world - manga
notes - I didn't intend to finish this soon because I couldn't get a steady plot out. But I finally decided to get my ass into gear and churn out something presentable and dedicate this to a friend.
Deciduous Disposition
Yellow saw him once a year.
Mirages of him, Chuchu corrected her stiffly.
She smiled weakly in response, before continuing to fish for dreams in the calm waters.
Of the seven years she did not see his face, six were spent thinking that she'd witnessed an illusion cultured by the inherent magic of the Viridian forest.
In the spring of the first year, she found habit in sleeping soundly under the shade of her favourite oak tree. It was a tall, sturdy being that outlined the sole stream which snaked through the maze of the countryside. And at one point, during a peculiarly drowsy afternoon, when she was asleep with upon a bed of grass, she felt unsure fingers brush her forehead and swim carefully through her hair.
When she woke up hours after the imaginary sensation first left her skin, there was a rose cradled in her lap. Its pale red petals did not smell like they belonged to the Viridian forest, it was too strong and too striking. It was a denizen of a different land, place and time all together.
The rose remained un-wilting for a month in its crystal vase.
It was then, did she realise that it was a fake flower.
During the next winter, she did not know what cosmic forces tugged which strings of fate, but Red had invited her for a walk along the frozen landscape of the forest. Yellow could not complain as they walked together through the snowy pathways. She stayed next to her childhood hero, warmed from an embarrassed heat that emitted itself from her own body. While her companion shivered briefly every now and again, she felt hot underneath her scarf and coat. Her hat remained diligently on her head, even through the chilly season, as did Red's own cap.
They emerged from the army of naked trees to the company of the frozen stream, gleaming under the clouded sun. Yellow observed the layer of ice encasing the water below, halting its flow and reminding her strangely of when she was not allowed to be a girl.
"D-Do you want to go back to town and warm up?" Red suggested, teeth chattering.
At any other time, she would have agreed in a heartbeat, perhaps accidentally bite her tongue in her rush to answer him. But that morning, she hesitated because of an apparent urge to remain by the stream and in its frozen state. The girl brushed snow off a particular rock and sat down, she began to dig up memories from unhappy times that she did not mind remembering.
"I think I'll stay here for awhile longer," she answered meekly.
"Oh – all right, I'll stay too," Red told her after a short pause, smiling as he crouched next to her.
They left after another hour, a boy suffering from a little cold and a girl satisfied with what she had seen.
The third summer made its descent, and Yellow spent the day on a picnic mat with Blue.
They sipped instant tea and nibbled at plain cakes and sugar biscuits under the shade of the grand oak, talking through the hours of the day. Blue was the one who chattered mainly, but Yellow could boast having started three conversation topics that day – which really was a feat, considering how infamously difficult it was to receive Blue's undivided attention.
When the older female took out a compact mirror to check for any signs of incoming sunburn, Yellow unexpectedly spotted a pair of dark boots from the corner of the mirror's reflection. The feet of a cloak touched the stranger's ankles – Blue was too occupied with her facial condition to notice.
But when Yellow spun around, there was no one. The wind surged forth to caress her cheeks, and slam her ponytail into Blue's unguarded face.
"Dear Lance,
How are you?
Yellow."
Her curiosity – all the raw questions she had accumulated for him, were accurately compressed into that one sentence of her letter. She sealed it into a glass bottle and watched as it bobbed on the surface of the summer stream. The message travelled under the escort of the water flow, determined and proud as it reflected the sun off its unbreakable body. She observed it dotingly, leaning her head as her eyes followed the bottle's gradual trail. Yellow somehow knew that the letter would never reach Lance, but the whispers of the leaves and the knowledge of the stream compelled her to try the charm, just to test destiny.
She told herself that it did not matter if Lance would never read her words; it was sufficient enough that she worked up the courage to pen the letter. However, an instinctive tingle in her bones, a sensation imbued in her since her earliest days lying in the company of the forest, caused her to trust nature's reliability.
Suddenly, a gust of wind barrelled across the stretch of the stream, lifting up piles of dirt and leaves, and knocking Yellow's hat off its usual perch. The gale sent Chuchu rolling and tumbling along the grass in mousy squeaks.
In the next moment, the only sound the blonde heard against the roar of the wind was that of glass shattering and something fragile breaking into pieces. Once she opened her eyes, there was only the furious flapping of what made her think of leather. When she craned her neck and the sun stinged her sight, she could only make out a dark avian circling too high overhead. It was a momentary performance, because no later did the intruder speed off into the skies.
