Summary: Life: something we take for granted. Company: something we don't appreciate. Survival: something we count on…
When Pokémon around the world start disappearing, the humans know something is wrong. However, they carry on as normal for there is nothing they can do to stop it. This is no exception for the bumbling trio of Jessie, James and Meowth. Even with the ominous threat of bodiless voices, they are determined to capture Pikachu and hand it over to the Boss. What they don't bank on is Pikachu vanishing along with the rest of their Pokémon.
Soon they are caught up in a web of lies and deceit, where rival teams will kill to get what they desire: the Legendary Pokémon. A sinister plot revolving around the Sapphire of Suicune has been concocted…and the world is about to witness its birth. Just how is Team Rocket connected with these menacing coercions, and how are the destinies of Jessie and James entwined? Will they be able to keep a lid on their growing feelings for each other? To ensure their safety, they're going to have to enter the game as well…but how will their destinies be affected by these events? First in the trilogy.
A/N: Seems like forever since I last wrote something, so here's the beginning of the Destiny Trilogy! Please review; it'll make my day!
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon, or anything related to it. It belongs to the wonderful people who created it. Lucky; they get James! ;)
The Destiny Trilogy
Destiny's Path
Prologue – The Night of Living Hell
8th June, 2010.
Cold and hostile: the sea roars its disapproval, buffeting the boats that have dared venture forth with furious hands; an unforgivable wind whips the faces of the passers by brave enough to be out with calloused fingers, wailing mournfully; clouds of black tourmaline swagger across the ebony sky; icy buckets of water cascade down with a vengeance; forks of lightening illuminate the island, menacing and louring; the stench of seaweed, choking out all other presences…
Safely locked inside a house in the heart of the island, a cat sits in the window, monitoring the progress of the storm with a fascination untold of in such Pokémon. His ears, once jet black, are now flecked with grey, showing his age; however, his eyes are as bright and blue as the day he was born. With a swish of his tail, the cat hops out of the window and pads across the room to the sofa. With a little difficulty courtesy of his right hind leg, he leaps onto the seat and curls up into a ball.
The house is empty, and the cat is grateful for the solitude. Where his friends are he does not care nor desire to know. Tonight is the one night of the year where he allows himself to wallow in self-pity, and he doesn't want his friends there to ruin his thoughts with their contagious happiness. It isn't that he begrudges his friends their contentment. After what they have been through, it is the very least they deserve. No, it is more the fact that they show how much they love each other, how complete they make each other, in front of him, when he himself can never be truly happy again.
They have tried to cheer him up in the past; trying to make him talk, looking after him. He hasn't deserved any of it of course, but this does not stop him feeling reproachful that they have drifted away from him, to the extent that his little paws can no longer reach them.
They probably backstab him now, he sneers, as they lie in each other's arms after a passionate love making session. He'll listen; hear her scream her lover's name, hear him moan hers. And then the giggles and low murmurs will start…
And this is the difference between them. They are happy and he is not. They do not need him, and as much as he despises himself for admitting it, he needs them more than anything.
It is his entire fault they no longer meet his eye as they used to. They aren't the ones to blame. They
hadn't been the ones to betray each other. Oh no. It has been him that had done the notorious deed in the past. And for what? To save his own skin. He should have died for them, saved them from the inevitable pain
and tragedy that had followed. Died for them as they would have – still would – for him.
A lone tear breaks free of its prison. Angry with himself, the cat stands and slithers to the floor.
It has been three years since the devastating events of The Night of Living Hell as he has so ironically christened it. Three long, hard years. He rubs his back leg shrewdly, remembering the ordeal in all its glory. The pain. The fears. The deaths. The destruction. And it is his fault it came about. The cat has to live with the guilt that it is because of him that young, innocent lives were lost.
And he is fed up with it.
Limping to the door, he reaches up and attempts to twist the handle. No such luck; he is too small. Cursing, the cat weighs up his options. The only way he can escape this place is through this door. But, if he waits another few hours, he can speak to his friends. He can wait to cuddle up with them, watch them snuggle close, and once more include him in their family. He can wait to tell them the true tale of his suffering.
It's a choice he has to make.
With only a second's hesitation, the cat makes his decision.
Tensing his muscles, he leaps for the handle, managing to twist it. He lands and stumbles over; a sharp pain sears through his hind leg, a dormant beast waiting to strike. However, a satisfactory click is the ending result of his exertion; the cat rights himself once again and pulls the door open from the bottom using his claws. Casting one more yearning glance behind him, the cat staggers over the threshold and enters the shiny kitchen. Even here there are memories of the past: beautiful photos of his friends, their kids, even a few of the feline himself. Standing proudly at the front of the lot is the cat's favourite; his two friends and himself, together, joyful, his two companions holding him between them. It brings a lump to his throat, and he slowly picks it from its resting place and takes it into his small paws. A time he wishes he could go back to…
Negotiating the back door is easy.
As soon as he steps out, the full force of the storm hits him. The rain lashes out at him, wanting to hurt him for all the pain he has caused everyone else…taking a deep breath and screwing up his eyes against the weather, he stumbles blindly into the darkness, losing sight almost immediately of his warm home.
He can never go back there again.
He deserves this. It is the only way out. He can no longer continue living like he has been; the same monotonous routine every day of his wasted life. This way he won't have to suffer any more. He can cope no longer…
And the Meowth, small and depressed yet still so proud, marches onwards, seeking to forget that fateful night. In a few hours at most, it will no longer be able to haunt him…
The Night of Living Hell.
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