This is the prologue to my Tamers fanfiction of which I've been too eager to wait to post it. I have yet to completely figure out the plot, but I've got the jist, I just have to figure out how to order all the events. But overall, I have high expectations for it.
The pairings in this story are HenryXOC and a bit of Jurato and Rukato. (that's right, folks. Takato will have his hands full)
The OC in this particular story is based more like me than any other OC I created. This exact event happened to me when I was little, aside from the Digimon-like details. (And plus, I don't live in Italy) So to think I pulled the prologue out of the air is a misconception. (just thought I'd mention that)
*sigh* I figure I should probably add the disclaimer and get it over with before I forget. I'll do it only on the prologue and that should cover the rest of the story. People should know by now that I'm not smart enough to come up with the awesomeness that is Digimon.
Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon or any of its characters, although i kinda wish i did. But my OCs and plotlines are my own ideas, so they belong to me.
If You Only Knew
Prologue —Seven Years Ago—
"I'm sure you'll love Italy. It's a very famous place." A young woman, sitting in the driver's seat, glanced into the rearview mirror of a shiny, navy blue Jaguar to look at the small girl sitting in the back seat with her arms crossed, a sketchbook resting on her lap.
The girl kept the scowl on her fact that she had put on as soon as the bomb dropped that they were moving again. "But I hate moving. Can't Dad just get a job and…keep it?" the girl asked her mother quietly, her sandy brown hair partly covering her light, icy blue eyes.
Her mother sighed, turning her attention back to the road, of which was covered with a dense fog. "It just doesn't work that way, dear. You'll understand when you're older, when you know better how the world really works. You can't just up and find a job like that." She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point.
The girl was the one to let out a sigh this time. "Okay, Mom." She then turned her attention to the sketchbook lying on her legs, pulling out the little pencil that was stuck in the spiral of that made up the binding of the book. Looking down at the incomplete drawing before her, she began to run the pencil across the page.
In a few moments, she looked back up at her mom. "Hey, Mom, where did Digimon come from? Were they real ever?" she questioned lightly, glancing for a split-second down at her drawing. As a little kid, her drawing of a cream-colored dog with a golden ring around its neck would seem like a masterpiece to her, but overall, it was highly un-proportional and a rather messy drawing. But one could only expect so much from a five-year-old.
Her mom rolled her eyes. This question was presented by her daughter just about a million times already. "I'm sure it was just some man that just started drawing one day and then came up with the first Digimon. They were never real, honey." And this, like the question brought forth, was spoken about a million times, in response to that very question.
Even though the girl was listening almost every time that reply was given, she, being your rather average little kid, couldn't help but still hope. It was that kind of faith only found within imaginative children such as her. And she responded with a high-key exhale as the car came to a halt at a stop sign, "Okay…"
She always found herself wondering what it'd be like to actually get a Digimon of her very own. If Fate allowed her, she would have desired the Digimon that lay drawn on her lap. She had always pretended it was there with her—like her imaginary friend, so to say. But whenever she spoke with it—giving it the sex of female—she would turn around only to see no such creature existed. Subconsciously, she knew better than for beings other than humans and animals to exists, but there was always this twinge of expectation, this little flicker of anticipation that maybe, someday, her wish would be granted and such things would fall into her life.
When the car began to move once again, suddenly, through the fog another vehicle came from another direction of the intersection. It smashed right into the right side of their car, right in front of the front passenger seat.
The girl lunged forward in her seat, her seatbelt preventing her from falling off, but still, her face bashing right into the back of the driver's seat. She faded out of consciousness for only a second, and in that blackness, saw a small figure. But that image almost instantly faded, and she found herself stunned, her head throbbing from the connection with the seat.
She abruptly became aware of the situation and the pain that enveloped her face. With a tiny hand, she wiped the lower part of her face. Covering her hand was a deep crimson. A slight nausea filled her with the fast realization. Blood stained her sketchbook, her drawing blemished with a sickening scarlet liquid.
She felt panic rising in her chest up to her throat. Blood was gushing from her nose from the blow. No other part of her was in pain, aside from the increasingly painful headache that was developing. The world was spinning all around her, a swirling, dizzying motion. Images blurred into indecipherable, blending colors.
