Title: Unheard
By: Saiyurain
Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.
Genre: Angst
Rating: K+
Summary: Haunted by his past as the Kaizer, Ken continues to seek sanctuary away from his troubled mind.
Pairings: None
Warnings: A slightly dark theme, very light swearing.
A/N: Currently, I'm experimenting with different styles of writing. This was one of the few writings of mine that was actually completed and created into a story. Any suggestions or comments concerning what I need to improve on would be greatly appreciated. Or, if you want, you could just leave a review after you finish reading. That'd be appreciated as well.
-UNHEARD-
As the moon rose up into the night sky, a tapping sound echoed through the tense silence. With each tap, the moon rose a little bit higher. And as the moon rose higher and higher, more and more light spilled into the dark music room. It filtered in through a small opening between soft velvet curtains, casting an ethereal glow upon the surface of a black grand piano.
It was disconcerting.
Black reminded him too much of the dark liquid that flowed out from dead lifeless bodies as they drew their last breath, staring up at him in either anger or sorrow. It was a color that haunted him every night as he slept, continuously taunting him. Sometimes, it would even call out to him, trying to lure him into the darkness, reaching out so warmly yet menacingly at the same time. Whenever that happened, he would laugh at the irony. Honesty. He, the ruler of darkness, fearing darkness itself! But even as he laughed at it, he still felt some kind of pull drawing him towards it, as though he actually wanted to fall into its grip. Now why would I ever want to do something as stupid as that? I am the ruler of the dark! No useless shadow is going to claim me!
As more time passed by, and the nightmares continued, he slowly started to feel his will giving way; feeling it moving him towards the center of that mass of nothingness. Secretly, he wished that he could just let go.
Left in the serene dark of the room, white keys, barely visible, danced up and down in a succession of beautiful tones, playing the same notes in the same order over and over again and again.
It was driving him insane.
Every time he turned around, he could see large round eyes staring back at him, bright and full of that weak emotion, love. It followed him wherever he went, trailing after him like a shadow. Then, after many days of this pesky occurrence, he finally had enough of its nonsense, and snapped. He started shouting at the damn thing to stop following him every single place that he went! But, when he whipped around and directed a glare to where it should have been, it wasn't there anymore.
It must just be a trick. Yes, it must just be one of those useless slave's idea of a joke. Well… when I find out whose great idea it was, I'll show them exactly what I thought of their sense of humor. Besides, it wasn't like he had liked that pathetic green worm in the first place. It isn't possible…No! I don't like him! I never liked him! Never…
A lone figure sits cloaked with a cape made of shadowy thread upon a bench in front of the piano. His hands are a pale, ghostly kind of white, and they thread softly over the keys of the stringed instrument. They are steady, and portray an aura of calmness around them, very much unlike the shudders that rack the boy's body.
Wormmon…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…Please come back…I promise, I won't try to harm anyone ever again. Please come back…
A large, translucent bubble suddenly appears in his direct line of vision. As though staring at the screen of a television, a village started to materialize right on top of the bubble's slimy layer. There were mountains and mountains of blocks piled on top of one another, all with various pictures on them. Complimenting them were shades of innocent colors, all giving the place an uplifting hue. In the center of this childhood dream, a small cradle stood, surrounding by many more cradles of the exact same shape and size. In it, a young digimon was resting, seemingly lost in its own happy dreams.
It was him.
Then, as though it knew that there was someone watching him, he opened his eyes, and gazed directly at the boy. And suddenly, the bubble burst.
In its place, a new bubble quickly formed, but the image this time contrasted quite distinctly with the previous one. Instead of a nursery village, there now stood a row of gravestones.
In front of one of the gravestones, a young couple knelt, mourning. A few murmured words could be made out. Why? Why did this have to happen? He was such a bright boy…if only it had been the other one…Why? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't that disgrace of a child have died instead?! This is all his fault anyways! You know, if he had died, everyone would have been a lot better off!
The boy's breath stopped.
…They're right. They're right. Why couldn't it have been me instead? Everyone would be so much happier. Osamu would still be alive, Wormmon would still be alive, and I… I would be dead! He started laughing. I'd be dead!
Suddenly, he felt something wet land on his hand. He froze, stilling his hands in midair, and then hesitantly reached up to his face. Underneath his fingertips, he traced a line down his cheek.
It was wet.
Wormmon…
It was in that moment, that he realized just how alone he was.
Osamu…
There was no one left -
Someone…
No one to answer him.
Please…
He had killed them all.
Help me…
He clutched his head, and screamed.
As the song mounted to a climatic point, it suddenly stopped, creating a rather harsh jarring sound. Silence descended once more, broken only by the odd, yet familiar, tapping. As the noise continued on, it gradually faded into the background, repeating the same beat over and over again in an endless cycle of insanity.
-UNHEARD-
The End.