Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon. I also don't own Be Yourself by Audio Slave which can be found on YouTube…search Digimon Destined and you'll find the awesome video that inspired this.
I took out the lyrics of the song, but they can be found on Google or some other search engine.
Enjoy, and please review.
And I forgot last chapter! Thanks so much to The Digital Gate for beta-reading this chapter and the last!
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/11: 30 O'clock, Friday/
She was sleeping.
It was a regular activity for her, being a normal human being, and yet sometimes, she wished she wasn't normal.
And in other times she wished she was.
Her dreams were definitely not normal.
Every night, dreams of hell and darkness would plague her. She would always toss and turn in her sleep.
Tonight was no different. She tossed and she turned, dreaming of hell and darkness.
It scared the shit out of her.
She refused herself from mentioning it to anyone. She wouldn't be able to bear it if someone knew.
She just couldn't.
Even if she lay down, and even if she her consciousness slipped away, she was still awake.
She was awake in hell.
Spinning all around her, she felt the only…thing that she would feel. It was the only feeling she could feel.
She felt dread.
Pure dread flooded her, and it left in only one state.
A state of silence was all it was.
She spun around inside herself, unsure of where to go.
Whenever she spoke, her voice was hoarse from inactivity. Whenever she walked, her legs almost gave way.
She was weak.
She wanted to be strong.
She needed to be damn strong.
But she wouldn't anyone help her.
She no longer cared for anyone.
She no longer carried love or respect for anyone.
She believed everyone should be damned to hell.
She didn't give a shit if they died.
And she since she wouldn't speak, she was damned to hell.
She wasn't sincere.
She wasn't considerate.
She was a fucking bitch.
And she knew it.
So she left herself in the silence, drifting away from society.
No longer was she sane. She had lost touch with reality.
She believed in silence.
Her life was silence.
She drifted away.
She dreamed of hell that night, just like any other nights.
Miyako Inoue embraced the damn silence.
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He was so damn tired.
He was sick of everyone hating him.
He was sick of everyone teasing him.
He didn't want to take drastic action.
He wasn't the violent type.
He needed to change.
And so, he changed.
Being the geeky doctor was never good.
He needed to be liked.
He had to establish to everyone that he was brilliant.
He needed to prove to everyone that he had what it took to kiss her.
He had what it took to hold her.
He needed to confirm he had what it took to love her.
And so, he proved it.
He changed.
And he hated it like hell.
His azure hair was ruffled, and the massive amounts of gel that stuck to it kept it straight. He wore black slacks, and a plain, white top. Covering it, he decked a black leather jacket that matched his black sneakers.
The dark sunglasses blocked his gorgeous black eyes.
He hated the damn person he became.
All because of her.
He hated her. He hated everything about her.
But he loved her.
He still damn loved her.
And he couldn't help it.
He had become the person all his friends thought were stupid. He became the person who he himself had ridiculed about their lame personality and lack of individuality.
He had promised himself never to lose himself.
He had vowed to himself that he would never hide himself.
Instead, he no longer met with the others.
Instead, he never answered their phone calls.
He never spoke to her.
He never talked to any of them.
If they needed him, he wouldn't give a damn.
He was more important. He came first.
He was Jyou Kido.
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"I give up."
He had never uttered those words. He had never let them come out of his mouth.
Until then. Until that very moment, he had never let himself surrender.
He always held hope. Even when everything was falling apart, he knew that everything was eventually going to get better.
And that was the only damn reason the others hadn't committed suicide.
They always said two heads are better than one. And it was always true.
Until that day.
"I give up."
Daisuke looked at him hard. He refused to accept it.
"No. YOU WILL NOT GIVE UP, YOU IDIOT!"
He just smiled.
"Why, not? You're the one who's yelling, you know." He grinned. "Yelling is a sure sign of anger."
"Shut the hell up."
"No."
"Shut the fuck up."
He tilted his head, and studied his friend closely.
Daisuke had sweat covering his face. His hair was sticking in wide angles, and he himself was pacing across the apartment floor. Every once in a while, he turned his head to glare at the blonde.
He didn't give a damn.
He had stopped caring for anything or for anyone a long time ago.
Daisuke was the only one who carried any hope, even if it was false.
