Judgements of a Stone
folder
Digimon › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,749
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Digimon › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,749
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Digimon: Digital Monsters, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
In Which the Evening and the Morning Were the Second Day
Judgments of A Stone
By: Vain
6.2001-11.23.2001
-------------------------------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ -----------------------------------
-----READ THIS INFORMATION OR YOU MAY BE CONFUSED!!!!!-----
Please Note:
THIS IS A STORY CONTAINING MATURE THEMES, DISTURBING IMAGERY, ADULT SITUATIONS, VIOLENT THEMES, CHARACTER DEATH, AND VARIOUS FORMS OF CHILD ABUSE. THIS IS RATED NC-17.
ALSO, THIS IS UNRELATED TO ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS.
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
“One is afraid of the unknown, that’s what it is.
Whatever we may say about the soul going to the sky . . .
we know there is no sky but only an atmosphere.”
~ Leo Tolstoy
War and Peace
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
Chapter Six:
In Which the Evening and the Morning Were the Secony
-y
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ---------
One Year Later:
It hurt sometimes—everyday in fact. But he never told anyone. Oniisan was the only one who ever listened to him, and Ken knew better than to ever mention Yukio-san to Oniisan. The little boy sighed.
“Kenny-boy?”
Indigo hair fanned out around him as he whipped his head around. Osamu stepped out onto the balcony, a cup with two straws in it in his hands. The older boy smiled, a tentative, slightly forced expression. Ken stared back at him blankly.
Osamu held out the cup. “I know things have been busy lately, but . . .” he trailed off, more than a little bit unnerved by his brother’s consuming eyes. “Did you want to blow bubbles . . .?”
Ken looked back at him expressionlessly for an uncomfortably long time before he opened his mouth. “I—”
The phone rang and Ken fell silent, turning away from his brother to look back out at the city. “It’s probably for you.”
nd hnd his back, Osamu’s face contorted painfully and he took a step forward, hand outstretched as though the gesture could somehow bridge the widening rift between them.
“Sam!!” Rika shouted from somewhere within the apartment. “Telephone!”
Osamu stood there for a moment longer, feeling terribly inadequate and overwhelmed, before he turned around and went back into the apartment. The door slid shut behind him quietly. Ken stared out over the city and watched the traffic flow up and down the street far below him. They looked like ants.
A sudden suffocating hatred and disgust welled up inside him. Hatred for the world and everything in it for tolerating the way he lived and disgust at himself for tolerating the way he lived. His small hands clenched into fists. “What fools,” his child’s voice ground out quietly with pained and unnatural harshness. “Nothing but fools.”
~~~ -+- ~~~
A bullet. A bullet is only a carefully cast piece of metal—a drop of steel. A bullet. A bullet can destroy worlds; a bullet can shatter windows, hearts, or even minds. A bullet is a drop of steel, but it’s also one of the most underestimated forces in the world. At 8:42 Hida Hiroki stepped out of a car and looked around warily. At 8:43 he helped the statesman out of the car. At 8:47 he saw a flash of lignd snd stepped in front of the statesman. At 8:50 Hida Hiroki was dead, the back of his chest blown out as a .45 caliber punched a hole into his chest and tore it’s way free from his body.
At 12:32 that night the phone rang in the darkened apartment of Oikawa Yukio. The man rolled over, sat up in bed, and grappled for the phone.
“. . . Moshi-moshi.”
A woman’s voice trembled on the other end of the line. “. . . Is this Oikawa Yukio?”
The dark haired man scowled a bit and glared at the clock. There was a faint click as the digital numbers changed. 12:34. “Y-yes. Who is this?”
“. . . I’m so sorry, Oikawa-san.” There came a sound like a sob. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”
Yukio stiffened and blinked rapidly, suddenly wide awake. A sudden sense of dread filled him and he felt cold to the bone. “What’s happened . . .?”
“This is Hida Hiroki’s wife . . . He’s dead, Oikawa-san . . . there was a man with a gun . . . his heart . . . I . . . . He—”
The phone slid from numb fingers and hit the ground with a painfully loud bang.
