicate. She was of Japanese birth and my father of Swedish; the family I was with was of Spanish Inheritance.

They tried to take me took many child psychologists but, I continued to be aggressive child till we made an agreement: I was finally allowed to continue home schooling and allowed to stay in my room if I agreed to stop hurting others and do at least one year in a public school before college. I choose to do my year when I was to be a senior at high school but, tragedy hit me again. The family children and grandparents died in car crash. The father was so distraught from the news that he became distorted and was fired from his job at the university he worked at being a Spanish teacher. Three weeks later he got drunk and went and shot his wife and me in our sleep then taking his own life as well, pleading with God to forgive him. I survived but the others didn’t…I had located my father through my mother’s old memories and was sent to live with him Japan. I was fifteen when I shook his hand for the second time in my life time.

He refused to accept me as his till I gave him a forged DNA test proving I was his daughter along. He was mortified at his actions and accepted me with open arms. I told him about what has happened to me and what I wanted to do. I wanted to keep my promise with The Perezs, so I continued to study vigorously what I did not know.

I knew by then ten different languages. I learned Japanese, Spanish, Greek, German, Arabic, Hebrew, and Swedish, from my gift only; English, Latin, and French are the only ones I learned on my own. I had known how to advanced mathematics, World history, the human anatomy, and more by the time my senior year came. I had gotten into a prestigious high school and was placed in all the top advanced classes. That is when I first met the future mass murder, Light Yagami.


did i do good or bad?? let me no! ^o^
Chapter end notes: blah
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