A/N: This will be my last work in... quite a while. So enjoy it slowly. Very slowly.

(Subtle romance, guys.)

(Why in quite a while? Read my profile for information.)


It was dark and eerily quiet.

Snivy stared up at the electrical fence, bronze eyes watching the few sparks of static that would light up the darkness for a split second before going out again. She looked, but never said anything. She didn't bother to move—she couldn't. She was trapped by an iron ball chained to her foot. She had dragged herself for three years to the electrical fence, hoping to exit, only to find out that there was no exit. So she stood by the fence, gazing outside wistfully, yet never saying anything and quietly enduring the suffering on her own.

"Are you tired yet?" Snivy could turn around—the iron ball didn't limit that. It was another prisoner. Oshawott. They had been taken together away from their homes when the war began, and trapped in a jail for four years. For one year, Snivy tried to cut off the chain connecting her to the iron ball. It only had a scratch on it. She gave up, and decided to move with it for three years—then she reached the impassable fence. She wanted to give up—but she needed to stay strong. She needed to be the leader, be the hope of the remaining pokemon—who else would it be?

"I'm not." Snivy turned back to the electrical fence, eyes narrowing at it, irritatedly. "You shouldn't be out here. You should be back in your cell." And then she remembered everyone had that terrible, horrendous iron ball. "Oh, you can't, not without any effort, can you? I'm sorry, but I'm not budging. I'm not. You can stay out here, but there's nothing to do."

For nights, she'd wait at the fence. Snivy was hoping for a savior to come by, to beat those baddies down to their eggshells and save them all—in her heart, she knew it could never be true. She knew Oshawott cared for her—she didn't know why. She didn't care why. All she cared about was being hope—useless hope—for the remaining prisoners.

After many days, Snivy remained at the fence. She was whisked away at the age of four—and it had been five years. She slept in the day and stayed awake by night. And it took her a long time to realize, finally, that the war had ended.

But the team that was supposed to save them lost.

Snivy's bronze eyes widened the most it would go, and she felt something wet escape her right eye. She let out a small cry, as if knowing all hope was gone—all hope was gone. There was nothing to represent. Everything was gone—her life, her soul, her town, everything. Nothing was left in the empty vessel. Trembling with fury, she touched the chain that connected her and the iron ball.

And then, again. "Are you tired yet?"

Snivy blinked at the otter with narrowed, wet, eyes. She was no hope—she was a useless piece of trash that was to be thrown aside. Countless times he had offered to put her out of her suffering, because—now she knew—he genuinely cared, and he didn't want her hurt anymore. She wiped away her tears, almost daring to shake her head and say her usual two-word reply, but she didn't. He didn't want her to suffer anymore.

And she herself didn't want herself to hurt anymore. It stung. It was painful. She let out an uncharacteristic sniffle, her reply being delayed the longest it had ever been. She could see the blunt blade dimly reflecting off the moonlight, and she swallowed back her hiccups. If she was gone, then everything was gone. And if everything was gone, there would be no more pain. No more.

"I am."