Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Twisted Fate ❯ The Letter ( Chapter 1 )

My first angsty type of fic. I was originally going to make this a Angst/Humor, but when I started to imagine the story in my head, it didn't turn out too good. This is basically a fic about two brothers and their relationship. A cookie for whoever guesses which brothers this is about.

Twisted Fate

Sam was looking over the document he had just written. It was supposed to be an essay about the future they wanted, and several of his classmates had said that he would most likely be writing about his future career, or about how easy classes were going to be in college. Instead he had written something different, Something that he wished with all of his heart. He looked it over and decided to proofread again, just to make sure that it was good enough to turn in.

A lot of you may know me as the boy genius, Mr. Perfect, Ichijouji Osamu. I know a lot of you are writing about what you want to be, future careers that you suppose are going to have in your grasp by the time you graduate, or the families you wish that you have. Probably you are writing about your future husbands, wives, homes, lives in general. Maybe your essay will be about how you will be an aspiring artist, painting the art that will influence the generations for years, or maybe you wish to discover the cure for diseases that have yet to be unraveled, or maybe you will become the lawyer that will appear in the trial of the century. Maybe you will be the actress or actor that appears in movies or the model that dazzles people with your smiles, or the singer that makes hit singles every time you have an album out. Yet I digress, for this essay is supposedly about my future, my thoughts for who I will be in the future. I choose to be none of these, for this is an essay about whom I wish to be, not fraudulent dreams that will never transpire. You all may be scandalized by my admission, but I long for it to be so.

I wish to be the person that may never stand out, the person that sits in the shadows being ignored by the masses. I wish to be different from the mask I parade about in, day in and day out. Unfortunately, that mask cannot be peeled off so easily. My life, no, my world has been built up around the fact that I have the talent to surpass others in athletics, logic, and wits. My mother, for helping my father out with his work - work that no other kid my age can figure out yet, is constantly complementing me. I am barely challenged at school anymore, and they are considering making me take college curriculum classes, studies that no normal twelve-year-old need take until they are ready. I never need to study, for the answers come naturally. The reality is that I haven't studied for five years for any type of test. As I am writing this, I am also noting that my handwriting is neat to the point of being annoying. I am constantly correcting teachers for mistakes in textbooks, and twice I have been asked to teach classes in my Calculus class. The teachers trust me so much, and to tell the truth, that makes me sick.

If I were to write about who I truly want to be, I would wish to be my little brother. Ken is living a normal life, a life I yearn to have. When he first learned to ride his bike, he crashed a total of forty-seven times before he got the hang of keeping his balance. I, however, crashed only once, and never even got a scratch to prove it. He has to study for any type of test, and he gets B's and C's, making my parents wish that he were more like me. I admit, it would be interesting to have someone close to my age to discuss Hawking's latest theories with, but watching my brother, with his caring nature and his kind demeanor, I would never wish that upon him. My days are spent in my room, doing my homework or tutoring some kid with his algebra, or playing soccer with some kid when even if I try to lose, I always end up winning anyway. My brother spends his days out in the sun, laughing and playing with kids his own age, being a child himself. He is enjoying life, while I am stuck in my intellectual prison.

He also never argues, which I am sorry to say is not true for me. Just yesterday, I yelled at him for being at my computer. He cried for a long time after that, locking himself in our room for several hours. I guess it was my fault partially, for earlier that day he had come after me when I ran from the house when I had a fight with my parents. It was raining outside, and he chased after me with my jacket. He caught up to me, crying because I yelled at Mama and Dad. He had never seen me fight with them before, and he was scared that I would run away from home. The thought had honestly occurred to me, but looking at him, cold and shivering because he left his own jacket, I picked him up, covering him with my own jacket, and carried him home. I didn't say a word to my parents. Instead, I carried him up to our room and helped him dry off. Ken didn't say a word either, worried that he would drive me away with the simple apology for running out like that. He just snuggled up to me, and we decided to play a board game, just the two of us.

The surprising thing came near the middle, when mom called me down to help her with dinner. I was getting up to go when a bright light shot out of the computer and landed at a spot between the two of us. It deposited a small device, and I advised Ken not to touch it. I picked it up, however, and placed it in my desk so that I could find out what it was. I guess Ken's curiosity got the batter of him, for when I came back, he was holding that device, a happy look on his face. I didn't notice, however, for my gaze settled on something on the back of his neck, where I could see a bit of blood trickling down. I yelled at him then, more out of concern than anything else. I left him like that, crying and disbelieving that it was me that made him so sad. I didn't hear from him again until two hours later. Mama scolded him for missing dinner. That started me and my mother into another fight, but I couldn't help but notice the look that Ken gave me. It was a look between anger and hate.

My brother is highly sensitive, so I can't help but be sorry for the nasty thing I said to him. I hurt the one person I admire and wish no harm to, and now he hates me for it. I wish that I could rewind time, make him realize that I didn't mean the nasty things I said, but the past is the past, and I cannot take back the words I said. The irony is the one person I want to be the most hates me now. Maybe this is all part of a curse I have, the one that made me the intellectual superior to my whole family…

Sam looked over the story, and flicked on his computer. He smiled as he realized that he might get the first F in his whole life, but he didn't care. He looked it over again and decided it needed a name. He quickly typed the first words he could think of and decided they fit perfectly.

