Nightingale
Sing us a song
Of a love that once belonged
Nightingale
Tell me your tale
Was your journey far too long?
I find myself here again in the land of dreams.
Transcendence is the dream of the digital world. The desire to fight has been programmed into the collective data; yet it is the promise of digivolution which drives the imagination. What else but freedom can it be to let loose your soul into a higher form? Babies share stories of Adult powers and evolution lines. The most jaded Adult will hope for a partner to propel them into Ultimate levels. Thanks to the legend of Omnimon even the Perfects are greedy for a potential Jogress Shinka, no matter how slim the chance. Perhaps they even dream of being gods.
Every digimon can be skinwalker.
Humans know only one way to cross to another plane of existence.
The last thought of my life was of Ken's kindness. The car was hurtling towards him, and in a flash I saw it all, the impact of his fragile body, all that gentleness and perseverance snuffed out like a candle. And I would be left. I would be the ruthless, tortured genius.
It was a selfish thought which saved Ken's life. I was so driven to succeed that I pushed away anything which stood in my path, including my ototo. For him to haunt me after death, unable to be dismissed, was unacceptable. I would go through the rest of my life wishing it had been me.
I barely understood when it *was* me.
I don't pretend to understand what I have become. Perhaps the death was so sudden, my soul had no time to escape. It does not surprise me though. There is something in me which does not permit rest. Perhaps that is why I still exist, tasting nothing, smelling nothing, having no sweat or skin or weight: I still believe there is another level.
~~~
Pillars of light sweep through desert landscape. I have examined the datastreams inside and out. Curiousity outlives the cat, I suppose. They are cyclones of pure data hammering the dusty ground. The data itself is not responsible for flinging objects to random areas of the digital world. It is the center, like a low pressure cell, which vacuums you up into the unknown.
A small death, my overactive thoughts supply. No surprise that they like to ride them.
I am given less than a second to follow them or else I lose them. And more than that, I lose time. My memories grow fuzzier the longer I stay away from him, as though my existence had tattered along the edges.
That sounds about right. My existence depends on him.
The first-- can I even put a time period to it? There's no time where I am, or how I am. However long it lasted, there was an initial confusion. Vaguely I remember wanting to stay by my brother's side, but it wasn't to be. I couldn't stay.
I had to follow Ryo.
In life, we only met in person a handful of times. We 'met' most often on the Internet. He wasn't as smart as me, but he was resourceful and a quick study. I never had to repeat myself with Ryo. We shared everything from game cheats to late night ramen to snide jokes. He was my best friend.
It wasn't that much different from the current arrangement. So far yet so close, except that I can see him and he can't see me.
Sometimes I swear he's caught a glimpse of me in the datastreams. Or maybe I'm just wishing too hard. Or maybe he's holding on too hard to the other boy.
Lee. At times I wonder if Ryo's subconsciously projecting. He does resemble me, in looks and intellect, though he is more driven by enjoyment than achievement. He's calm where Ryo is fiery. They are both prone to spells of brooding, though Lee is quicker to distract him from them.
Jealous? Hardly. What am I but a wisp of consciousness? The wish gnomes have more substance. If anything, I am sympathetic. Ryo is tenacious. I'm not sure how much he remembers, but I think he knows in his heart that his quest will never be over. Who else but the two of us would follow him so loyally? We have both left our families and homes far behind.
Night sweeps through the digital world, literally like a switching off a light. They are always moving, nomadic, uprooted as they are from the real world. This is an old camping site, equipped with a cache of firewood and some water. Ryo's wind-swept brown hair falls in front of his eyes as he arranges the kindling. Lee reaches over to smooth it back into its usual scruffiness.
This is the longest Ryo has stayed in a dimension. I have almost forgotten the other worlds, where digimon can be reborn, where Destiny is not just a word. The boys, I realize, are not boys anymore. Ryo is compact and muscular, shoulders and neck well-defined, his tan almost as dark as Lee's natural olive tone. Lee has come fully into his promise of height, his limbs thin and sinewy, his jaw and cheekbones sharper.
If they ever saw me, they would see the eleven-year-old boy who was killed in front of his little brother. Ryo might even recognize me in the haze of his memories. Yet I feel so much older than they. I have nothing except my memories, but they weigh me down like an anchor.
Is that what I am? Does Ryo's dream of me burn so brightly that he compels me to stay by his side?
Or am I a shred of longing, clinging to the last remembered spark before the wind tears me away?
Tomorrow they will ride another datastream and see where it takes them. There will be digimon to help, lands to rebuild and discover. As always, I will follow.
Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer
To a question I can't ask
I don't know which way the feather falls
Or if I should blow it to the left
All the voices that are spinnin' around me
Trying to tell me what to say
Can I fly right behind you
And you can take me away
