Disclaimer: Trust me… it's a good thing that Digimon doesn't belong to me

Disclaimer: Trust me… it's a good thing that Digimon doesn't belong to me. We wouldn't want to corrupt the poor kids, would we?


A story that I wrote… I'm pretty sure I was on some type of drug (no, that is not meant literally… *coughs* Kaci *coughs*…) when I wrote it. I don't know… I wrote it during summer school… well, to be exact, after, since class was finished, but I was still there waiting for my sister. In my opinion, this story is morbid, depressing, and the end is… I don't know what to make out of it?

Also, I forgot this… (which is why I'm inflicting it on all of you again). Child of the Faeries and Kei, thank you for reading this fic ahead of time and giving me enough confidence to publish it.

For Cynthia's contest… coupling revealed at the end (also revealing contest… maybe I should change the coupling and throw it into the odd coupling contest. Wouldn't that be fun? It'll certainly save me some time. BTW, Lady Cynthia, thanks for dealing with my e-mails (and my very short rant about how bad skunks smell _).

It's a bit like a vignette.

Rated PG-13 for language, violence, etc

I can still remember all too well. Some people consider memories a blessing, but to be frank, I am not one of them. I consider it nothing more than a curse about my sanity. Because every day, it comes back to me. The blood, the pain, the broken body and spirit. And who could ever want to remember it? How can anybody forget it?

I wish I could though. I wish I could forget the blood from the open wounds that got all over my hands and self, staining it to a hellish red. I wish I could forget that lifeless look in his eyes, which always had that special sparkle within when he saw me.

No more sparkle though… just pain and the broken spirit. Just things that made me cry helplessly as I held his broken body in my hands, feeling the dewdrop tears run down my face as I tried to block out the bitter truth. Yet truth and reality always break through, and I was forced to realize that then and there.

Despite my wish not to.


The wind has been particularly strong that day, the sun hidden behind gray clouds and creating these desolate shadows on the forest floor through the leafless branches. The entire forest and seemingly the whole Digital World was quiet, except for the ominous whistle of the wind as it blew past us at alarming speeds.

We were searching for him. About a week ago, he had disappeared, probably taken prisoner by god knows whom. There was nothing to help us find him, so we could do nothing but search. That week was, simply put, agonizing. The seconds seemed like hours; the minutes were days, the days years, to be cliché. Every night I ended up crying myself to sleep, fearful that I would never see him again. Memories both good and bad would bombard me, the good making me cry even more and the bad instilling guilt and even more pain. I was a wreck by that day, but now as I look back, I can't help but wish that week had gone on for the rest of eternity. Instead of when we found him.

Mimi saw him first. Yamato was conveniently blocking my view, once again a sign that I am simply too short. And then she came back, hysterical as she cried.

Don't show him, she said. Don't show him.

Show me what? Mimi, what is it?

Don't look, don't look. You don't want to look. Trust me.

Is this a joke? Because if it is, it's not very funny. What is it? What's wrong?

Nothing's wrong. I'm scared. Let's go home.

You're a lousy liar. What is it? Is it him? Is it? Tell me!

She didn't reply, so I ducked past Yamato. They told me to stop, to wait, but I didn't listen. Why were they hiding this from me? If it is him, isn't it good? Why should it be hidden?

I never considered the fact that he would be so broken. The concept was nonexistent and it never occurred to me. It simply didn't, an amazing thing. After all, wasn't I the genius? Shouldn't I have at least suspected something wrong would happen? Life obviously isn't a fairy tale where the good guys always win, something I know all too well.

So why didn't I this time?

However, I suppose that even if I did think of the possibility of this happening, it might not have made a difference. Thoughts are always nothing compared to the bitter reality.

And I remember when I ran through the forest, ignoring my friends who pleaded for me to stop, desperate to find the truth that they were trying to hide from me.

I found the truth.

And him.

Broken. Just so broken. Alive, but barely so. And judging by the unsteady breathing rate, almost gone. Gone? Gone? I thought. How can that be so? I just found him, damn it! How can I lose him so soon after finding him?