"Why are you so…positive? Why can't you just accept the fact that we are all fucked up? Why can't you realize that we are where we are, and that there's nothing we can do about it?"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The outburst wasn't unexpected, so he didn't flinch. He just kept grinning, and he just kept staring.
It was he could do.
He had given up way before Daisuke had barged into his forlorn apartment at the dead of the night. Granted, he wasn't sleeping or doing anything productive, so it didn't really matter. The interruption, however, could have been avoided.
He had been pondering this decision for a while.
She kissing him and running away had been the last straw.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He hated being the scapegoat.
He hated being perfect.
He hated everything.
Including himself.
And most of all he hated hope.
He wanted hope to go to hell.
To him, there was no such damn thing as hope.
He didn't give a shit about hope.
And he intended to let Daisuke know it.
"I will not. I give up. Deal with it. And why don't you shut the fuck up, or leave my damn apartment?"
He was answered by a glare, and the squish of his couch. Daisuke kept glaring at the writer, who had shifted his attention to television across the room.
Mentions of war and deaths only calmed him down. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he listened to the gunshots and the cries. He knew Daisuke was still eyeing him, disgust evident, but he didn't give a shit.
He hadn't been caring a lot lately.
And it was a nice change.
He didn't care.
He didn't give a shit.
He didn't bother.
He didn't give a damn.
He had lost all hope.
He was hopeless.
He was pathetic.
And he didn't give a shit.
He was not depressed.
He was just hopeless.
Takeru Takashi had lost all hope.
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He was staring into space.
For the last ten minutes, he sat staring at the wall. His eyes wouldn't move from one sole spot, lying in the middle of a blank white wall.
His never drooped, and yet, he felt so tired.
His brain hurt. He hadn't been thinking, but his head ached.
He wanted to sleep. He really wanted to.
He couldn't bring himself to.
He was no longer curious about his dreams.
He was no longer curious about anything anymore.
His grades were plummeting, but he didn't know.
His parents were worried, but he didn't know.
His health was deteriorating, but he didn't know.
His friends were all falling headfirst into a deep bottomless pit, never to be seen again.
He still didn't know.
He hadn't gathered himself to be curious about it.
He had other gathered ignorance, in every damn sense of the word.
And he still didn't know it.
Koushiro Izumi didn't know anything anymore.
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Yamato was damn tired.
His eyelids drooped, but he forced himself to stay awake.
He glanced every so often at the sleeping form on the sofa, and was always given a pleasant sleeping girl in response.
She was snoring soundly, her chest slowly rising and falling.
She looked peaceful.
But only for a second.
The next second, she thrashed around, shifting her position, but she still slept. Yamato couldn't bare it anymore.
Why? What have I fucking done? I love her. And she should know it.
"Sora…"
The girl still slept, not aware of her surroundings.
He sighed.
Shaking his head, he altered his situation, making himself more comfortable, and reached for the glass of water on the table. Gently, he splashed some on his eyes, alerting him. Shaking his head once more, he set the glass back on the table, and laid his head on the pillow.
Yamato knew it was going to be one long night.
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She was crying.
She hadn't cried since she was…five.
Her kindergarten teacher had passed out crayons, and every table had a basket. She had been sitting with three other kids, all of which were males. They had been coloring in farm animals when the boy beside her reached across her.
"Give me that!"
He made a wide snatch at the crayon in her hand.
It was periwinkle blue.
She shook her head.
"No! I got it first!"
"I want to use it!"
"No! I need it!"
"Miyako!"
The call of the teacher had made her let go of the crayon, leaving a grinning boy in its wake. The teacher lifted Miyako by her wrist and dragged her away from everyone else.
"Miyako! How dare you! You should know better! Always share, and never ever say no to someone when it comes to sharing! Always share!"
"But…"
"No buts! You will share." She pushed her into the corner, where Miyako sunk into the beanbag chair stationed in the dark corner of the classroom. "You're in timeout now, so stay here. No moving until I say so."
"But…"
"NO BUTS!"
After scolding the girl, the teacher marched off, leaving a confused and sad girl behind.
Miyako, knowing no better, began to cry.
It had been the last time she had cried.
So now, as Miyako wept, her eyes still were shut, and her mind was still asleep.
She cried as she slept, but her hand was hanging down her bed.
Her hand was balled up into a fist, carrying something.
It was a crayon.
It was periwinkle blue.