The wind howled and snow fell. The blackness of night was out in full glory as one's vision could only go a few feet in front of him. The busy crowds of trench coats and hats passing in different directions on the sidewalks of streets were rapid and purposeful. Who would want to stay out in the coldness that winter brought. People all hurried to their destinations, all except one.
A man, hooded from his trench coat, calmly lent on the rail of a bridge. His movements slow and deliberate as though the bitter cold had no effect on him. He suddenly turned so he could see over the railing. He scoffed as he saw a large ship going underneath the bridge. It was a cruise ship which by the looks of the cardboard coconut trees was headed to the Caribbean. The man looked at the ship with great thought.
There must have been couples on the ship. All who were probably planning to spend the Christmas somewhere warm with the person they love the most. To many this would be a great thought but to this man it was nothing more than a joke.
"Love isn't real." The man's eyes narrowed at the ship whilst his words stung naught but air. No one was around to hear what he had said but he preferred it that way.
When he was alone everything was nice and quiet so why would he want it any other way.
With a heave of his chest the man let out a sigh. He had spent enough time in the cold and unfortunately it was time he be getting back. His right hand moved to his right pocket in his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
'Hm, Christmas sure is a drag.'
With that thought he turned to leave but he did not get very far. This was because no sooner had he turned did he run right into something, or rather, someone.
A little shaken the man quickly cleared his mind and focused in front of him at the obstacle that had just gotten in his way. There, on the ground, laid a little boy much to the man's surprise.
"I'm so sorry sir!" said the boy. He jumped to his feet rather quickly and voiced his apology again. "I didn't see you there! I'm very sorry."
The boy looked at the hood since he could not see the face. The man proceeded to take out a cigarette. "Next time watch where you're going," growled the man while his voice which was rough, held no malice.
"Yes sir……" mumbled the boy who was no more than twelve.
He watched uncomfortably as the man held the cigarette pack in his right hand and pulled out a lighter with his left from his pocket.
Deciding it was too awkward to just stand and watch the man the boy spoke again.
"Merry Christmas."
The figure lit the cigarette in his mouth, took a pull before removing it his right hand and blowing out smoke. "What's so Merry about it kid?"
Upon hearing this, the boy's face lit up. "There are lots merry with it! You get a lot of presents and-and-and cake! And your family is there!"
The smile protruding from the boy's face seemed to light the area up a little bit more and lift some of the darkness. But darkness of the heart is not so easily conquered, so the man just scoffed.
"You like presents huh?" He began to walk, and as he passed the boy he tossed him the pack of cigarettes. "Merry Christmas kid."
Half an hour later
Warmth ran wild all over the man's body as he shut the door. He was now inside a room which was a bit congested. There were two shelves, one on the wall and one in the middle of the room. The floor was littered with paper and the only other piece of furniture was a table on the other side of the shelf in the middle. The warmth started to annoy the man.
"Damn heater," he mumbled.
"Well not everyone loves to freeze their asses off like you Ash."
Through the shelf Ash could see a man standing beside the table. This man was not like Ash at all. Ash was average height and athletically built whereas this man was tall and broad.
Ash eyed the man dangerously, hung his coat up and muttered his greeting, "Shut up."
He walked over to the table and sat down. He took up a pen and looked at the book in front of him. "What do you want Brock?" he growled.
Brock sighed and sat on a chair. "So I can't just drop by to see how my bud's doing?"
Ash raised his head up just enough to flash the 'I don't believe you' look Brock's way before looking down to his book and writing something.
Brock looked down to the table and sighed again. For a while he thought something over in his head before looking back up with a neutral face. "Ok. There is a reason I'm here."
"And that is?"
Ash didn't even raise his head as he asked the question.
This annoyed Brock so his tone had a bit of a bark as he spoke.
"The guys are worried about you. You've just been avoiding everyone for as long as I can remember. You sit here and mope and do nothing with your life. I mean, for crying out loud, you were the youngest pokemon master! Why do you just sit here writing these things that no one will publish!" exclaimed the bigger man as he rose and tossed one of the books to emphasize its worth.
Ash slowly put the pen down before leaning back into the chair and looking up to Brock.
He could see the anger in Brock's face. It was mixed with other emotions. Emotions like worry, regret and pity.
At this Ash narrowed his eyes. Who did Brock think he was? Minding Ash's business like that. After all, Ash gave up his best friend years ago so Brock should have done the same.
His upper lip curled a bit in disgust before he retaliated.
"I do this because it makes me 'happy'"
Brock's eyes were filled with shock and disbelief when he heard this.
"Happy? Th-Yo- This!" he shouted as he waved his hand over the small, congested and extremely messy room, "This is what you call happy? You live here Ash! There's no bed! Not even a couch! Just this table! A few shelves and you sleep on the floor! You don't even have a stove! WHY!"
Brock watched Ash intently before sitting down in a rush and leaning over the table almost as if he were begging.
