"Kindness"
This I found on my computer, half written; and I decided that it was short -- and I could finish it no problem... er... I finished it -- but it was a problem. ^^; There's really no basis for this at all, just Kenchan's thoughts. It's mild, a few shounenai implications, but nothing too nauseating.
Again, I own Diginothing. If you'd like, you can contact me at urameshi@aol.com.
***
"Have you ever met someone so special that completely changed your life forever? Sometimes, I sit and think. I'm not a nice person, in fact, I'm not very "kind" either. So then, why do I hold that title? I know lots of people who deserve it a lot more than I do. So sometimes, I wonder why I was chosen. Why me, of all people? Was it my destiny to be changed? Or did he want it that way? Maybe I wanted it that way? I honestly can't remember... It sounds logical, after all, people don't like to live in pain; though when it grabs a hold of you it wheels you down and forces you into sick routine of constant depression and occasional euphoria. After that, the steps just keep repeating -- and you wonder why you can't pull yourself out of it. You think people hate you when they don't, and when you treat them like they do they begin to... I've had experience with that, probably moreso than a regular ten year old. I had many admirers, sure, but I didn't have any friends. So, then, does it really matter how many admirers you have if no one cares? It was just me. No one else. I know that painfully well.
"My name is Ichijouji Ken, I'm the twelfth one. My parents are wealthy, and I guess I'm pretty well off. Some people like to gratify my intelligence, though I don't find it anything special. I also enjoy playing soccer, and I am, by far, the most competitive member on my team. Sometimes, more than I wish to be.
"I was performing this action when I met him. A short, spiky haired little demon with a loud, stupid, senseless mouth, a high pitch voice, and more fire in his belly than Satan himself. He wasn't a challenge for me, despite this. He certainly had his way of pushing his point across that he definitely could stand up to me if he desired; but most of the time he was content to grin and shrug it off as if it were some sort of harmless fly. I cannot say so much about myself. I was determined to win, at that time, it was my biggest focus. Maybe, if I could win, I could prove it to him. Not him, but him.
"Now, I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in Death. I don't believe we go anywhere when we die. Heaven and Hell and Nirvana and all those things that they like to talk about. Death is a pretty big lie, but God is the biggest lie of all. Even when the word comes to mind: the hope I feel is shattered by the realization that whatever I have will someday be gone. Not physical items, but things I need (like my brother, like him). The people who believe in God are stupid and ignorant, they can't think for themselves so they look for someone to give them what they want, to tell them what they want to hear, to say to them that they'll live forever if they obey a set of rules. There is no such thing as Heaven, and there is no such thing as miracles. God doesn't "save" anyone. God is merciless. So, it's better to think that whatever God is doesn't exist. It's really easy to blame things on God, too. 'God said to do this', or 'God said it's right to believe this'. However. Then again it's more plausible and practical to blame whatever you're blaming on people. People are the ones that hurt eachother. It isn't God, it's the people. God is merely a scapegoat for all the meaningless spilled blood. If God made these people the way they were: lying, cheating, hurting, I feel sorry for him. Don't get me wrong. I'm no better than them, perhaps, even, I may be a little worse (but I don't want to believe God willed me to meet him). When he got down on his knees, I liked it; I liked the control I had over him...
"That's why it shocked me. That's why I was so confused. Was it because no one ever treated me like that? Yes, the thought was correct. I never believed, myself, that those words would hit me so hard. Not as hard as they did.
"When he said it . . .
"Without hesitance . . .
"It enthralled me. Like an exotic song, one that I wish that I'd heard before. From my deceased brother, my parents, just... anyone. He was the last person I thought would say it; the last person that I thought those words would utter. I remember it vividly. I can recall the color of his shirt, the expression on his face, the desperation in his voice, his movements...
"Then it all just stopped. The hurt and pain that I never realized pounded in my chest. I questioned myself, my actions. Were Digimon really toys? Were they living, just like me? Then I was wrong. I was doing the wrong thing. I always thought I'd know what to say to people who tried 'save' me; I'd tell them how stupid they were. I'd tell them that there was no 'right' or 'wrong' or 'life' or 'death' or 'love' or 'hate'. It was all the same thing, I told that to myself, to justify my actions. If I was the only person alive, if I was enlightened enough to realize this -- then I was better than all of them and they deserved to die. They deserved to be slaves. It was my world, I made the rules, I pulled the cards and I was their God. The God that I hated. I'd tell them that there was no God. It didn't matter anyway. He couldn't judge me, no one could judge me.
"The stupid boy that I had brought down to his knees. The idiot that rode me down the hill. The hope that I crushed over and over and over, that I snubbed with my nose and beat down hard with my foot. It was all there, collected in a single person. No matter how I tried to hurt him, he never budged; it was that firm resolve that took me off guard. When his friends were in danger, he was there -- I didn't think he knew what he was getting into, but he did. He knew more than any one. He knew me more than I knew me. When I thought I had beat him, he had beaten me. And I was just taken, swept away...
