Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon Frontier, in any way, shape or form. It's owned by those wonderful people at Bandai. All I own are my original characters and the idea behind this story.

A/N 9 reviews in the first 3 days! Da-Woohoo! Keep 'em coming. I'm really interested in what you've got to say about my story, any ideas and any (constructive) criticism you may have. I can take the bad with the good, so pull no punches, and lets make this as great as worldly possible. Peace!

P.S. A final thought I just had to add: "Guns don't kill people, I kill people ;)" - Anonymous

It took me a while to get home that day.

I looked like hell when I got home, and I was glad my mom didn't finish until later. If she'd seen me, she would've fussed over me endlessly, trying feed me her 'special' chicken soup, which could cure anything. It had worked when I was 5, it didn't work now that I was 16. My eyes were red and puffy from the two and a half hours I'd spent crying on the sidewalk and on my way home. My make-up, what little of it I wore, was ruined. Not that I particularly care, but it made me look all the worse. I was disheveled, dirty and I felt like crap. His goggles were safely stowed in my bag, but I couldn't bear to move them at that moment. I was afraid I'd burst into tears again, as I'd done so often on my way home. I just wanted to go to sleep, and escape reality, for a few hours at least. But again, fate plotted against me.

*Ring, Ring*

Damn that infernal device. Why did it always ring at a time like this? I mean couldn't it wait until I'd had my rest and didn't sound like I was so depressed. Never mind that I was, it was just so annoying. But, force of habit made me pick up the damn thing. "H . . .Hello?" "Izumi! Good you're there. Now about Yorimoto, Taroo says he's free tomorrow at 7, and he'd love to take you to the movies. So, should I tell him where to pick you up?" Good old, reliable Michiko. Never notices anything unless it's in her face. "Oh whatever. I don't care. Tell him I'll be ready at 6:30 if he wants to come pick me up." And then I hung up. I couldn't deal with her at the moment. Couldn't deal with anyone, anything at the moment. Especially not old memories..

I must have zoned out, because the next thing I knew I could hear keys in the lock, and I realized my mom must be home. I shot up and off the couch, realizing I'd left my bag, and his goggles lying on the floor. My bag lived in my room and my mom would get suspicious if it was down there, so I raced to where I'd left it, to put it in its place and on the way caught my reflection in a mirror. I still looked pretty bad. So I quickly fixed myself and continued on. If she found out about the goggles, it would only make things worse. I got to the landing and managed to grab my bag while my mom was busy in the kitchen with the mail. She has this habit of ignoring everything until she's read the mail. Don't ask me why, she just does. I returned my bag to its usual resting place, and was on the verge of moving the goggles, when mom's voice sang out, "Zumi-chan! I'm home! How was school?" It was her usual routine, the same day in and day out. "It was OK! Michiko set me up on a date again!" "Why does she keep doing that? You're a popular girl, I'd bet half the guys at school would give their right arm for a chance to go out with you." "Maybe, but that doesn't stop her. This time it's one of Taroo's friends." "But isn't Taroo in University?" "Yeah, he is." "Well OK, but you know the drill, he has to have you home by 11!" "I'll make sure he does." "So, anyway, how about I fix us some dinner." It wasn't a question. She always said that when she was about to start cooking. Another weird habit. "I'll be in my room. I'm real tired." It was the truth. I had never felt this drained, ever.

I fell asleep as soon as I hit my bed. As testament to my fatigue, I did not dream, did not even stir until my mom called me for dinner. "Zumi-chan, are you awake? Zumi, it's time for dinner!" My mom's cries from the kitchen dragged me out of oblivion and back into the present. I slumped out of bed and out to the dining room, to the table to eat. I felt like my feet weighed 5 tons each, but I still went out to eat. One thing I'd learned about being depressed, it didn't help to be hungry. I'd nearly wasted away after returning from the Digital World, until my mom had sat me down and forced me to eat something. And it had helped surprisingly. I grabbed a seat across from mom and began to eat, while she told me about her day at work. I feigned as much interest as I could, but it wasn't working for me today. Mom noticed. "What's the matter Zumi-chan? You're usually at least mildly interested in my day. So what's wrong? You can tell me." I sighed, "Nothing mom, just really tired." It was the truth, just not all of it. I kept my face down so she couldn't see how puffy my eyes were. "Ok then, early to bed tonight, ok." "Fine." I ate in silence, as mom started going on about how her friend at work had gotten tickets to the latest Yamato Ishida concert for her daughter, and about how hard they'd been to get. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of Yamato, I just thought the price of tickets to his concerts were outrageously high. I finished and excused myself, telling mom I was going to bed. "But its only eight thirty, are you sure? You must be tired. Ok, I'll see you in the morning Zumi-chan. G'night!"

I hit my bed hard, but instead of falling straight asleep, as I would have thought, I lay awake, thoughts coming unbidden to my head. Dark memories, I wished I didn't have kept flying through my head. Memories of. . . him. I cried myself to sleep that night.