I didn't look up as I heard the other Digidestined coming, although none of them ever came close enough.

Not that it mattered. All that mattered right now was him.

Are you okay? I ask, my mind numb. What a ludicrous question. Okay? Okay? If he was okay, would he be on the brink of death? Of course, the human mind has the amazing tendency to block out all sane thoughts in cases such as this one. Which is precisely why I'm asking such ridiculous questions. Are you okay?

He heard me though.

He heard me. I know he did because his eyes opened. I wanted to cry when I saw these eyes. These couldn't be his eyes, could they? His eyes aren't supposed to be this way, so blank and lifeless. They're just… not.

I think he saw the shock in my eyes. He opened his mouth and tried to say my name, but no sound could come out except for a faint whisper that I could not hear. His dry lips cracked and started to bleed, and I really did start to cry then.

This can't be happening, I thought dumbly, tears still streaming down my face as I hold him, pulling him up into a sitting position and resting him in front of the tree so that his back could lean against the gnarled, rough bark of one of the lonely trees. His face twists into a painful grimace from the pain, but he doesn't do anything except watch me with those blank eyes of his. Maybe he was too used to the pain to care about more, or perhaps he simply didn't have the strength to do anything now. I do not know, and perhaps I do not want to know.

You're going to be okay. You're not going to die. You're going to be okay, I whimper pathetically as I wipe away the fresh blood from his cracked lips. My voice is pleading, and it's obvious that I'm trying to convince myself rather than him.

His expression (which is really no expression at all) doesn't change as I continue to speak, yet it's obvious that he knows I'm lying. He always did know when I was lying, when I used to tell him I was all right at school even though I was the number one geek-target of every bully that hadn't yet been kicked out of the school. He knew the truth, the other knew the truth, heck, probably the whole world would have known the truth had they been there.

But I didn't know the truth. I believed my lie. I wanted to believe it. After all, nobody had told me otherwise. So why couldn't it be the truth?

Yet it was only a matter of time before somebody told me otherwise. It was only a matter of time before I realized that I was deceiving myself.

By this time, the tissue that I was pathetically using to wipe away the blood was completely bled through, staining my fingers. But I kept at it anyway, the sane part of my mind not being able to explain to the rest of me that it simply wasn't doing anything to help.

It probably didn't take too long for him to slip away. I couldn't do anything to prevent it, no matter what I told myself. No matter how I tried to deceive myself, lie to myself, tell myself otherwise… this was reality. Helplessly, I could only watch as his already lifeless eyes closed, and he stopped breathing, the final breath so small and ragged that it was barely any different from not breathing at all. I would not have noticed when exactly he slipped away if I hadn't been watching so carefully. How could I not? I loved him. Yet it wouldn't make a difference would it? He was still dead.


The moment was purely bittersweet. I had finally found him only to lose him so quickly. I had finally found the person I loved so dearly, only to have him ripped away again. Can this be happening? Can this be true? Why me?

You're all right, you're going to be all right, I continued to tell him even though he was gone. I was hysterical at this point as I continued to tell him things even though he was already gone. You're going to be all right, you're going to be all right. Who was I kidding? He was already dead.

You're going to be all right.

In a pig's eye. My god, why couldn't life be more like a story? Why couldn't he come back to me once I've started crying like this? Why couldn't he just get back up? Because life isn't that way. Because he's already dead. And I can't do anything about it.

I couldn't help myself as I took his broken body in my arms and continued to sob. I couldn't help myself as I embraced him, although his soul and spirit was already gone, leaving nothing more than an empty, lifeless shell.

I couldn't help myself when I kissed those cracked and bleeding lips, heedless of the fact that he couldn't return the kiss, not caring that it made my own lips bloody.

They were so cold… the cold of death, I suppose.



