Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon. It is the property of Bandai, Japan, and its original creator. All I possibly own is the plot.
Red liquid dripped down his chin. He could taste it; the taste of blood. To some people, it may almost seem tasteless. But for him, it was full of taste; the taste of defeat. How bitter it was. He struggled to get up, forcing his almost-broken arms to pull him up. He failed, causing him to hit the soft dirt once more. More blood dripped down his jowl. Laughter from masculine voices boomed around the small area as men started kicking dirt at him. He whimpered, softly. He wanted to show them not to mess with him. He wanted to send them crying to their mothers. It was his nature to do so. But his energy was gone; all he could do was lay there and let them do whatever they wanted. The dirt reached his black eyes, making him blink hysterically. More pain struck him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the intruding dirt in them. Eventually, the men stopped and left. He opened his eyes, tears filling them. It was unusual to see him cry, since most of the time he would just scream in anger. That's was exactly what he wanted to do. But vocal cords had abandoned him, and he was sure that if he did try, his fatally-sore throat would just cause him more pain. He hated this. He hated them. He hated everything. If he had never stopped those men from hurting the little boy, he would've been home, healthy and strong. Then again, the boy would've been the one in his position, perhaps even killed, if he didn't do anything. His nature was not only to defend himself, but others as well. At this very moment, he thought it was more of a curse than of a privilege. A privilege would be to see him again...
Wet, salty tears mixed with dry blood. His best friend had left in order to do a mission. He said that he would be back in a week's time. It was three months since he said that. Three months of worry. Since his best friend left, he stopped talking to his other friends. He even stopped talking to his crush. But they never seemed to care. It was almost like the world hated him. Tokyo hated him. His friends hated him. Those men hated him. Everything and everyone despised him.
He wondered if someone would find him. That was highly unlikely, of course, seeing as he was in the territory of construction workers. Too bad they were in the other side of the recreation park. Too bad that no one would come here, due to their construction work. He was stuck there, alone and injured. He was a physical and emotional wreck. He detested that. If only he was here...
No. He didn't need him. He was the one who left him. Even if he did come back, did he expect him to forgive him right off the bat? No. He didn't need him at all. He could do fine by himself. Still...did he have to be lonely? Yes. He did. That's how it been this summer and semester. It didn't matter if anyone cared. He didn't. Not anymore.
He coughed out blood, his sore throat paining him. Sleep slowly claimed him. And he finally slumbered. Who was this?
Daisuke Motomiya; One of the Chosen Children and partner to V-mon.
Short, I know, but next chapter will be longer. Thanks for reading, Ja ne!