" 'I'll always believe in you, Ken.'
"Always is a long time to believe, it's up there with forever -- but that moment drew out so long, that it seemed to encompass that. He believed in me. Even though I had done so many things to him. He believed in me.
"I felt so tired, after that. Tired of what I had done, a fatigue that I had never felt before. The full aftermath of my brother's death hit me, of what I had done, what I hadn't done, maybe, even a realization of what I really was -- or what I wasn't.
"I wasn't him. I had never been him, I could never become him. Even though he lingered in my memory, the smile and the kind words he had spoken to me. How he taught me to blow bubbles. He wasn't me. I used to fall asleep in my bed, hold his clothing to my chest, breathing in the scent and wishing with all my heart that it was a dream. That I'd wake up in the morning with the sound of my creaking door; and he'd say 'Ken, you're going to be late for school'. I wished every night, until one night... I realized he wasn't coming back. He wasn't coming back, and it was all my fault. I taught myself not to wish anymore -- the wish was what killed him. If I never, in the first place... wished that he'd gone, then... maybe he'd still be here today, and my mother and father would be happy again. I knew that I couldn't make them happy like he could. I always had to live in the shadow of his accomplishments: his good grades, flawless attendance record, top-quality test scores... he was the boy that every family wanted -- and he took my own mother and father from me. I still loved him, dearly. I don't think there was a moment that I didn't. When I look back, perhaps I find him a bit harsh on his actions, but it was no reason for me to look back at him and wish for his Death. He's gone now, and what's in the past stays there. Just disappeared, I suppose. It's more comforting, to think that I'll just disappear when I die... that my moments on earth will be forgotten, but..."
She turned to look at me, brows raised high on her foundation plastered face, the thin frames of her gold glasses tugged to the edge of her nose. She peered at me, from behind them, and I shifted in my seat; taking a deep breath and settling myself. It was hard enough for me to tell Daisuke these things, but for some strange woman to stare at me like that. Maybe it was because Daisuke wasn't paid to do this sort of things. I can see, though, my mother and father's need to protect me, maybe that's why I sat there, like I did. She scribbled a few more words down and raised a high brow at me; her scarlet hair scattering over her wrinkled forehead. "...but?"
It was a lot of money for them to be spending on me, maybe if they had an explanation of what was going on with me, they'd feel better. If a woman with a degree could tell them that he reason their son was a freak was because his brother died. It didn't make me feel better, I'd take Daisuke warm side against mine, whispering these words into his ear. I know what he'd do, he'd just nod, completely understanding my thoughts. When I talked about the Digital World she just thought I was making some sort of odd reference to some depth within my mind, all psychologists do that. It was just in my best interest to hope that she wasn't Freudian. I continued, after a moment of obviously uncomfortable thought, "...but, after I met him... I felt the need to stay with him. I wasn't sure what it was about him, but it made me want to remember all the times I had with him..."
She nodded absently and continued to scribble a few more notes, I glanced at the clock and was pleasantly surprised to see that we had managed to burn most of our time. She said all this stuff I told her was going to be held confidentially. I didn't feel safe, leaving this sort of thing with her; not like I felt safe leaving it with Daisuke. She brushed at her brown skirted lap and folded her hands neatly over the yellow clipboard. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ichijouji, and... I believe your parents have already scheduled your next appointment."
I drew back in my chair a bit, tensing. I guess I had to come again, hopefully I could come up with more stuff just to keep her happy. I didn't want my parents to think that this was their fault, they certainly had enough to worry about already. I figured I'd run home, pick up the phone and tell Daisuke all about it. It may make me feel better than I do right now. The chair wasn't comfortable, and the looks she was giving me didn't exactly lay the means for a good doctor-boy relationship. "...next week?"
She smiled at me, her lips thinly pressed together, adorn with tacky bright red lipstick. "Yes, same time."
I felt odd, getting up while she was still standing there. I straightened myself on the way out, brushing the wrinkles that had gathered in my pants from an hour of talking to the lady, I didn't even know her name. She was looking down at her papers as I walked toward the door, not even paying attention to my movements. I heard it creak, as I opened it, and paused, to glance back at her with light curiosity "...um, excuse me?"
She glanced up with the same smile, pausing in the ruffling of the notebook papers.
"...what's that called?" I asked, standing a step between isolation and freedom.
"...what's what called, honey?" She looked honestly perplexed.
"The thing I told you about..." I tried not to look as shy and stupid as I was feeling. "...what he did to me, how he made me feel." She was a psychologist, she was supposed to know these sort of things.
Her smile grew slightly, twitching at the end of her lips, and she uttered the single, most beautiful word I had ever heard, "Kindness."
