Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Nothing But Noise ❯ In Your Wake ( Chapter 2 )

This is and will be the only follow-up to this story. I have WAY to
many papers to write and OTHER stories to update.
Well, if I get enough reviews, maybe I will... <winks slyly at the
reader />
For those who care, this contains light Takeyako and Daikari. I don't
highly approve of these pairings, but just couldn't help myself... sorry...
By the way, I don't own Digimon or the poem In Blackwater Pond by
Mary Oliver.

Go on, this chapter isn't going to read itself!

It was indeed partly cloudy. The sun broke through the watery veil at the most inappropriate times, laughing at their solemnity. Black gauze draped over a mass of purple hair, masking its joyful color.

Why?

That was the question never spoken, the one that resounded through every mind in attendance. Never mind the overwhelming statistics for young male suicides, forget about the prevailing hectic pace of the nation. Close family members and friends had read the pages spotted with blood. They spelt out all the pain and pressure he felt plainly - what he would never say. Could never say. He wouldn't be Iori if he was so open.

But he wasn't Iori anymore.

Miyako tightened her lips, trying to keep from crying aloud. She was the failure, failing to recognize the agony of her best friend. Next to her sat a shell-shocked Takeru. Unable to cry, he stared lifelessly at the ground. Reliability. Iori was always someone you could depend on. Was that why he kept his pain inside? Everyone depended on him, so he wasn't able to depend on anyone else? Why?

Kari, more in control of her emotions than she thought possible, now stood at the front of the mourners.
"...the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning,
none of us will ever know.

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal
to hold it
against your own bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go."

She glanced down at Daisuke. Wishing she hadn't. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she realized he was sobbing silently. Dais never cried. He was macho, the carefree sports star... She nodded slightly to the minister as she walked back to her seat. The funeral continued, but she wasn't listening. One hand rested lightly on his knee, and Daisuke started, staring up into Kari's eyes in surprise.

Something was there that hadn't ever been before. Fear? But their courageous leader never showed fear! Not when buildings burned around them in the digital world, not when the real world was slowly devoured by darkness...

But then again, he never cried either.

Kari removed her hand from his leg, wrapping it instead around his shoulders. Casting his eyes to the ground again, he held her free hand in his. Fear. Fear because his little army wasn't whole? Fear because maybe it was his fault - he'd always overlooked the youngest member? Never gave him responsibilities when he could handle them, and too many when he couldn't? Fear because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't and didn't want to imagine Hida with a blade pointed at himself? Knowledge had been his other crest. So why wasn't he smart enough to see how he'd impact the people who cared deepest for him? Didn't he know there was more than one solution? Couldn't he see how much he DID have going for him?

Kari squeezed his hand back, feeling lost and confused. How was she supposed to console the brown-haired man if she couldn't make sense of it herself? She didn't want to be here anymore. The sad faces, the silence. The half open casket - hands and wrists strategically hidden. To her right, someone stood, exiting across the grass quickly. Another form stood, unsure of what to do. Kari turned her head out of curiosity. Miyako was gone, Takeru walking away slowly, guilt in every footfall.

Miyako slammed the church doors behind her, locking out the sunshine and the singing birds and her dead friend. Tears fell down her face unbidden. They didn't know him! All they were doing was using the last few months - the worst months of his life - to paint a picture of a man she hadn't ever met. This wasn't Iori. Not her friend, the one she'd known since elementary school! Not him.

He'd always been a sad little fatherless boy, but the fidgeting, terrified of everything around him persona he'd used in the end just wasn't the real him - brave and confident in the worst of situations. It just wasn't! The other half of the double doors opened beside her, breaking into her desolation. Takeru didn't say a word, didn't need to. He closed the door, shutting out the fakers, wrapping his arms around her. For a moment, everything was silent. He rested his head in her hair, and she broke down.
"It...i-i-it just isn't fair! Iori wouldn't...He, he didn't...He- ...Oh, Takeru..." She turned around in his embrace, clutching his suit jacket tightly and hiding her face against it. "Why? Why did he..."

But everyone knew why. No one wanted to admit the dark truth.

EH: Okay, that's it. You can all go home now.
Iori (very much alive and well): Wait. Was my funeral outside?
It kinda seemed that way...
EH: Yeah, I wasn't too clear on that. My mistake. <sweatdrops/> Yes,
my little Hitler youth, it was outside.
Iori: HITLER YOUTH?! Where the ef did you get that from?
Izzy: He he! That would be me. I eavesdropped on some other authors,
and they all think you look weird.
Iori: <pouting> I don't, do I? </pouting>
EH: &ltsweatdropping, again! /> No, no! Of course not! (to
Izzy) Way to go! Hurt the poor little guy's feelings!
Izzy: Eeep.

EH: Yeah, and just in case you were curious...

"In Blackwater Pond" by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning,
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal
to hold it
against your own bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.