“Oikawa-san? Oikawa-san?!”
“Hiroki . . .?”
For a long moment there was a deep and pulsing silence, broken only by the faint squawking of Hida-san’s voice spouting from the receiver of the phone. He pressed down on the button in the cradle of the phone, cutting her off. Moments later there came the shattering of glass as the phone was hurled across the room directly at the vanity mirror. Then the silence descended again, a living thing.
Oh, Hiroki . . .
~~~ -+- ~~~
“What are you doing, Ken?”
“Watching TV.”
“What are you watching?”
“The news.”
Osamu walked over and sat down next to Ken on the couch. His brother looked up at him expressionlessly for a moment and then turned back to the anchorwoman who seemed to be wearing far too much lipstick.
“Reports are as yet unconfirmed, but the incidents of these monster sightings seem to be growing. No one is quite sure what to make of this phenomena, but psychologists are—”
Osamu felt a chill run through him and the sudden image of that little device that had come out of the computer popped into his head. He shivered violently and shook his head, but the image of his grinning brother tumbling out of the computer refused to be banished.
“What do you think, Osamu Oniichan?”
He turned and stared down at Ken’s expectant face. The child’s voice sounded almost mocking. “What do you think?” It gave Osamu another chill.
“Don’t be an idiot,” the older boy growled with unnecessary anger. “There’s no such thing as monsters.” He reached across his little brother, snagged the remote from the arm of the couch, and changed the channel. He felt Ken’s eyes on him again and looked back his brother.
Ken’s eyes were a dark, smoky violet color that contrasted sharply with the round angelic appearance of his face. His expression was totally unreadable and his eyes were devoid of emotion. Osamu recoiled slightly, alarmed and frightened by the look on his ototochan’s face. Without a word, Ken slipped off the couch and stalked silently out of the room, leaving a distinct chill in the air.
Osamu stared after him, feeling oddly queasy and disturbed. “What the hell was that all about?”
The little boy’s bedroom door closed with an unnaturally loud click.
By: Vain
6.2001-11.23.2001
-------------------------------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ -----------------------------------
-----READ THIS INFORMATION OR YOU MAY BE CONFUSED!!!!!-----
Please Note:
THIS IS A STORY CONTAINING MATURE THEMES, DISTURBING IMAGERY, ADULT SITUATIONS, VIOLENT THEMES, CHARACTER DEATH, AND VARIOUS FORMS OF CHILD ABUSE. THIS IS RATED NC-17.
ALSO, THIS IS UNRELATED TO ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS.
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
“One is afraid of the unknown, that’s what it is.
Whatever we may say about the soul going to the sky . . .
we know there is no sky but only an atmosphere.”
~ Leo Tolstoy
War and Peace
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
Chapter Six:
In Which the Evening and the Morning Were the Secony
-y
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ---------
One Year Later:
It hurt sometimes—everyday in fact. But he never told anyone. Oniisan was the only one who ever listened to him, and Ken knew better than to ever mention Yukio-san to Oniisan. The little boy sighed.
“Kenny-boy?”
Indigo hair fanned out around him as he whipped his head around. Osamu stepped out onto the balcony, a cup with two straws in it in his hands. The older boy smiled, a tentative, slightly forced expression. Ken stared back at him blankly.
Osamu held out the cup. “I know things have been busy lately, but . . .” he trailed off, more than a little bit unnerved by his brother’s consuming eyes. “Did you want to blow bubbles . . .?”
Ken looked back at him expressionlessly for an uncomfortably long time before he opened his mouth. “I—”
The phone rang and Ken fell silent, turning away from his brother to look back out at the city. “It’s probably for you.”
nd hnd his back, Osamu’s face contorted painfully and he took a step forward, hand outstretched as though the gesture could somehow bridge the widening rift between them.
“Sam!!” Rika shouted from somewhere within the apartment. “Telephone!”
