Pyro

Disclaimer: Digimon doesn't belong to me now, nor never will.

Author's note the first: I came up with this idea in math class. I know, it's a bit strange, but it works. This story contains very dark, very angst filled material, shonen-ai, and violence. You have been warned.

*___* denotes actions

/___/ denotes unattached thoughts

~___~ denotes scenery

******

The flames.... Remind me of you. Jumping higher, ever higher, reaching for the skies...

You were always reaching higher. Higher then me...higher. Always higher.

/Always.../

*SMASH*

The mirror.... I thought I was good enough. You said so. Dark, at night.... You whispered forever.

/Forever.../

What a strange word, forever is. I don't suppose it has a meaning, now. Fire...says forever. In the burning light, hot ash, burninghotbrightburning...

That's you, you know. Whispers of forever that go out like a doused flame. Fire may promise forever, but in the end, it either spreads or stops.

Will you stop?

/Promised.../

The mirror.... Pain. Heh, I hadn't noticed that. There's glass everywhere...did something break? There isn't supposed to be glass here.... Afraid I'll hurt myself.... I suppose I must have, though; the blood...

/Pain.../

You know pain, though, don't you? You cause pain like it's an art. Although for you, it may be. Do you know what pain can cause?

/pain.../

Hell. Mind numbing, burning Hell. Cold, so cold.... Heat. Burning. Like the flames.

Like you.

/hurts.../

They caught me with her. Funny, isn't it? She loved me. But she didn't understand that you burned my heart, left nothing for her but ash. I showed her, though.

/screams.../

She screamed so prettily, too. The flames matching her bright hair....

/SCREAMS/

/PAIN/

/HURTS/

~Somewhere, in a room with white padded walls, a boy is crouched in the corner. He has been crying; there are tear marks down his face. As the security cameras will later show, he has been screaming as well. On the floor in front of him is a broken mirror. His hand is bleeding.

The boy is clutching something. It is not the mirror; that lies in shards. It is not a matchbook; they are too fearful to give him that. It is a charred, blue helmet.

He clutches it, and cries. ~

******

Author's note the second: Fun, huh? The contest is as follows:

Identify all three of the following: the narrator, the person he's "talking" too, and the girl he talks about. E-mail me your entry at MarvinBird@aol.com. The first person to send me ALL three correct names gets a fic on any topic you wish. However, I do warn that my anime knowledge can be limited.