The Truths And Confessions of Ichijouji Osamu.

He typed up his paper and looked at the time. He only had twenty minutes to get ready for school. He printed the essay and began the ritual of pulling Ken out of bed and getting dressed for school.

***

Sam was shuffling his feet as he walked, making the time before getting home longer. He had a note from his school that suggested he might need a psychiatrist. His teacher had been shocked over the essay, and had sent him to the school counselor for evaluation. She had also refused to show the paper to the whole class, something that was totally out of character, seeing as she always showcased his accomplishments to them. The rumors had started then, that maybe he was having a nervous breakdown. His class had spread it, and by the time recess came, the whole school knew it.

He didn't care, and continued to walk. Ken was pestering him to walk faster. He had gotten an A on his spelling test, and he wanted to show Mama as soon as he could. Ken started to run across the street, unaware of what was about to occur next.

What happened next was a blur in Sam's mind. First it was the startled cry of Ken. A car was speeding toward him on a collision course, and Sam could see that Ken was paralyzed with fear. He ran into the street and knocked Ken out of the way, but Sam had no way to avoid the inevitable. The car crashed into him, tossing him thirty feet into the air before landing with a sickening crunch. The pain was brief, and his vision was getting fuzzy as he heard Ken scream his name. Ken's face came into Sam's vision, tears drizzling down his face as he kept saying Sam's name like a mantra. Sam tried to reassure Ken, tried to reach out and touch him, but his body was unresponsive. The last thing he saw was Ken burying his face into Sam's shirt, and his mom running toward him. The last thing he heard was sobbing, and cries to call an ambulance.

Then he heard no more, and his vision blurred to black as the life bled out of him.

***

Four Years Later…

Ken was shuffling through his desk, intent on cleaning it out. He had so much junk lying around in there, that he was just considering throwing it all away. He lifted out a pile of papers when a packet of papers, folded up neatly, fell out. He picked it up, intent on throwing it out, when he recognized the writing. His hand started to shake as he read the first line.

"The Truths And Confessions of Ichijouji Osamu."

He murmured the first line out line out loud. That's when the realization hit. This is the fourth anniversary of his death, he thought. He started to read it, then stopped as one line stood out.

If I were to write about who I truly want to be, I would wish to be my little brother.

Ken stared at that line for a long time. He wanted to be like me? He thought Sam had it all, the brains, his parents attention, but all Sam wanted to be was normal. He shook his head ruefully. Irony, it seems, has a sense of humor. He read on, realizing that Sam was actually worried about him.

My brother is highly sensitive, so I can't help but be sorry for the nasty thing I said to him. I hurt the one person I admire and wish no harm to, and now he hates me for it. I wish that I could rewind time, make him realize that I didn't mean the nasty things I said, but the past is the past, and I cannot take back the words I said. The irony is the one person I want to be the most hates me now. Maybe this is all part of a curse I have, the one that made me the intellectual superior to my whole family…

He looked at the back of the piece of paper, thinking to find more to the story, but the rest was empty. He looked back at the last paragraph, and then something dropped onto the sheet. Ken hadn't realized he was crying until that point. He folded up the papers quickly, and then decided he didn't want to clean out his desk. He walked out of his room and to the front door. His mom was out, getting groceries. He grabbed a jacket and put it on, wanting to take a walk.

The short walk took him to the corner where it all happened. The car crash, which to him was still vivid in his mind, replayed itself in his head. He started to cry again, when a voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Hey, Ken!"

Davis was running toward him, grinning from ear to ear, when his face fell as he looked at his best friend's face. "Woah, did someone just die?"

Ken shook his head. "Just remembering Sam is all…" he replied.

"Your brother?" Then Davis' face underwent a transformation when he thought about it for a second. "Is this where he died?"

Ken nodded. "He was hit by a car. Landed on his head. Tried to save me, but got himself killed instead."

Davis whistled. "At lest your brother was willing to do that. If I was about to get hit by a car, I doubt Jun would bat an eye to save me." He joked.

"You know that's not true…" Ken stated. "She probably would have done the same thing."

"Want any company? I hear depression isn't good company."

Ken shook his head. "Nah, I just took a walk to clear my head. I was cleaning out my dresser when I wanted to take a walk."

"Short walk." Davis commented. "If you want someone to talk to, just call." He walked off waving.

Ken stood there for a moment, until Davis disappeared around a street corner. I wish Sam was here, alive and kicking, so I could at least apologize. Ken smiled at the thought that Sam might also comment at his choice of friends, but he sighed and started back toward his house.

If he had checked his watch during his thought, he would have realized that Sam died at that precise moment.

***

Ken finished up cleaning up his desk, then decided to take a nap. He was tired, both emotionally and mentally, and he thought sleep would do him good. He flopped down, but gasped in pain as his elbow hit something solid. Swearing, he stood up and paused when he heard someone swear back. Flipping on the switch, he gasped at the sight that astounded him.

"SAM??!!"

To Be Continued…

Angsty, ne? Well more where that came from. Now where did I pit the next chapter…?

Inspiration for the fic…

I'm With You - Avril Lavigne

One Last Breath - Creed

Miracle - Vertical Horizon

~ Charbonne