Osamu stood there for a moment longer, feeling terribly inadequate and overwhelmed, before he turned around and went back into the apartment. The door slid shut behind him quietly. Ken stared out over the city and watched the traffic flow up and down the street far below him. They looked like ants.
A sudden suffocating hatred and disgust welled up inside him. Hatred for the world and everything in it for tolerating the way he lived and disgust at himself for tolerating the way he lived. His small hands clenched into fists. “What fools,” his child’s voice ground out quietly with pained and unnatural harshness. “Nothing but fools.”
~~~ -+- ~~~
A bullet. A bullet is only a carefully cast piece of metal—a drop of steel. A bullet. A bullet can destroy worlds; a bullet can shatter windows, hearts, or even minds. A bullet is a drop of steel, but it’s also one of the most underestimated forces in the world. At 8:42 Hida Hiroki stepped out of a car and looked around warily. At 8:43 he helped the statesman out of the car. At 8:47 he saw a flash of lignd snd stepped in front of the statesman. At 8:50 Hida Hiroki was dead, the back of his chest blown out as a .45 caliber punched a hole into his chest and tore it’s way free from his body.
At 12:32 that night the phone rang in the darkened apartment of Oikawa Yukio. The man rolled over, sat up in bed, and grappled for the phone.
“. . . Moshi-moshi.”
A woman’s voice trembled on the other end of the line. “. . . Is this Oikawa Yukio?”
The dark haired man scowled a bit and glared at the clock. There was a faint click as the digital numbers changed. 12:34. “Y-yes. Who is this?”
“. . . I’m so sorry, Oikawa-san.” There came a sound like a sob. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”
Yukio stiffened and blinked rapidly, suddenly wide awake. A sudden sense of dread filled him and he felt cold to the bone. “What’s happened . . .?”
“This is Hida Hiroki’s wife . . . He’s dead, Oikawa-san . . . there was a man with a gun . . . his heart . . . I . . . . He—”
The phone slid from numb fingers and hit the ground with a painfully loud bang.
“Oikawa-san? Oikawa-san?!”
“Hiroki . . .?”
For a long moment there was a deep and pulsing silence, broken only by the faint squawking of Hida-san’s voice spouting from the receiver of the phone. He pressed down on the button in the cradle of the phone, cutting her off. Moments later there came the shattering of glass as the phone was hurled across the room directly at the vanity mirror. Then the silence descended again, a living thing.
Oh, Hiroki . . .
~~~ -+- ~~~
“What are you doing, Ken?”
“Watching TV.”
“What are you watching?”
“The news.”
Osamu walked over and sat down next to Ken on the couch. His brother looked up at him expressionlessly for a moment and then turned back to the anchorwoman who seemed to be wearing far too much lipstick.
“Reports are as yet unconfirmed, but the incidents of these monster sightings seem to be growing. No one is quite sure what to make of this phenomena, but psychologists are—”
Osamu felt a chill run through him and the sudden image of that little device that had come out of the computer popped into his head. He shivered violently and shook his head, but the image of his grinning brother tumbling out of the computer refused to be banished.
“What do you think, Osamu Oniichan?”
He turned and stared down at Ken’s expectant face. The child’s voice sounded almost mocking. “What do you think?” It gave Osamu another chill.
“Don’t be an idiot,” the older boy growled with unnecessary anger. “There’s no such thing as monsters.” He reached across his little brother, snagged the remote from the arm of the couch, and changed the channel. He felt Ken’s eyes on him again and looked back his brother.
Ken’s eyes were a dark, smoky violet color that contrasted sharply with the round angelic appearance of his face. His expression was totally unreadable and his eyes were devoid of emotion. Osamu recoiled slightly, alarmed and frightened by the look on his ototochan’s face. Without a word, Ken slipped off the couch and stalked silently out of the room, leaving a distinct chill in the air.
Osamu stared after him, feeling oddly queasy and disturbed. “What the hell was that all about?”
The little boy’s bedroom door closed with an unnaturally loud click.