Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon, I don't own Osamu (awww... :( ), and I don't own ants. I do own Hideko, in all her incarnations. And the summary is courtesy of Kay-chan.
Author's Notes: One of my more philosophical stories. I had an idea, and I just had to write it. There aren't enough stories about Osamu as it is, and certainly not positive ones. ^_^; That clarification needs to be made, because this is an Osamu-friendly zone. I hope you enjoy the story, and even if you don't, please review!
Thanks: ...Kay-chan! I owe pretty much this entire story to you. What can I say? You inspire me to get off my lazy ass and actually be productive!
Entropy
When I was little, I thought that I could change the world. My ambitions were high and the world was a fair and beautiful place. As I grew, the truth became clear. Now I am older and I know that I was deceived. The world cares not at all for the hopes and passions of a boy, or a man. And the death of an individual is meaningless, because he is one among many.
Ichijouji Osamu had never seen a day as painfully beautiful as the day that he met the light-child. The sun was hovering like a guardian over the fragile humans below, and the sky was a deep clear blue. Perfectly formed clouds floated lazily across the expanse. Every so often, the clouds would cross paths with the sun, and the worn concrete sidewalks received a welcome respite in pale gray shade.
Osamu had ventured out of his room on a whim, lured by the promise of a surreal and tranquil afternoon. He carried with him a worn copy of Gray's Anatomy and a book of essays about artificial intelligence. Once he found a suitable place to settle,
he opened the medical text before him and rested the essay book on his lap. People would glance down at him as they passed, either intrigued or disturbed by his choice of reading material. If they recognized him, they were intrigued. If they didn't, they wondered what such a young boy was doing, huddled beneath a blossoming tree, with such boring and analytical texts. Osamu paid no attention to these glances, whatever their motives. He read. He lost himself in the daydreams and nightmares of scientists.
And it wasn't until the evening, when the sky had turned to flaming gold and the sidewalks were cold, that something interrupted his thoughtful dreams.
"There's an ant on your book," a loud, friendly voice declared. Osamu focused his attention on the voice's source, only to find himself staring into the brightest pair of chocolate brown eyes that he had ever seen.
It's funny how the world can change around you. As a child we dream of impossible things, and it never occurs to us that the day will come when our dreams will be silenced and fall to the ground like dead leaves. Our dreams die with us. And inevitably, we all die.
"My name is Hideko, what's yours?" the girl asked. Her voice dripped with the innocent confidence of childhood, and Osamu found himself unexplainably smiling. Surely, it must be impossible, for anyone to be pinned beneath those shining eyes and that glowing smile, and not share in the joy.
"My name is Osamu," he told her. Hideko apparently did not recognize the name (and if she did, showed no surprise). She crouched down in front of him, elbows on her knees, and pointed one paint-flecked finger at the tiny black spot marring his diagram of the brain.
"Aren't you going to put him back on the tree?" she frowned. Osamu felt suddenly ashamed, and felt the need to explain that yes, it had been his intention all along to rescue the poor little insect from its dangerous position upon the pages of his reference book. A slight blush crept into his cheeks, and the only sound he managed to utter was a pitiful noise of affirmation.
This apparently appeased the girl, but as Osamu stretched out his finger to pick up the ant, he felt a lump form in his throat. The ant was so tiny...so helpless...
And the death of an individual is meaningless, because he is one among many.
With a strangled sob, Osamu slammed the book shut.
"Why did you do that?!" Hideko shrieked, wasting no time in chastizing him for the random act of distruction. The strange feeling passed, and Osamu found himself trembling. He sought forgiveness (or maybe an explanation) from the vibrant eyes.
For a moment he found himself trapped beneath a lethal glare, but then the glare softened, and the eyes blinked sadly behind lonely strands of ink black hair.
"Oh," she murmured quietly, "I understand."
Osamu never asked what it was that she understood.
People like to pretend that life has meaning. That some infinitely powerful being sits upon His insubstantial throne and tosses judgment from above, and that death is a Good Thing, and marks the passage of loved ones to a "better place". We are supposed to accept this judgment because it is all a part of His Plan. People like to believe these things. It allows them to forget that life is random and that nothing is absolute. What happened then can happen now....and time can crash into itself, like ripples in a cosmic pond.
Hideko forgave him. Osamu was unable to explain his behaviour, but this strange new girl apparently needed no explanation. She clasped his wrist in her hands and yanked him to his feet, laughing all the while. There were grass stains on the knees of her unnecessarily long khaki shorts...but somehow, the look worked for her, and the stains seemed natural. Osamu found himself unable to picture her without them.
"Where do you want to go?" she asked, threading her fingers through his. Ordinarily, this would have made the boy genius very uncomfortable. But with Hideko, personal space just wasn't an issue. There was something about the girl that instantly gave him a sense of peace.
