I lie in the dark, staring up at the cold ceiling.  Why do I hold so much pain?  It seems that I am destined to remain in this darkness eternally.  Nothing I do brings me happiness.  Even Leafmon has failed to brighten my spirit lately.  My friends don't understand me, and they don't want to hear what is wrong with me.  My parents act as if nothing has changed, and continue on with their lives.  With their dream world.

            Damn it, I want to leave.  I want to be able to face light once more, to enjoy life for life.  But there is no way out of the darkness now.  It surrounds me like a black hole, destroying whatever happiness comes close.  There is only one solution I can think of, and I make a decision.

            I reach under my mattress, careful not to wake my sleeping friend who lies on my chest.  Leafmon was my only comfort for some time, but it seems that even he has given up on me.  As I feel around, I find the handle of the object of my escape. 

            The knife is from my mother's own set, the sharpest on I could find.  She didn't notice that I had slipped into the kitchen behind her while she was preparing dinner, nor did she see me take it out of the drawer.  It has been hidden under my mattress for several days now, ready for this moment.  I move the blade across my wrist, sensing some pain, but not much as my emotions have left me numb.  It is then that I realize that I should probably leave a note.  Pointless, since no one would care if I were gone, but customary, so I hold out my bleeding arm and walk to my desk. 

            While searching through my binder for some paper, a small object catches my eye.  It is a note, folded very small, on the blue paper that Davis uses as his signature.  Curious, I read it:

            Ken,

Dude, what's up?  You seem so down lately.  Is there anything I can do to help?  I may not be very smart, but I'll listen to you anytime.  You can call me at 3 o'clock in the morning, and I'll still listen.  I'm your friend, and I'll try to help you any way I can.

                                                                        -Davis

It's quiet.  I'm in a small, clean room where no sounds are heard, apart from the occasional beeps and clicks from the machinery that kept me alive.  I feel the pain now, in my wrist and in my heart.  People cared about me, and like an idiot I ignored them.  Mama is asleep on a chair in the corner, and Papa is standing just outside the door.  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and am surprised to see Davis watching over me.

            "I came as fast as I could.  Your mom found the note I wrote you, and she called me and told me.  Ken…why?"

            I don't know how to answer him.  Because I was tired of darkness.  Because I thought I could never be happy again.  Because I wanted to end my suffering.  All of the above.

            "Because…I didn't think anyone cared."

But I was wrong.