This I found on my computer, half written; and I decided that it was short -- and I could finish it no problem... er... I finished it -- but it was a problem. ^^; There's really no basis for this at all, just Kenchan's thoughts. It's mild, a few shounenai implications, but nothing too nauseating.
Again, I own Diginothing. If you'd like, you can contact me at urameshi@aol.com.
***
"Have you ever met someone so special that completely changed your life forever? Sometimes, I sit and think. I'm not a nice person, in fact, I'm not very "kind" either. So then, why do I hold that title? I know lots of people who deserve it a lot more than I do. So sometimes, I wonder why I was chosen. Why me, of all people? Was it my destiny to be changed? Or did he want it that way? Maybe I wanted it that way? I honestly can't remember... It sounds logical, after all, people don't like to live in pain; though when it grabs a hold of you it wheels you down and forces you into sick routine of constant depression and occasional euphoria. After that, the steps just keep repeating -- and you wonder why you can't pull yourself out of it. You think people hate you when they don't, and when you treat them like they do they begin to... I've had experience with that, probably moreso than a regular ten year old. I had many admirers, sure, but I didn't have any friends. So, then, does it really matter how many admirers you have if no one cares? It was just me. No one else. I know that painfully well.
"My name is Ichijouji Ken, I'm the twelfth one. My parents are wealthy, and I guess I'm pretty well off. Some people like to gratify my intelligence, though I don't find it anything special. I also enjoy playing soccer, and I am, by far, the most competitive member on my team. Sometimes, more than I wish to be.
"I was performing this action when I met him. A short, spiky haired little demon with a loud, stupid, senseless mouth, a high pitch voice, and more fire in his belly than Satan himself. He wasn't a challenge for me, despite this. He certainly had his way of pushing his point across that he definitely could stand up to me if he desired; but most of the time he was content to grin and shrug it off as if it were some sort of harmless fly. I cannot say so much about myself. I was determined to win, at that time, it was my biggest focus. Maybe, if I could win, I could prove it to him. Not him, but him.
"Now, I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in Death. I don't believe we go anywhere when we die. Heaven and Hell and Nirvana and all those things that they like to talk about. Death is a pretty big lie, but God is the biggest lie of all. Even when the word comes to mind: the hope I feel is shattered by the realization that whatever I have will someday be gone. Not physical items, but things I need (like my brother, like him). The people who believe in God are stupid and ignorant, they can't think for themselves so they look for someone to give them what they want, to tell them what they want to hear, to say to them that they'll live forever if they obey a set of rules. There is no such thing as Heaven, and there is no such thing as miracles. God doesn't "save" anyone. God is merciless. So, it's better to think that whatever God is doesn't exist. It's really easy to blame things on God, too. 'God said to do this', or 'God said it's right to believe this'. However. Then again it's more plausible and practical to blame whatever you're blaming on people. People are the ones that hurt eachother. It isn't God, it's the people. God is merely a scapegoat for all the meaningless spilled blood. If God made these people the way they were: lying, cheating, hurting, I feel sorry for him. Don't get me wrong. I'm no better than them, perhaps, even, I may be a little worse (but I don't want to believe God willed me to meet him). When he got down on his knees, I liked it; I liked the control I had over him...
"That's why it shocked me. That's why I was so confused. Was it because no one ever treated me like that? Yes, the thought was correct. I never believed, myself, that those words would hit me so hard. Not as hard as they did.
"When he said it . . .
"Without hesitance . . .
"It enthralled me. Like an exotic song, one that I wish that I'd heard before. From my deceased brother, my parents, just... anyone. He was the last person I thought would say it; the last person that I thought those words would utter. I remember it vividly. I can recall the color of his shirt, the expression on his face, the desperation in his voice, his movements...
"Then it all just stopped. The hurt and pain that I never realized pounded in my chest. I questioned myself, my actions. Were Digimon really toys? Were they living, just like me? Then I was wrong. I was doing the wrong thing. I always thought I'd know what to say to people who tried 'save' me; I'd tell them how stupid they were. I'd tell them that there was no 'right' or 'wrong' or 'life' or 'death' or 'love' or 'hate'. It was all the same thing, I told that to myself, to justify my actions. If I was the only person alive, if I was enlightened enough to realize this -- then I was better than all of them and they deserved to die. They deserved to be slaves. It was my world, I made the rules, I pulled the cards and I was their God. The God that I hated. I'd tell them that there was no God. It didn't matter anyway. He couldn't judge me, no one could judge me.
"The stupid boy that I had brought down to his knees. The idiot that rode me down the hill. The hope that I crushed over and over and over, that I snubbed with my nose and beat down hard with my foot. It was all there, collected in a single person. No matter how I tried to hurt him, he never budged; it was that firm resolve that took me off guard. When his friends were in danger, he was there -- I didn't think he knew what he was getting into, but he did. He knew more than any one. He knew me more than I knew me. When I thought I had beat him, he had beaten me. And I was just taken, swept away...