"Who are you, anyway?" He answered her question with his own, but when the only reply he received was a mischevious grin, he conceded defeat. "We could go to the beach."
Hideko seemed to consider this. Osamu cast a searching glance to the sky, evaluating the sun's position against the horizon. Night would soon be upon them. He would have to return home. The thought saddened him, and he squeezed the hand within his own a bit tighter.
"I don't think so," she finally concluded. A twinkle danced in her eye; a twinkle that should have made Osamu more than a little nervous, but instead, made him all the more curious. Hideko's hand felt soft and fragile, but warm. Warmer than it should have been. Yet another peculiarity for this walking depository of strangeness.
"I know where we should go!" she exclaimed.
"Where?"
"Let's go to the street!"
Fate. What is fate? A predetermined outcome. Fate decides when we succeed, when we die, and when we fall in love. And what is fate? What is it really? I played with the idea of fate, just like any philosopher. But only after it was too late did I realize the nature of these allegedly predetermined outcomes. There is no mystical being called Fate that decides when we love, or die. There is no cosmic blueprint for the universe, etching our lives into the fabric of space-time. There is only chance. Chance, circumstance, and luck. We are all prey to the whims of chaos.
They went to the street. Osamu paused to gather his books before following his strange new companion. Hideko's hair shone in the quickly dying sunlight; the contrast of light and dark striking a poetic portrait of the battle between night and day. For someone with hair the color of midnight, Hideko's personality was more like sunrise.
"Why're we going to the street? Are we crossing it?" Osamu asked, frowning in thought. This thought must have struck Hideko as particularly funny, because she began to laugh, and her laugh sounded like the song of a bird. Osamu was more confused than ever. He had certainly gotten the surreal afternoon he had wished for. Hideko stopped directly in front of him and he had to scramble backwards to avoid walking into her.
"We're here!" she declared. Osamu peered around her shoulder. They were indeed standing at the curb. The street stretched before them like a river of blacktop, strangely deserted. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees, and the books in Osamu's arms seemed suddenly heavy.
"Why're we here?" he asked again through a dry throat. Hideko's hand found his own once more, and the uneasy feeling was gone, replaced by a feeling of detachment. He understood that something important was happening, even if he had no idea what that something was.
"Do you believe in fate?" Hideko asked.
Hindsight is a beautiful, terrible thing. When I was little, I wanted to live forever. I loved life and life loved me. Contemplation allowed me a gateway to the universe. I found comfort in the arms of knowledge. What choices would I have made differently? Would hindsight have been my saviour? Or would I have lost the present by living in the past?
"No," Osamu replied with a faint scowl. He pulled his hand from her grasp and pushed his glasses to a more comfortable position on his nose. A sideways glance at his companion showed that he was being subjected to an unpleasantly understanding stare. "What?" he demanded. Hideko smiled sadly.
"Neither do I," she murmured. For the first time that evening, she appeared serious. A light breeze stirred the trees and ruffled their clothes, and as it trailed away into silence, the light-child leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on Osamu's forehead.
"Neither do I."
The past was once the present and the future will be someone's past. There are many moments in life that can't be explained. My mind, dedicated to science, rejected this. I have come to accept it. Despite man's attempts to categorize and analyze the universe, existence was not meant to make sense or follow logic. The beauty of life lays in its asymmetry. I, more than anyone, can appreciate that beauty.
Hideko left, after that. She flashed another one of those compassionate smiles, and with an exuberant wave, she took off running down the street. Osamu felt like he should follow. But something deep inside of him told him that it wouldn't do any good. As soon as her small form disappeared into the distance, night came quickly, bringing with it the chill of the unknown. Osamu shivered and held the books closer to his chest, casting one last
forlorn glance at the infinite blackness of the street in front of him.
What is fate?
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, trying to force the sense of unease from his spirit. What had begun as an ordinary, albeit beautiful, day had spiralled into chaos.
We are all prey to the whims of chaos.
Ichijouji Osamu walked home.
I didn't know it at the time. I didn't realize that the chaos was the beginning of enlightenment. The lines were merging. Flaws in the seemingly linear progression of reality. Past, present, future - useless terms. There is only reality, and reality is all. That had not been the first time I stood at that street curb, and it would not be the last. It was not fate that made me return. It was chance. Beautiful, beautiful chance.
Who was Hideko? I'll never know. Standing in her presence was an experience I could never forget. She shone with a light that transcended the chaos. I don't believe that she was God. I don't believe that she was human, either. Maybe she just knows what I know. Maybe she is me.
Alive, dead. Then, now.
In the end these terms are as meaningless as the life of an ant on the page of a book.