Sapphire Hearts
Esteel
1: A Letter to Mother
The sky was alive with numberless lights. They each twinkled and reserved, winking down upon the earth as though watching it silently from afar. Unto this night a kind surprise, one that empties the soul and fills it again with peaceful sensation, even if the sensation is mistaken for solace. Even the moon sat silently in the sky, still and lifeless, as though meditating the effective properties of the brisk autumn air dancing on its surface. Below, even, where the trees each and all gathered to hide the ones who need to be hidden. Under the thick and oily shadows, the trees, branches, and leaves, all blackened by night's inescapable embrace, the forest floor lie still and quiet. All is well, save for the slow, haunting melody of the night's creatures.
Even as a solemn Umbreon once lying dormant becomes active, his somatic light cannot pierce the brutal darkness. On this night, even the most seasoned of trainer cannot find solitude hidden well within his confines. His tent: a thin barrier for the night to slowly seep through and entangle him in restless, dreamless sleep. The amorphous goo that hung heavily in the air drained it of any light, and devoured the last scraps of hope; the slightest noise echoes throughout, but remains unheard for the fear of the cause.
There was one active, however. He slowly crept through the forest, shrouded in black clothes, whose color challenged the night that covered him. He slowly breathed and his muscles tightened as he made his way up the ancient stone steps. He dusted each stone carefully with the bottom of his shoe, leaving small traces of his existence. As he rounded the top, a small artifact lies dormant atop an elaborately designed pedestal, trimmed with ivory and carvings. Dimly lit by the soon-eclipsing moonlight, he carefully examined his surroundings as his feet carried him with very little haste to the pedestal. He removed the artifact, and triumphed. His fingers caressed the small stone statue's finely carved lines and seductive valleys. He stared at the statue in silent reflection for some time before depositing the relic into his bag.
He then turned, every hair on his body standing at the attention of some unknown force, begging his fear and frustration to the surface. He found himself face-to-face with Misdreavous, its yellow eyes glowing at him angrily. Its head danced with phantom flames and its body flowed to and fro with a gown-like appeal. His face and his heart sank as he stared deeply into the eyes of his pursuer. He breathed harder; his eyes grew wide, as his heart pounded beneath his chest. The Pokémon vanished from before him in vapors. He stared into the space that once held its form, trembling. Its glow suddenly extinguished, he attempted a small step forward, as a viscous blood-freezing screech emitted from behind him. He immediately commanded his legs to run, as he closed his eyes. He didn't say a word or make a sound, for fear of alerting others. He simply allowed his legs to carry him, but stumbled and fell down the last few of the stone steps. He tumbled, landed, and emitted a dull, sickening pop from deep within his shoulder. He grasped it painfully, squinted, and his body froze in place as he felt an incredible chill race down his back. He closed his eyes again, wishing for it to go away. The Misdreavous spoke to him in a wispy, haunting tone:
"Human… You have… defiled… our resting ground." He trembled as he listened to its words, wishing only for a short and painless death. The area around him grew dim and black, no longer highlighted by the moon's faint light. It spoke again slowly, as though contemplating every word before speaking it. "The moon… favors us …and has ...shunned you. …Hear me now, human. You… and your descendants… Shall forever… know our curse…" The Misdreavous suddenly vanished. The moon's light slowly washed over the landscape once more as the eclipse passed. The man no longer felt the terrifying chill, but his heart could not lift. He stood, memorizing the strange words. "Know the curse… of our existence?" He was mesmerized by the possibilities of the meaning. He rustled it about his mind as he slowly slunk between the trees. His chest was heavy with ever-increasing pain, though he ignored it, believing it to be linked to his dislocated shoulder. He finally stopped at the edge of a large pond, falling to his knees. He found himself looking into the water, where he discovered that his chest was black and sick, as though oozing an oily substance then drinking it again as quickly. He became terrified, and trembling, a hand snaked its way into his bag to examine the treasure once more. The small stone statue of the extinct Pokémon shone dully in the moonlight. As the pain became worse and worse, a tear rolled down his cheek and fell from his chin to hydrate the statue.
These events happened nearly two hundred years ago. The man became known as Blackheart, for the terrible curse placed upon him. Rallis Blackheart became part of a little-known history, and his descendants fell victim to the greed of an infamous treasure hunter.