Chuchu hurriedly curled into her palm, telling her assuredly that it was a wild, ill-mannered Pidgeot , bidding her not to be sad or distraught or some other complicated human emotion. The pair of massive wings they had witnessed had been much too huge to be anything else. Yellow gave a small nod, namesake eyes pensive as the strange shadow shrank in the canvas of the horizon.
"… but what about an aerodactyl?"
In the audience of the autumn, on a particular evening, she met Green outside his gym just as he was locking up for the day. She smiled and approached him with swift feet, just to say a quick hello and perhaps chat for the length of four streets. The older boy quirked an eyebrow when he noticed her nearing him as he stored his keys into the pocket of his jacket. After a mutually reserved greeting, the two wordlessly walked through town.
"You came from the forest?" Green asked casually.
"Yes, how did you know?" Yellow tilted her head to the side in wonder.
"I see you walk by the gym every morning," the leader answered plainly. Yellow, on the other hand, seemed to jolt at his reveal, she knew the male well enough to understand that at this point, he could read all her actions like a child's rhyme. She reeled inwardly, chewing her lip and feeling her cheeks heat.
"You're waiting for someone who's been declared missing for the past five years," he informed her pointedly when she made no effort to reply.
The girl nodded her head and gave an affirmative 'mmhm', tacking her eyes to the pavement.
"– Who tried to wipe out the human race the last time we met him," Green added indifferently.
"But Lance did it for all the pokémon," Yellow found herself answering the intimidating male with a relatively steady voice. "Just that… he went the wrong way about it, doesn't everyone think so?" she continued, striving not to let her voice falter. She had no tangible reason why she was defending the dragon master, and she couldn't trouble herself to search for the answer, not now.
The gym leader did not hesitate to offer her a look of incredulity, with a stony gaze and rigid frown that made her feel like she was eleven and training with him in the desert again. "Not everyone is like you, Yellow," he replied coolly as they turned a corner.
"But choose to believe what you want to, I suppose," Green breathed out in his calmest fashion. When she heard his statement, Yellow could feel the stress that bound her heart loosen just enough for her to give him a genuinely grateful smile. Talking about Lance for the first time in years, even if it was to someone as tactless as Green, brought the man to life in her head – and she could imagine him exploring these vast streets as a boy, with his dratini at his heels.
It was then that she took in her surroundings, realizing that Green had walked her to her doorstep. The gym leader regarded her with the same stoic, judging expression. She squirmed under his gaze, unsure whether to say 'goodbye' or 'thank you' first.
"I haven't stopped assuming that he's alive, somewhere." Green sighed distractedly, a hand running through his hair as he turned around to stroll back to the main street. Yellow blinked, before realizing that the male had just, perhaps, comforted her in his own unique way.
"T-thank you!"
Lost.
The word was messily scrawled; strokes detached and almost unreadable – Yellow stared at the markings for a few minutes before she could decipher them. The indents made in the stone were light and almost ignorable. The moss that blanketed the rock under the damp conditions of early summer made it all the harder to discern the carvings. Yellow would not have noticed its presence, if not for the fact that the word had been carved into the comfy sitting rock that accompanied her usual fishing spot.
She traced her fingers as Ratty sniffed the rock, gnawing absently at its surface with his set of teeth. He pulled at Yellow's sleeve with one teensy claw, snuggling up to her chest and telling her that he'd been making bite marks in the rock since they first started spending their days under the oak tree – and that he was the one that damaged her coveted seat.
Yellow opened her mouth in surprise. When she turned back to the rock, the word had disappeared. And so had the feeling that someone else had sat on that very rock, fists to his lips, quietly watching the movie of the untainted sunrise.
In the last year there was no illusion, no eye-tricks, and no emotional sport of the forest. Yellow knew she had glimpsed someone standing on the unexplored side of the stream – cape gracing squared shoulders and eyes striking against the colour of grass. Lips tugged back into an arrogant smirk, and crimson hair slicked back. She saw him between heavy-lidded eyes, suspended between wonderland and reality, a handsome blur than smelled of exotic forests and fresh flower fields.
Hands that scoured gargantuan mountains and mapped ivy vines were nearly feather-light on her arm – every tiny, cautious touch leaving dots that warmed her wind-cold skin. She felt a slight pressure upon her forehead, just like that virgin spring – except, perhaps, those weren't fingertips leaving their mark. And as soon as the touch fled, she fell back into the cushion of her dreams.
When she awoke, she found herself alone apart from the ordinary trickling of the stream.
A breathing rose rolled in her lap.
In her bedroom, there was a crystal vase that contained two different flowers.