…Into Shouts and Screams
Chapter One(Sequel to "The Footsteps are Fading")
"Awake, O sword, against my shepherd, against the man who stands next to me."- Zechariah 13:7
So this is what persistence felt like. Victorious…defeating your opponent with your bare hands. This is what it felt like.Fragments of glass winked as they fell to the floor, abandoning the door.
Triumphant…Conquering…
Winning.
The glass splashed at his feet, where the pieces resumed their twinkling.
This is what he had always felt, yet there had been a time far back where he could remember a soft voice and a pale woman whispering to his ear, only his ear, to follow her, to follow her directions. Perhaps he hadn't quite won.
His heart burned with her memories. His lips yearned for her warmth, though he couldn't remember ever kissing her before. However, he could recall how soft her mouth had been when it had touched his cheek…and he could also recall what a headache he had woken up with the next morning. He was living two lives now; one was his own, and the other was her memories. There was a burning urge to become something better than this with the latter life, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Instead of searching for it's want, whenever that feeling engulfed his senses, violence would blur his reason.
He stared apathetically at the hole in the glass door, at his bleeding hand, then at the customer. He could just register that they were apologizing profusely for having angered him so, and that the man was slowly backing away towards the door. It wouldn't affect his business; people were coming from all over to make it to the digital world to try their hand at finding god. The cavern had naturally been searched thousands of times from wood splinter to rock shard, but god was not there. Relief was so abundant in Taichi that it frightened him. Sometimes, lying in bed, he felt like those memories were suffocating his real self; that while he slept they would ferment other memories and that together they would gradually overtake him. That thought alone was uncanny enough to persuade him to believe that he had honestly lost his mind. Now, with thick entrails of blood oozing down his arm, he could trust that notion. Vividly, he saw himself in the asylum in less than a week. These memories were driving him insane.
"Well, I suppose I'll be going now," the man was stuttering, but nothing mattered anymore to Taichi. His arm's pain nerves must've been all severed, because no "hurt" lights were flashing in his mind. His vision was indistinct, tinged with a red on the borders and golden eyes in the center. He could almost see them blinking. Light blonde strands of hair were slithering down into his eyesight…
"Tai!" A familiar hand clamped onto his shoulder and tried to spin him around, but he was suddenly restraining aggressively and breaking free from its grip. There were words flaming in his head that were nebulous and faded, yet they had a power beyond his control. He slammed up against the glass door, lengthening the spider web cracks and loosening more shards. He gripped his head tightly, trying to get a hold onto those words. They resembled the memories, except more passionately like they had to come to pass right now. Urgently, impatiently they screamed at him, but he couldn't recognize their shape…
"TAI!"
The hand shook him brutally now, from the shoulders…from the shoulders…NO why did he remember those lines? Couldn't memory have mercy on him just this once?
Then the red dispersed from his eyes, his fists relaxed, and his mind let go from those thoughts that had clouded it. He looked around and could actually see clearly his office and Yamato standing in it. Then feeling returned and Yamato's hands became known to his mind, and…Dry ice swarmed beneath his skin and dived into his veins where his right arm was, wreaking havoc upon his senses there. A scream caught in his throat, only half-way constructed by his larynx, and tears of pure pain glistened in the corners of his eyes. Chunks of glass were rooted in his arm, blood was pouring from every scratch on that limb, and finally the nerves were re-routed to the brain. Now he could feel the pain, though through the years he had begun to be inured to drudgery and distress. He could feel himself coming back now.
Yet Yamato saw something different. Here in this room a presence was beginning to stir beneath Taichi's feet, disheveling his spirit, changing his character. His eyes…for a second the brown dimmed into a gold and the light on his hair grew bolder, illuminating blonde that had never been there before. He was gasping…clinging onto his shirt…gasping…How febrile his touch was. The sweat…dripping from his brow.
Tai…wake up, this isn't your dream anymore, you can wake up now. Please, if not for yourself, then for someone you hold dear. You must have someone like that; someone whom you'd be willing to live for. Still you must fight. Fight for that someone. Fight for the freedom that hangs in the billowing sails. Fight for…
"Tai! What the hell is wrong with you?"
Fright. His ears could detect fright in the man's voice. Were these really his ears anymore. Touching softly the man's shirt…fingerprints couldn't be correct in this instance, for right now he could feel the memories growing, captivating. No, if he lost to them now…
His body was shoved to the floor violently, falling to rest upon the loose glass.