"So this curse," Nizibel said, curiously, "Does it affect everyone in your family?" I thought about my answer for a time, and then curled my lip disdainfully, yet somewhat in thought.
"No. It only impacts those directly descending from my great, great, great grandfather Rallis. However, because of the mixing and diluting of the blood line, even though we are direct descendants, it affects each of us differently." My finger pushed against plastic in a family album. Nizibel leaned forward to close in on the pictures buried underneath. "Our ancestor that endowed the family with a name gained a poisoned heart and lungs. His death, from what I understand, was indeed very painful. His two direct children both had painful curses as well, but neither had his exact curse."
Nizibel peered closely at the dilapidated photographs. One portrayed a young lady standing next to a Charmeleon, her face bandaged heavily. A note near the bottom read, "Necrotizing Fleshititis." Nizibel's expression became morbid as she read those words. She slowly shifted her vision otherwise, to another deeply aged photograph. This one depicted a young man standing beside a Pupitar, with his arm in a sling. A note near the bottom of the new image read plainly, "Osteogenisis Imperfecta." Her eyes became bruised, as her irises collapsed.
"Gruesome isn't strong enough of a word." She said, her voice shaking at the thought. "But I don't understand – You don't have any major abnormalities." I smiled, "I've been very cautious to hide my affliction. As well, I'm not sure how or when, but somewhere along the way the bloodline became mixed with a type of gypsy blood. At that point, the curse stopped being constantly there, and started being activated by a trigger. Again, through dilution, the trigger can be just about anything." Nizibel peered down at the book. She thought for a moment, staring at the curious images clouded by time.
"It's odd." She suddenly said. I looked up at the sky above us. The sun shone through the trees, causing beams of light to shower the morning air. "Odd? Indulge me." Nizibel giggled as she looked up at me. "I moved to New Bark Town because my Dad asked me and Mom to when I was 10 years old. I met Brendon the day I moved here, then you in Violet City two months later. Do you remember that?" I smiled and replied, "I was 11 then. I even had a 5-year-old Laine with me and Zaps here was just an Eevee then. We ran into you as we were walking home from shopping. I also remember going with you to the gym three months after that."
She grimaced at me. "I would say, don't remind me, but you're going to anyway." She sighed as I said, "You got your ass kicked by Falkner." She looked at me disdainfully and rebutted, "And, it's been 10 years since then, and you don't even have the gym badge from your home town. At least I've got two." I stopped dead in my train of thought, composing an "Urk" sound. I regained my composure, and retaliated with, "And the irony is, you haven't beaten me once." A Jolteon behind us suddenly rose up and said, "He's got a point, Nizibel."
Nizibel slowly rotated her head about as though it were automated. "You. Shut the hell up." Jolteon grinned broadly. "I'll make you a deal. If you manage to beat us, I'll tell you what Estel's curse is and how it's activated!" She put a hand on her chin, giving me a smug look. My expression changed little, or rather none at all.
"Either way," I suddenly grasped the situation, "Things are gonna be different this time, aren't they?" Nizibel suddenly stood up, a fire brewing in her eyes. "That's right! I've decided to become a Pokémon Coordinator!" In the radiance of her confidence, I couldn't help but grin. Laine suddenly appeared in the doorway behind us. The shadow cast upon the doorstep made for dynamic lighting for her sudden entry into the conversation. Laine had more tomboyish tastes than other girls her age; as well she also, however, had more of a body than other girls her age. This produced interesting situations, mostly ending in some hormone-raging guy getting my fist across his cheekbone. I found it my duty to protect my little sister, after all.
My sister addressed Nizibel, "Your Mom wants to talk to you for a moment." Nizibel nodded, dusted herself off, and accessed the door. The two ladies disappeared into the house. I examined the discarded photo album and cautiously poked through the disturbing images. Jolteon came to his feet and stretched with a sudden mass of static escaping into the air. He looked about at the small community of New Bark. "What do you think she'll do when she finds out?" I chuckled as I closed the thick album. "She's not you. I doubt she'd freak out about it."
"You think so?" Jolteon hypothesized.
"I hope so." I said unsteadily. I opened the door and walked inside. Nizibel's mother saw me then suddenly rushed over and threw her arms around my abdomen. I only stand five feet, ten inches; her stature is simply vertically challenged.