I don't really recall what happened after that. I suppose the others had no choice but to drag me away, but as I have already mentioned, I don't remember what happened. After that moment, my life was nothing more than a foggy, distant thing that was brightened only by those happy memories. Happy memories that gave my life meaning but made me cry because I finally had to face the fact that I would never be able to experience any of those memories again. No more walks in the park, watching as the sun slowly went down, the rays of light disappearing until the next day. No more intellectual conversations about this and that. Not even the simplest thing, like opening the door and seeing him waiting for me. They were all lost to me forever because he was gone. I could never experience anything with him again.

I hate it. I hate it so much. As every day passes by, I can't help but feel that it's my fault that he isn't here right next to me. As I go through the motions, trying to make something out of this pitiful excuse for a life, I can't help but think that if it wasn't for me, maybe he would be here next to me.

It doesn't make sense, actually. There was nothing that we could really do. We still don't know everything that happened, we still don't know who did it. We couldn't have brought him back to our world for treatment in time either because we were too far from any Digiport. But no matter what I tell myself, no matter how much I try to prove that none of us could have done anything… After all, he was always there for me when I was in need of him, so why couldn't I have been there for him when he needed me?

Everyday, I see him. Everyday, I see his broken self. Everyday, I feel his broken body in my arms as the tears run down my cheeks and I tell him it'll be all right, even though he's gone. Everyday, it's the same. I see him, I feel him, I remember him… even though he isn't here. Even though he'll never be here, standing next to me again.

I sit down and look blankly at the sunset. It's gorgeous, the dark colors mixing with the brighter colors to form a concert of beauty and light that disappears slowly into the darkness of the night sky.

I lean back and cry again. He always loved the sunset. And now this sunset reminds me of him.

Do you see this? my voice is low as I watch the sun start to fade into darkness, Can you watch the sunset right now?

There's no reply. Of course there's no reply. I don't move even as the salty tears drop down from my face due to gravity. Why should there be a reply? It's crazy.

Suddenly, I get this random thought. The sunset is like him. So beautiful and full of the colors of life, yet it doesn't have the chance to last so long before it disappears into the blackness of death. How awfully morbid…

Yet… the sun always rises in the morning. After death, the good memories will keep coming back. But their purpose is not to haunt me… but to remind me about him. To forget the painful memories of him so lifeless and broken, the memories that make me want to retch.

You wouldn't want me to be sad for the rest of my life, would you? I ask softly, still staring at the sunset. It's nearly gone by now.

He smiles and nods, then comes close enough to be wiping away the tears. His touch seems to be there and yet not, as if a dream of some sort. It feels nice though, like a pleasant warmth from the sun's gentle rays.

Still smiling, he leans over and plants a kiss on my forehead that reminds me of his loving touch, before whispering 'I love you Koushiro'. The words are soft as the whisper of a breeze, but loud and clear to me. Then I can only watch as Jyou disappears with the sun into the darkness of night, the stretch of black lit only by the stars that seem to be pieces of a broken sun.

Noooo, I do not know what happened at the end. I don't know what to make of this story period. I still believe this is the result of drugs, even though I don't take drugs. Maybe it's boredom. I hate chemistry, I really do. What this has to do with chemistry, I don't know. Maybe it's because it's so different from chemistry that it's why I wrote it! Hmm… I'll go figure it out.

Anyway, this is for Cynthia's Jyoushiro contest, and I hope I didn't depress any of you… this story depressed me, but only because I can't believe I wrote it (Cindy, say one word to me about this and I'll come after you with a butter knife).

Why it's Jyoushiro… damn, I do not know. I much prefer Yamajyou/Jyouto and Taishiro to Jyoushiro, even though it's still a pretty cute coupling. But hey, when I started the story, I just thought it worked this way… I guess.

Hope ya enjoyed… please review… unless you enjoy having people come after you with butter knives! *insert maniacal laughter here* And to make your arteries scream, a butter knife smeared with butter so your cholesterol go way up! *more maniacal laughter here* So please review *angelic smile*


PM *gets blown away by explosion*: Oh… my…