First, happy Pokeshipping Week everyone! I thought I'd publish something I've been sitting on for awhile for the occasion.
It's been a long time since I put anything I've written on here. My life's been busy, but I've written here and there. This one is a two-shot, and I'll have the second chapter up by the end of the week.
I hope you enjoy it!
Ash lay awake in bed. The room was near pitch dark, the dim red glow of the alarm clock a steadfast guardian against the blackness. The soft cotton sheets tickled his skin. The cold night air needled into his exposed arms. The air conditioner thrummed in the background. He flipped over onto his left side and shut his eyes, but he knew it would help nothing. Thoughts leaped around his head like dancing fairies, each alighting onto his consciousness and making themselves known with brilliant flashes of light and color. Ash could only observe the chaos, and he could not ignore it.
Helpless, he tried to tamp down the fires of his ruminations. With each one put out, a new one arose, taunting him as the flames licked at his mind, singeing his sanity. He turned over once more, onto his back, eyes wide open. The gray, morphing shapes of his thoughts hung over him, contrasted against the seeming endless void above him that was the ceiling. They floated from side to side, diseased feathers of crows that endlessly screeched. The ire of the sound reverberated through the room, unforgiving in its volume.
As the cacophony rose to a head, he sat up and swiveled his body until his legs hung off the edge of the bed. The thoughts slowed for a moment, as if thrown off their rhythm by his sudden change of position. He tried to hold onto that slower pace of thought, to force his mental drumbeat to keep on a slower tempo, but to no avail. He stood up abruptly and the thoughts slowed again. His heart thumped against his throat once, twice, and the thoughts caught up to him once more. He donned the nearest articles of clothing, and began to walk.
The thoughts seemed to follow him, not quite with him, but just behind him. He heard their echoes bouncing off the walls, saw their shadows as they whirled around themselves. But they could not catch him. One reached out to wrap its dark tendrils around him as he approached the stairs, but the jerky, uneven descent shook it loose. He took a hard turn left at the bottom of the stairwell, hoping to lose the thoughts around the corner, but still they followed. Lost hopes, old fears, dreams, and memories all fell into lockstep with him as he trod on through the darkness.
There, at the end of the hall was what he sought. The door to the outside world, the door he knew he must open, the door to which his subconscious mind led him. The thoughts began to dart in front of him, fighting with each other for purchase over his attention. Scraping and clawing at each other, they writhed with desperation. They circled him, surrounded him, yet he walked on toward the door, behind which he knew lay his solace.
Hands reached out toward him, swiping at his mind, grabbing wherever they could. Fingers slid around his insides, penetrating, twisting, wrenching. The sounds grew louder, the grip grew tighter, but there was the door. The thoughts threw themselves toward him, crashing into him, careening off, mangled and broken. But still they came.
The door loomed over him, a monolith. His hand extended toward the knob and the thoughts swatted at him. They knew what was on the other side. Fear pulled his hand back. Long dead dreams screamed. Doubt swirled around him, ever closer.
And he opened the door.
There Misty stood, looking out over the edge of the porch. She turned to face him. And the thoughts froze, and fell, and shattered on the ground. And it was silent.
Her orange hair, shining in the moonlight like a beacon, floated over her shoulders, gliding into place around her delicate neck. A breeze flowed through her hair, rippling like the hem of silken dress. Her ashen complexion cut into the dark of the night. The soft tone of her voice nuzzled against his ear like a contented kitten.
"Oh, hi Ash. What are you doing out here?"
The memory of the whirlwind of thoughts that drove him here stilled his speech. Searching for a truthful explanation, he spoke.
"I-I couldn't sleep. There's so much I want to talk to you about." A faint glow of heat permeated his cheeks as his eyes pulled themselves away from hers.
A small smile drew her lips back. "You want to talk? We've got plenty of time before I get tired. It's still early in Cerulean." Misty sat down on the couch to her right and brushed brown, dead leaves off the seat next to her. The leaves cracked and crinkled as they drifted down and skidded across the wooden planks of the floor. Tentative, nervous, Ash lowered himself down where those leaves once rested.
The couch on the porch of the small town's Pokemon Center cooled his back, heated by his inner turmoil. The crisp air wafted through his nose and lungs. The sharp smell of the fallen leaves tingled against his sinuses. A dim street lamp stood in the distance against the backdrop of the moon-shadowed treeline.
Misty leaned forward, knees supporting her elbows. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
He met her eyes and flashed a smile. "Everything. Everything that's happened since the last time I saw you."
"Well, then we better get started."
Hopefully it wasn't too short. The next chapter is longer, though.
Please, feel free to fav, follow, and review. Praise is great and criticism is welcome and encouraged, so long as it's constructive. If you liked my writing, you can check out my other work on my profile page.
Once again, happy Pokeshipping Week everybody!