Itai…
Yamato's face could no longer be distinguished from the surrounding pixels. His body felt faint, his heart was beating slower it seemed, but his mind just couldn't rid itself of those random burning words…
Jitsuyooteki…sambi…datsurakusei…shikei…zankoku…shinda…rooa…shinai na…Tasukete kudasai…kudasai…zutto…kami ga…senshi-suru minikui.
Black-ness.
Greeting me in this room…the blackness…the lights flicker on…they can't see what those lights do to me. Hello…how are you doing…no answer…they can't see what…the blackness…outside the door…they say I'll be out in a few days…weird how he doesn't speak…weird how his eyes are so light…have they always been that way?
The stars are a pale yellow in the precious moments before dawn, powered by a soft alacrity in the morning's light. They will disperse, eaten by the spider that sits in the night sky, unable to move for they are caught in the cosmos' web, as we all are during some point in our life. They'll be coruscate for a second longer, then lay down to recover from a night's work of shining, for tomorrow brings another violet sky.
We as humans are not permitted to recover from any experience we encounter, but are forced to relive a certain time again and again in our minds, as punishment for eating that damn apple, no doubt. So we relive and we recall, we rehearse and we regret, without the obvious knowledge that we're living some sort of circling, repeating life. Are our mental capabilities really that much higher then those two hundred years ago? Certainly not; we're just more informed. Being informed - so this is what evolution of the mind needs, is it not? They had no lack of creativity, our ancestors that is. Why, they had many theories! Many different, creative ways to torture people, to build tributes to themselves, dress, and so on. And we esteem creativity? It is rather primitive and base, yet I can see why it awes us - we ruin it. In the blossoming times of adolescence we convert the subjects to books, saying that they hold wise and helpful knowledge. So they do, so they do, however it was created on the basis of someone's creativity, and our reading of it renders our own to dust, mere sediments that linger on the wind naught for a second. So books are a sin to originality, and therefore, if the author be a christian, they should be abhored from publishing such a hinderance to a child's fresh mind. I believe books should be kept away from children until they're later years, when they are not so much like wet clay waiting to be molded. And yet, books pass down an accumalative knowledge to the reader, so that, not only do they have their own thoughts, but the beliefs of another printed onto their souls. The two are one now as a greater knowledge merges with an eager disciple. So the question to be answered is: "Is it better to stay true to ourselves or to sacrifice our individuality in order to respect and perserve the knowledge of our ancestors?" Ah, the cycle never ceases to amaze and daunt us.
And hold, is it not the twinkling twilight that lays my head to sleep whilst for another man it begins his day? Do the peeping eye beams of the sun over the horizon bring hope to one and dread to another? Our outlook on life is different from our neighbor's, but the problem arises when we read some thought of that same neighbor's. They will say to me, "why for your pet did you choose a dog, and why that certain breed?" when it really isn't weighty upon any soul except mine and my dog's, yet their words will stay, stay in my mind like gum in a stomach, refusing to be digested. The next day I will ask their inquiry to myself and wonder for an answer, but is this not a valuable insight provided for us by a man dear to ourselves? Here inlies the example of how communication muddles our true selves. Leave a child to his or her thoughts for an hour, away from the television, away from a sibling, and await the wonders that will arise from it. We need time alone. It is a medicine to the soul, but like all medicine it should be taken in reasonable amounts. Too little fades us, too much bolds us. With too much we see ourselves for too long, all of our imperfections and perfections, our misconceptions and wisdom, and we will use our confidence as a barrier or a weapon against the people we meet along life's road. However, confidence is rather fickle but necessary. It is as absorbant as a sieve at times, and dull as a knife at others.
I feel rather ignorant in all these matters. I have not fully researched the subjects, yet I have formed opinions on them already? Ah, the mind is so complete and smooth. In my blind eyes, I see the mind as a sphere, boiling inside with lightening and flowers, heaven and hell. Lately though, I have tried imagining the mind as the sihoulette of a human. It is covered with transparent skin, and in it you can find all the things I have listed above. Skin cells are our mind. Skeletal, smooth, and cardiac muscles are our mind. They function, communicate with eachother seguely; so well, that we cannot pinpoint when and where any transgressions take place. They speak with each other, feel each other, and us as humans try to reinact that play by speaking with and feeling other humans. The material world is the perception of the spiritual world, or so I'm told. Sugoi. So what of the linguistic world? What do we percieve in ourselves by languages? How did a "word" come to have a "meaning"? It's so amazing to me that these "words" can work jointly together to portray my meaning to you, my friend. Yet…in some way words are sadly inaccurate, sadly without feeling. I must discover the language of the mind. Surely IT does not speak in Japanese or English, Czech or Swahili. Surely IT represents the soul of everthing; what some call God, what some call Brahmin. That primitive language…I desperately hope it was not overwritten with our learned one.