"Why do this when you can do so much more! You have the qualifications Ash. Don't you want to enjoy life? Don't you care about yourself anymore? Do you think that you are worth nothing?"
At that line Ash chuckled while turning his face to his book. He let a moment of silence pass before he spoke in a cold and uncaring voice. "No, I don't care about myself anymore and frankly I don't care about the guys either. Hell I don't give a shit about you and you're in my face because of my own decisions." He chuckled again before leaving it at that.
Brock's face was just full of hurt. He couldn't believe it.
"I don't believe you. I can't. I can't believe the Ash that we all know is so selfish now. That so many people care about him yet he does not do the same for himself much less others. I honestly think you are just hiding from everything."
Brock all of a sudden got a determined look to plaster on his face.
"I think that after all these years, you still haven't moved on. You still think about her."
Instantly Ash snapped his head in Brock's direction. He leant forward, just like Brock, and pointed to his former best friend.
"Don't talk about her," he hissed. "She's not part of my life and I'm quite content with that. Do NOT talk about her in front of me."
Anyone else would have been afraid of the way Ash looked and acted. But being the true friend Brock was he just got angrier.
"Oh yeah! If she's not part of your life then why haven't you been with a girl since?"
Ash grew irate. "I've been with many!"
"Prostitutes and hookers Ash!"
Ash looked away whilst Brock's tone softened.
"Misty moved on with her life Ash. Why can't you? Why can't you accept that your relationship failed? I mean if she could why can't you?"
Ash kept looking at the book but spoke, "I'm not the one who did the hurting, remember? It was HER who left ME for HIM! Or have you forgotten that HE was one of my best friends as well!"
For a moment it was quiet as Brock could say nothing to counter for that was indeed what happened.
After the silence was overbearing Ash decided that he was bothered enough.
"You coming here did nothing. It changed nothing. So why don't you just leave and save your breath."
Ash focused on the book and waited till he heard the chair scraping against the floor which was followed by footsteps after some time. When the footsteps reached the door he could hear Brock taking his coat off the rack and opening the door. The room now howled from the wind outside but Ash heard Brock's voice once more. "She might have left you for him, but maybe she wouldn't have if you didn't drive her away Ash. I just hope you get over this eventually. Goodbye man." And with that the door was closed.
Now there was silence. So silent that it could actually hurt one's ear. And once again, Ash was alone.
But this time he didn't like it. He, for the first time in years, hated the silence. Brock had brought up a topic he had buried within him. Now the old feelings that were related to the said topic were rising to the surface and Ash didn't want that. No. He COULDN'T have that. It would drive him crazy. The only way he survives is by not caring. By not remembering what love was. It hurt too much to love.
Ash sighed. 'Guess it's that time.'
Slowly he got up, walked to the door while grabbing his coat and left the room.
1 hr later
He stood in front of it. The house he hadn't seen in years. A house, full of pleasant memories. Memories that he had purposefully blocked out till this point. He didn't want to remember the small house perfect for two. He didn't want to remember the good times he shared with her in there, after she had hurt him so badly.
He scrutinized everything that had changed. The house was painted over in the same terra cotta that he remembered but the garden had since lost its touch. Now it was just grass unlike the different arrangements of flowers he had grown accustomed to. The television room seemed to be part of a bedroom now, which would indicate that part of the living room was gone now.
His eyes kept searching for anything else he may have missed.
Then, he heard it. That sound. The sound he was all too accustomed to. A sound that used to belong to him. The sound of her laughter.
Through the gallery he could see inside the living room and there she was. Misty Waterflower. The source of all his bitterness. The source of all his contempt, the source of all his hate.
All this, and yet, she was the source of the little flicker of love that couldn't be extinguished from his heart. Although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he still loved her and because of this he felt hurt.
Felt hurt at the site before him. There, in the living room, she stood laughing freely whilst playing with HIS hair. Watching as HE ate the food SHE cooked FOR him. It made his blood boil, it made his throat burn and it made his heart ache. She looked so happy. So happy just watching HIM eat.
All Ash could think at that moment was, 'I was a fool. How could I have ever believed she loved me?'
His face was just full of hurt. His eyes showed it the most as he watched her smile. A smile that he once marveled at every day. The smile that she would show to him and only him.
Suddenly, Ash frowned. 'What the hell am I doing!' and with a shake of his head the emotions left. "Damn Brock. Has me wasting time thinking about this," he swore.
He took out his pack of cigarettes, took one out and lit it.
Now his cold demeanor was back so he couldn't help but chuckle at the site inside the house.
'Enjoy yourself buddy. You never know when she's going to get fresh goods.'
He chuckled again while turning on his heel and walking up the street.
At the same time, a cool breeze hit Misty's face. She turned to the gallery just in time to see him leaving. She gasped silently then checked to see if Gary had noticed. When she realized he didn't she walked to the gallery and saw Ash's retreating figure.
'He was here! Why did he come?'
She then whispered the name she said every night before she went to sleep………………………….. "Ash."