" 'I'll always believe in you, Ken.'
"Always is a long time to believe, it's up there with forever -- but that moment drew out so long, that it seemed to encompass that. He believed in me. Even though I had done so many things to him. He believed in me.
"I felt so tired, after that. Tired of what I had done, a fatigue that I had never felt before. The full aftermath of my brother's death hit me, of what I had done, what I hadn't done, maybe, even a realization of what I really was -- or what I wasn't.
"I wasn't him. I had never been him, I could never become him. Even though he lingered in my memory, the smile and the kind words he had spoken to me. How he taught me to blow bubbles. He wasn't me. I used to fall asleep in my bed, hold his clothing to my chest, breathing in the scent and wishing with all my heart that it was a dream. That I'd wake up in the morning with the sound of my creaking door; and he'd say 'Ken, you're going to be late for school'. I wished every night, until one night... I realized he wasn't coming back. He wasn't coming back, and it was all my fault. I taught myself not to wish anymore -- the wish was what killed him. If I never, in the first place... wished that he'd gone, then... maybe he'd still be here today, and my mother and father would be happy again. I knew that I couldn't make them happy like he could. I always had to live in the shadow of his accomplishments: his good grades, flawless attendance record, top-quality test scores... he was the boy that every family wanted -- and he took my own mother and father from me. I still loved him, dearly. I don't think there was a moment that I didn't. When I look back, perhaps I find him a bit harsh on his actions, but it was no reason for me to look back at him and wish for his Death. He's gone now, and what's in the past stays there. Just disappeared, I suppose. It's more comforting, to think that I'll just disappear when I die... that my moments on earth will be forgotten, but..."
She turned to look at me, brows raised high on her foundation plastered face, the thin frames of her gold glasses tugged to the edge of her nose. She peered at me, from behind them, and I shifted in my seat; taking a deep breath and settling myself. It was hard enough for me to tell Daisuke these things, but for some strange woman to stare at me like that. Maybe it was because Daisuke wasn't paid to do this sort of things. I can see, though, my mother and father's need to protect me, maybe that's why I sat there, like I did. She scribbled a few more words down and raised a high brow at me; her scarlet hair scattering over her wrinkled forehead. "...but?"
It was a lot of money for them to be spending on me, maybe if they had an explanation of what was going on with me, they'd feel better. If a woman with a degree could tell them that he reason their son was a freak was because his brother died. It didn't make me feel better, I'd take Daisuke warm side against mine, whispering these words into his ear. I know what he'd do, he'd just nod, completely understanding my thoughts. When I talked about the Digital World she just thought I was making some sort of odd reference to some depth within my mind, all psychologists do that. It was just in my best interest to hope that she wasn't Freudian. I continued, after a moment of obviously uncomfortable thought, "...but, after I met him... I felt the need to stay with him. I wasn't sure what it was about him, but it made me want to remember all the times I had with him..."
She nodded absently and continued to scribble a few more notes, I glanced at the clock and was pleasantly surprised to see that we had managed to burn most of our time. She said all this stuff I told her was going to be held confidentially. I didn't feel safe, leaving this sort of thing with her; not like I felt safe leaving it with Daisuke. She brushed at her brown skirted lap and folded her hands neatly over the yellow clipboard. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ichijouji, and... I believe your parents have already scheduled your next appointment."
I drew back in my chair a bit, tensing. I guess I had to come again, hopefully I could come up with more stuff just to keep her happy. I didn't want my parents to think that this was their fault, they certainly had enough to worry about already. I figured I'd run home, pick up the phone and tell Daisuke all about it. It may make me feel better than I do right now. The chair wasn't comfortable, and the looks she was giving me didn't exactly lay the means for a good doctor-boy relationship. "...next week?"
She smiled at me, her lips thinly pressed together, adorn with tacky bright red lipstick. "Yes, same time."
I felt odd, getting up while she was still standing there. I straightened myself on the way out, brushing the wrinkles that had gathered in my pants from an hour of talking to the lady, I didn't even know her name. She was looking down at her papers as I walked toward the door, not even paying attention to my movements. I heard it creak, as I opened it, and paused, to glance back at her with light curiosity "...um, excuse me?"
She glanced up with the same smile, pausing in the ruffling of the notebook papers.
"...what's that called?" I asked, standing a step between isolation and freedom.
"...what's what called, honey?" She looked honestly perplexed.
"The thing I told you about..." I tried not to look as shy and stupid as I was feeling. "...what he did to me, how he made me feel." She was a psychologist, she was supposed to know these sort of things.
Her smile grew slightly, twitching at the end of her lips, and she uttered the single, most beautiful word I had ever heard, "Kindness."