"Izzy?"
His fuzzy eyes came into focus slowly, almost unwillingly, and he turned them on Jou. He refrained from speaking (he just really wasn't in the mood for communication with people of lesser intelligence), so he blandly stared at Jou, silently willingly him to speak. Jou (who isn't exactly "of lesser intelligence") returned the stare, insulted at Koushiro's sudden attitude flaw. So they stared and stared, stared some more, and stared until finally the author got bored of their happenings and decided to speak of the scenery instead, which always provides a good topic while writing because such beautiful and contradicting things can be said of it.
Late at night – no, in the dead of the night – not many people can be found roaming through the digital world. It's heaven there at night, if heaven is such a great place after all. Cities are in ruins that sit pacifly by riverbanks, ascended to from those holy and yet cursed Ghats that buddhists yearn to die upon. In the hills, there are random mansions set like jewels, long dead harbors of evil digimon masters and their slaves. Their twisting hallways and clinking gallows freeze the night sky in a close proximity, screeching to the stars above, threatening all life that so much as draws in oxygen from that area. The trees hold dead silent confrerences, spying on the mansions, peering at the abandoned cities. The grass curls around late-night dew, wanting at a dire cost to squeeze it, drink it in and live off of it. Here, in the dead of the night, the stars are bright, but are not bright enough to drown out the intense beauty of what sits at your feet. The ocean does not merely lap at the beach - it eats it grain by grain. Caverns are the harbingers of not flapping wings, but flapping jaws, saliva, death. However, in all this sinister life, there was something that beckoned, something that could be more beautiful than eternal sleep at last. Here, surely here, there was god. The stars were not bright compared to him. The trees could not whisper quietly enough, the mansions were not foreboding enough, the cities not desolute enough – no, they were nothing in comparison to this almighty force. God was surely the scenery there. Koushiro could feel the need to destroy it all, burn it, mangle it, whatever it, building up inside. Taichi had told them about the conversation in the cavern, the one that had existed between Kami and Akuma. To Koushiro, it had been no big surprise. He had always suspected that humans weren't seeing the complete truth about god. God was nothing now. Koushiro had intelligence; what more did he need? He didn't need that ubiquidous governing force interfering any longer. No. God was no longer needed.
"Jou. Will you join with me on this? To save Tai, to save mankind from this illusion. It would be a noble cause. You must say yes."
"Yes to…what?"
Hesitation. Bad sign in any event.
"Kami. We must destroy him."
"You're talking about thousands of years of divine belief down the drain, Izzy. Is that really healthy for the ignorant masses?"
"Who are the ignorant masses? I am part of that mass, yet I am not ignorant. Are you ignorant?"
Jou shook his head slowly.
"Well then, how many ignorant people can there be in a mass? I'll tell you…No, just listen to this: Kami is useless. How does he work? What good does he do? He sits alone. Alone. Always alone. We -"
"If he does nothing but sit alone, what harm is he doing?"
"None, I suppose. But he generates a feeling that I can't deny. Jou, I'm not a holy man. Being told that Kami is actually flesh and blood isn't surprising, but I sure as hell can't accept that. He fooled people; insulted humans. He punishes us for our own decisions! Our own! What right does he have? My mental contemplation should not be read by anyone, and yet there he sits, deciding whether I'm a good boy or a bad boy, and whether I'll get to meet Saint Nick when I kick the bucket. What justice do you see in that?"
"Must we kill him?"
"How else will he be stopped?"
"Maybe if we reason with him…"
"Jou! Reason with him?" Koushiro snorted. "We'd go straight to hell for that one, no doubt. Right there on the spot – baam! – bye bye and say hello to Akuma for me!"
Koushiro scouted closer to the hesitant Jou, bringing his head in, being a conspiracy theorist.
"See that patch of trees right over there?"
Jou nodded.
"That's where he's hiding."
No emotion showed on Jou's face, but he was rather angry with Koushiro, who was supposed to be a genius. Did he not think of the consequences? What would killing the universe's governing force bring about? Would the universe spiral into Chaos, reverse the Big Bang, and bang! no one is left alive? Throughout human history we've believed in something, be it elements or Norse mythology, and, if we had nothing left to believe in, what would happen? He studied Koushiro's greedy eyes for a moment and then voiced this thought. Koushiro laughed.
"What do you mean 'have nothing left to believe in'? We'd have ourselves and our abilities! Isn't that enough for you? Can't you believe in Man just for once? Look at all the great things we've done!"