"Estel! If you need anything, you let me know right away!" It forced me to stop for a moment, to ponder the situation. I glared at Laine calmly, and quizzed, "You told her about the curse, didn't you?" Laine nodded, as Nizibel's mother bawled into the room on my chest.
"Don't worry about me and Laine, ma'am. Our afflictions aren't as serious as the ones further up in our family. We aren't physically hurt when ours are triggered." She looked at me with tears still swelling her eyes. "Really? You really mean it?" I nodded with a smile. Nizibel's mother met us after Nizibel did, when she was on a shopping trip to Cherrygrove. Nizibel and I have lost our mother to an illness, our father disappeared after she died, and thus have lived on our own since I was 15. She has brought us groceries and other odds and ends during that time. If you asked anyone, they would likely believe she were our mother as well as Nizibel and Wesley's.
The day slid by unannounced, as the sky grew dark. I stared out of the large picture window in my room as Laine slept soundly across the hall. Thoughts and memories rolled around my head while my eyes gazed to the heavens. I hid behind nothing, my emotions straightforward, and my thoughts never stayed still. I thought what tomorrow would bring, my heart pounded at the thought of finally getting to be what I always wanted. The age Trainer cards could be issued rose due to some unforeseen events. When I was 10, I already knew at the time that being a Trainer wasn't in my future. But now, my twenty-first birthday behind me, I held in my grasp the ability, and a warm feeling inside of me proclaimed my calling, to finally become a Trainer. Zaps was my companion and best friend, and at long last our partnership can be formed as more than master and pet.
"Tomorrow…" I said, in a hushed tone, "Tomorrow, I'll be a Trainer… Tomorrow…" I stopped steadfast. Tomorrow is a blessing… and a curse. The stars shone against the windowpane and into my blue eyes. My look glanced away, in deep thought. Tomorrow is a thing of wonder. The greatest blessing, or the greatest weapon man and Pokémon will ever face. It is a powerful threat, whose meaning is shrouded as the best-kept secret I'll ever know. As each moment passes, a moment lost in time but burned unto memory; but the next moment will never be ascertained. It glows with a radiant uncertainty, and forever draws away from our reach. Forever known, yet mysteriously pondered. No man shall know the hour of his death, his wedding, his greatest triumph, or his greatest failure. In this I am not blessed; I too am not aware of my impending doom or victory. In the end, tomorrow may come a day too late.
I pulled myself from the small armchair, placing a hand on the cold glass of the window. Tomorrow may come a day too late. The revelation rotated on rusted gears around my mind, my body, and shook me down to the soul. Images of my past came boiling up…
I found myself as a 17 year-old boy, standing in a hospital, silently watching my mother from the obscure side of a window into her room. She drew in each breath slowly, inhaling each spark of life, then exhaling just as slowly. Her body was still and lifeless. Her eyes were closed, and many tubes and wires lead from her to various machines. I stared into the window as the doctor asked, "What do you want to do?"
Nizibel's mother replied, "First, explain to me exactly what happened." The doctor looked at his clipboard, put on his glasses, and cleared his throat.
He stated, "There appears to have been a conjunction of infection within her heart. When we gave her a blood thinner and sedative, the infection loosened and eventually flowed to her brain, causing a very intense stroke."
My uncle asked, "Will she be cognitive when she wakes up?"
The doctor replied, "Yes, but she will likely be unable to move or remember very much. There is also a chance she'll be little better than a vegetable."
My father asked about moving her home, but I butted in. "Can she live without the machines?" Everyone turned to look at me staring through the window.
The doctor replied, "No, you'll have to rent the machines from the hospital, and…"
I stopped him. "No. I don't want to rent the damn machines or the bed." I sighed very heavily, my breath trembling, and I turned and glared him directly in the eye. "You asked what we wanted to do, correct?"
He slowly nodded. I looked through the window again to see the same woman breathing heavily into a tube, heaving each breath like it was her last. I stated plainly, "I want Mama to stop hurting."
My father walked to me, and then placed his hand on my shoulder. "Are you sure?"
I said, "Yes. Mama's in a lot of pain. It's gonna hurt to turn off those machines, but Mama hurts a lot more right now. Besides, the Mama I know would rather die than be a vegetable." I put a hand on the window and leaned against it as a tear rolled down my cheek.
