Only this time, it's better. And it's Digimon again.

I like to call these stories, Psychology Stories. You'll see why.

(-)

19-year-old Davis Motomiya seated himself on the bench at the train station, a satisfied smirk on his face. He straightened his tie and tweed coat, then took out a notebook and pencil. Then he proceeded to wait patiently for someone to approach. Seated there on the bench wearing his best suit and smiling charismatically, he made passersby want to sit down next to him. Soon enough, someone would come to wait for the train, and he'd get to try out his brilliant idea. It was risky, but it was well worth it. Besides, he thought, chuckling under his breath as he glanced at the camera hidden nearby, it was well worth the A he was going to get on the project. And with that thought, he cleared his throat and waited.

(-)

Kouji Minamoto was late. And not just for anything, he was late for martial arts class. But who would get in trouble for it? The train conductors being on strike? No. It would be him and him alone, who bore the weight of his absence from class. That was why, when he threw himself onto the bench at the train station, he was not in the best of moods. "Stupid train," he hissed. "Why is it late? Why of all days, does it have to be late TODAY?" he growled under his breath and stuffed his hands in his pockets, oblivious to everything surrounding him. That is, until someone spoke to him.

"I see that the train being late causes you a lot of anger," someone told him casually. Kouji turned his dark glare to the side to see a nicely dressed young man, about four or five years older than Kouji was. The stranger smiled. "Would you like to explain how you feel about that?"

The only thing Kouji wanted to explain was all the different ways he could injure that smug-looking stranger just for asking. "No," he snapped. "And why do you care?"

"I'm a psychologist," the man explained calmly. "Perhaps I can help you relieve some of your anger. Talking about it is good for you, and determining the source of your anger is even better."

Kouji stared at him blankly, then snorted and looked away. It was clear to him that this was just some lunatic wanting to try out his non-existent skills in a field he didn't belong in.

But the psychologist was not to be ignored. Scratching some notes on his notepad with his pencil, he cleared his throat and began to hypothesize. "Perhaps you are blaming the train for being late, instead of admitting something that you yourself have done, instead of admitting you were the one in fault. You are insecure. But the anger is still there, because you know that you are the one who you are really angry at."

The stupid hypothesis had crossed the line.

"You know what?" Kouji shouted, standing up angrily. He glared at the calm face of the so-called "psychologist" and pointed at him accusingly. "You have no ground in anything you're saying, and you've pushed your limit. You would have been wiser if you had just kept your mouth closed, but no, you had to start patronizing me!" he punched the man in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him, and turned around just as the train came screeching to a stop. With determined steps, he strode on board and took a seat. It was only after the train was on its way that he realized...punching that guy in the gut had made him feel a whole lot better. "Maybe psychologists are good for something after all, he said to himself.

(-)

Takato let out a small sigh, and sank into the bench at the train stop. It had already been a long day, and he was looking forward to getting home and putting his feet up. That is, if he could find the time. Chances were, he'd just end up having to do chores. Ah yes, the irony of life, sometimes.

"Waiting for the train?"

Takato turned his head, noticing a young man about the same age as himself, watching him with some interest. There was a notepad and a pencil in his hands and a small smirk on his face. Takato made a face, wondering if that were stupidest question he'd ever heard or not. "What does it look like?" he finally asked.

The young man nodded thoughtfully. "Do you think it's running late?" he asked.

Takato shrugged and glanced at his cell phone. "It's a train. Sometimes it runs late."

"Well, the Conductors are on strike. Speaking of which, how do you feel about that?" The man asked straightening his tie. He made it seem like the most ordinary question ever.

Takato couldn't even believe this guy. What kinds of questions were these anyway? "What, are you conducting some kind of school project?" he blurted. "These have got to be the dumbest questions I've ever heard!"

"And how do you feel about that?" the man insisted, trying his hardest to conceal a gleeful smirk.

Takato glared at him, then shook his head and looked away. "Like I'm talking to a moron," he thought, but restrained himself from saying it. Instead, he chose to ignore the question and pretend he never heard it.

"I see," the young man nodded, then scribbled furiously on his notepad. "Thank you for your input."

The train took several long minutes of ignoring the crazy young man's smirk to arrive, but as soon as it did, and Takato stood up as it stopped. "Yeah," he muttered belatedly, rolling his eyes. "You want even more input? Go see a psychiatrist."

The young man simply grinned even more. "I am a psychiatrist," he explained happily.

"In your dreams," Takato scoffed. He entered the train and sat down on a seat, then glanced out the window just in time to see the crazy psychiatrist guy asking someone else another lame question. The point of it all? Takato had no idea. But he figured there was some inside joke he was missing.

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مهدی

ساعت15:16---4 اسفند 1390

سلام وب خیلی خوبی داری اگه میشه یه سری به وب من بزنپاسخ:Jتو که اصلا آدرس وبت رو نگذاشتی که من بخوام بهت سر بزنم

مهدی

ساعت15:11---4 اسفند 1390

سلام وب خیلی خوبی داری اگه میشه یه سری به وب من بزن:سایتم درموردمطالب جالبیه

amir90

ساعت11:56---11 شهريور 1390

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