"Honey, are you okay? Speak to me please, hon." Her mother had opened the door of which the girl was sitting next to and peered in, prodding her shoulder lightly. Her face was curved into a look of worry and slight pain as she tried to arouse her daughter.
But her attempts seemed utterly useless. The girl remained unresponsive, staring straight forward and immobilized by the flurry of nonstop colors, set in motion by no real source, with no real pattern. She felt lightheadedness fill her and thoughts that ran into her mind were unclear; nothing could be distinguished from each other.
Her mother unhooked her seatbelt for her and lifted her daughter up out of the vehicle, staining her shirt with the blood that was escaping from the girl's nose. The crimson-stained sketchbook fell from the girl's lap and on the floor of the car between the front and back seats. Giving it up for ruined, her mother left it where it was.
The girl; however, noticed the absence of her favorite item. "My…book," she peeped out, turning her head to look at the sketchbook now behind them, hardly noticeable from their current location. "Mommy…can you get my…my book?"
"I'll get you a new one, hon," her mother replied, laying her daughter on an outspread blanket she had pulled out from the trunk before she went to retrieve the girl. It was spread out in the ditch and the girl also saw a box of facial tissues that were always kept on the floor in the car. "Hold a tissue by your nose; try to make it stop bleeding."
As her mother took a few steps away to pull out a cell phone and call 9-1-1, the girl obeyed what her mother had asked of her. She was frightened to the core; whenever she thought the gushing had stopped, she had found herself wrong. More came, more than she would have thought was healthy, even at her age.
A few minutes passed and a ton more blood lost, although the loss rate had slowed down substantially. An ambulance came and a couple of paramedics walked over to the girl after speaking with her mother. They crouched down before her and looked her over slightly before asking a few questions on how she was feeling.
Her words came out monotone; it was as though her mind was in a whole other place than there. "…I'm okay…" she whispered softly, not really taking into consideration what the question truly was asking.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" They were concerned with possible brain damage because of her unresponsive attitude. A part of them considered the possibility that she was just like many other children her age and just shy. But sometimes, that chance just couldn't be taken. "There're many kind people there who can help you."
The girl didn't even bother looking at them. Her eyes remained on the tissues stained red that were grasped in her tiny hands. "…No…I'm okay…" She never took into thought that she had just said was almost exactly the same as she had said previously, and with almost the exact same tone, except slightly more convincing.
"You sure, miss? We can take you there in the ambulance." In all the years they had been working as paramedics, most kids couldn't resist that exciting offer.
But this girl wasn't with that most. She was rather scared of riding in an ambulance, since that meant something was truly wrong with her. Her mother had always said she was perfectly healthy, was she lying all those times? "No thank you…I'm all right." Again came her zoned-out, hypnotized voice. It held no emotion, like there were more important things in her mind to attend to.
In about fifteen minutes, she watched wide-eyed as the car was towed away, her sketchbook with it. It was her favorite possession, and not because she loved to draw like most young children, but she dearly loved what she drew. Her favorite Digimon was her main topic, always focusing on the happiness of the little creature. She even found herself doing different poses and expressions, depending on how she felt that very day of drawing it.
And now, without her most loved of chattels, she felt without meaning with a small strand of boredom. She had this link with her drawings, almost like her eyes communicated with the delicate lines on the paper in a way most wouldn't understand.
Her mother took her small hand, and although she used to always find comfort in such grasps, she found none. Her drawings were gone, it was like losing a dear friend. But her mother didn't notice such concern in her daughter's eyes as she said, "Why didn't you go with in the ambulance, dear? I would have gone with you; there would have been nothing to be afraid of."
The girl's eyes remained on the tow truck quickly disappearing out of sight and the car it was hauling. There was a substantial amount of emptiness within her, and beyond those feelings, some strange twinge of…fear? Is that what it really was? Or something more, something different?
She was truly shaken by this experience, the blackness that had overcome her in that split second, that moment when her head smashed into the back of the seat; it was filling her mind. She was certain she had seen something more than the nothingness, something that wasn't seemingly supposed to dwell there.
She shook the thought out of her head, dismissing it before answering her mother quietly, "I know…But I'm fine…"