My uncle stated through a garbled voice, "I agree. Turn the machines off." Nizibel's mother nodded.
Father turned to the doctor. "Turn the machines off." The doctor called in a nurse and the two filed around the room, turning off switches, unplugging machines, and removing tubes and wires. I watched in cold agony as they exited, and lead father, my uncle, and Nizibel's mother to the waiting room. I entered the darkened ICU room, now only lit by the cardio graph, now making less frequent beeps.
In slow motion I made my way to the left side of the bed; where her hand lay out, open. I pulled up a rocking chair from the side. I lay my head on her bed, and grasped her hand. I said aloud into the room, "Mama. I love you. I always have, and that'll never change. I don't want you to come back this time. No, I want something different. You've been through a lot. You've suffered more than I can imagine, yet you took very good care of me and Laine. You raised us well Mama, and as repayment, the least I can do is make you proud, and see to it that you don't hurt anymore." Suddenly, as my tears started to fall to the floor, her hand clenched mine in return, as she wheezed out, "Th-th-th-thaaank-k y-y-o-o-o-u, E-s-s-s-t-t-e-l-l-l. I l-l-l-o-v-v-e y-o-o-o-u a-a-n-d-d-d L-l-l-l-a-a-i-n-n-n-e v-e-e-r-r-r-r-y… M-m-much." I laid my head there for some time. I looked sharply at the cardiograph as the line finally fell flat. The time said: July 7th, 1047; 7:07:00 pm. I stood as her grasp slowly let go. I said calmly, through my tears, "Bye, Mama. We love you, too, and we'll always miss you." And in slow motion, she faded into the background as I slowly trod down the hall. As I walked into a hallway that held no people, I stopped and leaned against a wall. At that very moment, I felt a warm hand being placed on my shoulder, but no one was there. However, I know whose hand it was. I crouched, leaning against the wall. I buried my face in my hands as tears flowed out and landed on the floor.
I made a solemn promise that day, to never forget. I take care of my little sister not because I have to, but because our mother gives me strength. The tattoo on my shoulder is that of a hand drawing a heart. The heart is not complete, and never will be. I watched over my little sister's bed, as she lay sleeping. I lifted her satin blonde hair, and pressed my lips against her forehead. I said quietly, "I'll always take care of you, no matter what."
I turned and exited the room, but as I closed the door, I heard from behind me in a light and airy voice, "You don't need to tell me that. I already know." I stopped for a moment, smiled warmly, and closed the door tight. I laid my head against the cool glass of my window, peering across the road to Nizibel's house. All the windows were dark. "Is this okay?" I thought. My eyes exemplified weariness, but finally my expression changed.
I grinned warmly again as Jolteon asked, "Is what okay?"
"It doesn't matter. Come tomorrow, anyway." I replied.
"What happens tomorrow, besides us setting out?" Jolteon asked quizzically.
"That's just it. I haven't a damn clue." I gazed to the heavens, searching star to star.
"What kind of answer is that?" Jolteon questioned.
"Exactly as it sounds. Tomorrow's events will unfold as we live them. There's no guarantee we'll even come back alive, or the same human and Pokémon." Jolteon stirred, repositioning himself.
Jolteon yawned, "If you say so."
Journal Entry #1, Clear, March 25th, 1052.
Nizibel appeals to me. She's very intelligent and charming, but something begs me to look the other way for now. I'll do just that, in hopes that the time may present itself. She has thus far failed to discover my affliction, and I hope that she's ready when she does. I'm not a dreamer; I do not plan on fooling myself into believing she'll never know. However, I do not fear for myself, and I will always have Zaps by my side.
What is tomorrow? For that matter, when did "Today" take place? We forever live between moments, the previous one forever slipping away, the next forever out of reach. I have a lot of questions that I have hopes to answer each on my own. But for now, I'll look gleefully to the future, and may our travels bring us fortune and friendship. Possibly more.
When I pick up this pen and remove it from this page, I'm going to be closing a grim chapter of my life. One that was filled with important people, some that seem to have fallen off the stage, some carried away in a coffin, and some just trying to keep everything together. I think it's my turn to step up to the stage. My spotlight will never be brighter than Mama's, and in hindsight, I don't want it to be. My spotlight will be created by my actions and mine alone.
To my loving Mother, who watches over me, still.