"I hardly think plotting to kill Kami is a great thing. Besides, what about our depleting the ozone layer and destroying rain forests, ultimately wiping out species we know nothing about, covering the earth in concrete and steel, lacing it through and through with wires, tunnels, pipes, and god knows what else. I fail to see how all that is good. And…what have we as humans accomplished that isn't aimed towards our own profit? All of these so called "great" actions that you speak of are selfishly based, aren't they? Name one thing, just one thing, that man has done that profited something other than himself, and I'll consider joining you."
"You will?"
"I am completely confident that you won't be able to think of an event in all of history that is as I have described."
"How long are you willing to give me to come up with an answer."
"I'm hoping that you'll soon see your fault and decide not to kill Kami on your own logic, but take as long as you want for an answer."
Koushiro turned back to the stars, stared at the group of trees, gazed at the crescent moon perched upon the night sky like a sleeping dove, and thought. Thought long and hard…
Transformation – something that he had watched in Beast Wars as a child, something that could happen to machines, or an idea. Not him. Who gazed back at him from this mirrior he did not know, but she was beautiful. Golden eyes, wow, those seemed so familiar for some reason. Thin, light blonde hair. It twirled around his finger delicately, as if he were in this picture. Yeah, that was it. His fingers touched her face, felt how soft her cheek was, the only problem was…this was him. Mirrors don't lie. Uso…
His hand was healed. No, in this body that had never even happened. In this body…too unreal.
Memories. Memories that seeped pain out of their wormholes, memories stuffed with envy and frustration. I can't be that, rang in his head every other thought, obscuring any rational notion. Here, in that mirror, he could see how those memories had finally caught up to him. She had lived inside of him, quiet and discreet, prudent and scintilla. Then she had grown bolder, overtaken his mind halfway. Now…Revenge was an overbearing power upon his mind. This was important to her, obviously. Revenge upon what?
"Do you know the story of the devil, Izzy?"
Koushiro looked up, startled.
"Wasn't he an angel?"
"Yeah, made to serve god himself. There's a verse…if I can remember it correctly: 'How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn! / How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low! / You said in your heart, "I will ascend to heaven; above the stars of God I will set my throne on high; I will sit on the mount of assembly in the far north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds , I will make myself like the Most High." But you are brought down to Sheol, to the depths of the Pit." It goes on longer, but I can't remember the rest. Then, in Revelation, it speaks of the devil's thousand year punishment, and how, when the sentence was completed, he rose up against the saints and the 'beloved city' with an army with numbers 'like the sand of the sea'. But supposedly God shot fire down upon him and sent him to his fate in a pit of fire and brimstone."
"In those verses," Koushiro mused aloud, "the first ones you spoke of, it sounds as if God is regretting Satan's departure. Do you think he was pained at Satan's betrayal?"
"Well, he was God's own angel."
"Then…how could he have gone bad? There was no Satan to tempt him, was there? And if he had God's own blessing, why was he turned out from heaven?"
"The bible says that Satan led a rebellion against God when he became too full of pride. Pride isn't an original temptation of the devil, is it?"
Despite of the serious conversation, Koushiro couldn't help but let out a laugh.
"I suppose it would be a bad thing in too large a quantity. It reminds me of a certain leader…"
Jou smiled. There was a certain resemblance at times between Taichi and the bible's portrayal of Satan. How amusing. Yet…what had Yamato called to say last night? How creepy and light Taichi's eyes were, right? What did that have anything to do with…
"Izzy? Did you ever see that woman?"
"Eh? Which one?"
"The one that…Davis, Kari, Sora, and Tai saw."
"No, I don't…wait." Straining back into fuzzy memories, he could just make out a dolphin, a crane moving overhead, a…light haired woman. "Yeah, I did, just for a second, though."
"Did you see her eyes?"
"No, only her hair. It was a blinding blonde, on my life it was light. I remember saying to myself that it couldn't be T.K. because of the color. Why?"
"Tai…"
They were silent after that, knowing that something was different with Taichi, but not wanting to admit it. Surely that woman…no, no, she couldn't have really been the devil, because the devil was a man. But, whilst staring up at the golden stars, there was an ominous feeling of defeat from the mere thought of Taichi. Jou couldn't exactly put his feeling into words, but what he felt told him that Taichi was no longer alive.
"That women must've been Babylon herself reincarnated," he whispered to the quiet Koushiro, but there was no response.
