The moon rose over the forest, casting strange, lengthly shadows all around
the clearing. As the night progressed, Pokémon slowly, one by one, made
their way out of the forest and into the white moonlight, treading softly,
as if on holy ground.
In a way, the ground was holy, for most of them, in it lay the last tie any of them had to the world of humans. In the center of the clearing, under a small mound of earth, unmarked save for a handmade tombstone, lay the cremated remains of Ash Ketchum, trainer and lifelong friend to all who gathered tonight.
Finally, all had arrived, Pikachu, Charizard, Squirtle, Bulbasaur, Bayleef, Snorlax, Pidgeotto, and all the others. Life in the wild had not been kind to them, with many unkempt, unwashed, unloved. But nonetheless, they all came.
Each had brought a flower, and a slow procession formed, each Pokémon laying a flower on the grave and pausing, remembering. Slowly, slowly, a circle formed around the altar.
Sensing that the time was right, Pikachu stepped into the center, took a deep breath, and began to sing. A tonal, lilting song unheard by any living ears, Pikachu poured its soul into the song, singing of the good times he had shared with Ash, the rough times, and all the times in-between. One by one, the other Pokémon joined in, each chanting, singing, and chanting again of their memories with their trainer.
The song rose to a crescendo, each Pokémon's soul laid out for all to hear. Their pain, their loss, and their grief. Among the hurt, though, was the fondness they all shared for their trainer, and their dedication to not forget him. They sang, tears welling up in their eyes.
And it began to rain. Many, many raindrops, but gently, as if the sky were mourning his passing, too. Cleansing the forest and the Pokémon of their pain. Nothing could truly heal them, though, and their song began to quiet, never lessening in intensity, only in volume. Slowly, slowly, the song died down, until the only sounds left were the drip drip drip of the rain on the forest leaves.
Then, as a group, the Pokémon said goodbye, turned, and left the clearing, returning to the forest, to their families, to their new homes.
But they would not forget. As each disappeared into the brush, tears streaming down their face, they all resolved to remember him forever, returning once each year to repeat the ritual, the ritual of remembrance.
Pikachu was the last to leave. He approached the gravesite once more, staring at it long and hard. His eyes blurred with tears, and for a second, he could see Ash when they first met, hear his voice as it was on that long- ago day. Then he blinked, and stored that feeling where he kept all of his memories of Ash, turned away, and hurried back to his family.
They would never forget.
In a way, the ground was holy, for most of them, in it lay the last tie any of them had to the world of humans. In the center of the clearing, under a small mound of earth, unmarked save for a handmade tombstone, lay the cremated remains of Ash Ketchum, trainer and lifelong friend to all who gathered tonight.
Finally, all had arrived, Pikachu, Charizard, Squirtle, Bulbasaur, Bayleef, Snorlax, Pidgeotto, and all the others. Life in the wild had not been kind to them, with many unkempt, unwashed, unloved. But nonetheless, they all came.
Each had brought a flower, and a slow procession formed, each Pokémon laying a flower on the grave and pausing, remembering. Slowly, slowly, a circle formed around the altar.
Sensing that the time was right, Pikachu stepped into the center, took a deep breath, and began to sing. A tonal, lilting song unheard by any living ears, Pikachu poured its soul into the song, singing of the good times he had shared with Ash, the rough times, and all the times in-between. One by one, the other Pokémon joined in, each chanting, singing, and chanting again of their memories with their trainer.
The song rose to a crescendo, each Pokémon's soul laid out for all to hear. Their pain, their loss, and their grief. Among the hurt, though, was the fondness they all shared for their trainer, and their dedication to not forget him. They sang, tears welling up in their eyes.
And it began to rain. Many, many raindrops, but gently, as if the sky were mourning his passing, too. Cleansing the forest and the Pokémon of their pain. Nothing could truly heal them, though, and their song began to quiet, never lessening in intensity, only in volume. Slowly, slowly, the song died down, until the only sounds left were the drip drip drip of the rain on the forest leaves.
Then, as a group, the Pokémon said goodbye, turned, and left the clearing, returning to the forest, to their families, to their new homes.
But they would not forget. As each disappeared into the brush, tears streaming down their face, they all resolved to remember him forever, returning once each year to repeat the ritual, the ritual of remembrance.
Pikachu was the last to leave. He approached the gravesite once more, staring at it long and hard. His eyes blurred with tears, and for a second, he could see Ash when they first met, hear his voice as it was on that long- ago day. Then he blinked, and stored that feeling where he kept all of his memories of Ash, turned away, and hurried back to his family.
They would never forget.