There's a rush in his head. Almost like whatever's being said or done is going through one ear and out the other. But he's alone, up here. All the way at the top with nobody around the throne he's created by himself, for himself. An interesting position he's in, unable to focus on much except that vast stretch in from of him, shrouded in clouds not quite cotton candy, not quite whipped cream. The chill is airy and bitter to fingers numbed and cracked, skin dry due to the weather and his general inability to actually care for his being.
How he has the time to notice all this he doesn't know, but he does know that the ground, well, it's right there. A thought sinks in and all he can do is look at the grass in his vision and think of wondrous jades, wishing that he had not yelled at the cell phone when it was last in his hands, call from Viridian. A group of pidgey lounge about, pecking at worms and eating another breakfast to see another sunrise. Such pretty feathers, like snow, like his skin so deprived of light. He rather likes the feathers, dainty things hardly smeared from their surroundings.
He closes his sanguine eyes and tells him it won't hurt, falling from the top of his throne. He can't help but think of jades and wonder how he was so careless, to trip-
The bird pokémon flutter, towards the skies and higher than his throne, all alone atop Mt. Silver. Such pretty feathers they have, like the dying sunset, like the blood no longer in his veins.