Saturday afternoon, no work, no responsibilities for the moment, just a Saturday afternoon. Ah, the complete bliss of sleeping in and not being bothered by it! Daisuke was so glad that he wasn't married. Lazing around in the most comfortable thrift store clothes ever, watching soccer matches on television all day – this was the life. Ah, second rate appartment, but who cared? It was only himself living here. Hadn't vacuumed in months – did he even own a vacuum? He shrugged and played with the remote some more. Living off of ramen noodles and plain rice – one could get by. Ah…yep…
The musical tone of his doorbell interrupted any later happy bachelor thoughts, forcing a frown onto his face. For god's sake! Saturday afternoon, people! Does that not click to mean: "stay in your houses and don't bother anyone"? Sighing, he left the couch and shuffled to the door. Hm, hadn't shaved yet. Wonder who it could be. Hope it's not Hikari; don't really want her to see me all trashy like this. But he also shrugged at this, because, hey, he's got no shame.
Turn doorknob, open door a crack. Oh hey Kari! What are you doing here…so unexpected like.
"Sorry I didn't call or anything," she tried to focus on his face so as to avoid staring at his clothing, "I just wanted to, um, stop by! Friend-like and everything, seeing as we haven't talked in awhile."
It took some real self-restraint on Daisuke's part to not ask why she couldn't have called, so, smiling, he invited her in.
"No, thanks. I was actually wondering if we could go someplace, like out to lunch. Well, I don't care where we go, I just really want to talk to you."
An hour and a shave later, the two sat opposite of each other, chit chatting for awhile about nugatory things in a restaurant. The foremost thing on Hikari's mind (and the reason for this meeting) had not yet been spoken aloud, but she was getting there. Right now the conversation had passed onto leadership (who talks about politics with their close friends? Wait…watashi!), and now…
"Do you think you could take over being the digidestined leader completely, Davis?"
He stared at her from over the rim of his cup.
"Truthfully?"
She nodded.
"No. I've relied upon Tai way too long for that. I think that I'd still need some guidance."
"But…what about extenuating circumstances?"
"Like…?"
"Like if Tai could no longer lead us."
"What, like if he died?"
"Yeah, I guess."
He shrugged. "I'd try my best."
"No, Davis, you'd have to. If Tai were gone…you'd really be the only one who could lead us. You know about things like that; everyone trusts you."
"Only because Tai trusted me first."
"That's not true."
"Sure it is. If Tai hadn't of publicly given over leadership to me -"
"Davis…" she groaned.
"Just hear me out! If he hadn't of, who would have trusted me? Matt? He would've assumed leadership himself after Tai left. Izzy? Jou? They probably would've abandoned the team. No, I think Tai is what holds us together, not me. I can't do that yet."
"You're going to have to, and soon."
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Tai's not dying."
"Not physically, I don't think. But…have you gone to see him lately?" Davis shook his head. "He's…different. I saw him this morning and…well, he's frightening me. I feel like I don't know him anymore."
"He looks different?"
"His eyes do, but nothing else. Their golden, like that woman's. Davis, do you think that…"
"She did seem to have a special bond with him."
"But…what will happen to him?"
"How should I know? He'll get overtaken by her spirit? Doesn't seem likely, but things have been weird ever since then."
Hikari sighed. "I guess this means that the team won't be a team anymore soon."
"I said I'll try."
"Then try. See if you can handle it. Defeat enemies single-handedly, look the devil in the eye, withstand mutiny, whatever. Try."
He laughed a little at the mutiny part but nodded and agreed. If Taichi could no longer hold this then it would pass down to himself. An excitement was beginning to boil up just thinking about those looks of trust and admiration a leader is entitled to. Taichi was fading…he was blossoming. Surely this would turn into something great.
Tooku hikari wa sora ni kagayaku,
Hitori demo todokanai,
Tomodachi no koi wa sore e todoku,
Hashi.
Sabishii wa jama-suru
Demo, anata no mujaki na kokoro riyo-suru
Kichigai desu, ne?
Tomaranai, hashi.
Honto no yujo e hankei ichi mairu,
Hayaku hashiru,
Sore o kokaishite inai.
Hashi ima, minna-san.
Shinjiteru, zutto!
Hashi hayaku, ima tooku hikari wa ja nai
Hashi…
(Note from the author)
The song at the end! I made it myself, though I doubt half of it is right (that's why their such simple sentences, ne? Mm…SOV format…). If anyone reading this knows japanese, or sees a mistake, tell me! Watashi wa… "beginner" desu. Heh. *Thanks Battle Royal for burning "hashi" into mind* I didn't conjugate some verbs because I'm not so good at that yet…demo…Well, I think that's it. More to come!! Also, I was without spellcheek while writing this, so pardon any errors, kudasai!
The author,
Lauren (a.k.a Saki)