A/N: Written for the 100 Digi-fics challenge on the Digimon Fanfiction Challenges Forum (link in profile), prompt #002 – children.

Soccer and Sora
Drabble 01

Pink-dusted petals quivered in the gentle wind, and Sora found herself scowling at them. They were on the window sill, where they could get plenty of light from the sun – enough to cook them to a crisp, was her vindictive thought, but unfortunately her mother knew far more about flowers than she and would move them somewhere else if it were a possibility.

Sora had the perfect place for them if given the choice: the rubbish bin. But it was hard to run away from flowers as a whole when one's mother owned a flower shop, so the best Sora could do was glare until they withered away from the poison in her eyes. But it seemed the flowers spited her as much as she did it; the pink and white array were determined to stand out from every other thing in her room. Her soccer ball, stubbornly outside the closet. The blue hat her mother would much rather replace with a hairpin. The jeans with a hole in them that were completely "un-ladylike" – as if she'd wear a dress.

It was rather easy to nudge the entire vase out the window; it'd land on the empty balcony and only damage itself and the flowers within – but flowers and vases could easily be replaced, and the bitter silence with which mother would face child was hardly worth the effort.

Soccer balls were a little harder – from a child's pocket money anyway. But Sora was the child, not her mother. She didn't know why she had chosen a soccer ball anyway; she didn't care much for it, one way or another. Maybe it had been the way her mother's lips had pursed when they walked past. Or maybe it was the gleeful thought of getting muddy in the park, kicking it around. But it was dry now; Sora had rolled it about in the mud for a while and come home. It hadn't been very fun to kick the ball around by oneself, and both she and the ball had been sufficiently muddy. But her mother had simply cleaned up behind her and that had been the end of the matter.

That thought, of being nothing like those delicate little flowers that could only sit there looking pretty and get replaced, still remained though.