Everyone plays a melody or melodies, knowingly or not. Some go well together, some constantly reject the other. Its even worse when you play multiple melodies, hoping that they will somehow resonate with one another. I'm trying that and it ain't working. Far from it in fact. Those clashing melodies in my head, separate they sound decent, together they're a mess.
Little bit by little bit, they make me lose myself, clawing at my sanity every day, every moment, every second of my life, shredding it to pieces bit by bit. But maybe, if I lose myself completely, will anyone care enough to come close to me anymore? I hope not. They better not. I'm a danger magnet. Anyone who comes close to me gets hurt. So everyone, please stay away from me. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore, because when I do, I'm hurting myself even more. Its almost as if everyone uses Mirror Coat and directs the attack right back at me, double the power, double the intensity, double the guilt.
He curls up on his bed, not moving, not thinking, not smiling, simply frowning. Even his best friend Pikachu can't get him out of his state. His friends are all worried. Its not like him to be like this for even a day, let alone for a fortnight. Then again, he has had it hard lately. How else would anyone expect him to feel?
For someone merely 16 years old, he had accomplished quite a lot. At the same time, he had gone through quite a lot. How many 16 year old boys would have died and be revived? How many 16 year old boys would have multiple near death experiences? How many 16 year old boys would have met every single legendary Pokemon in each region he visits, including the god of all Pokemon itself? How many 16 year old boys would meet the champion of every single region he visits and know them personally? How many 16 year old boys would take down multiple criminal organisations, at an estimate of at least one per region?
How many 16 year olds would have to acknowledge the fact that one of his friends has died a cruel death?
How many 16 year old boys would have to watch their mother, their only family left, die in front of their eyes as he was apprehended, held back and hapless to do anything to help her?
Oh the pain of having that pressure that he could have done something instead of just watching his mother die. Nothing could quell the guilt of that.
He has no family left, since his father died when he was 3. Watching Latios die at the age of 10 doesn't exactly help his current state either.
How many people close to him have died? How many people had he been forced to watch to die? How many people who died could he have saved? So many regrets, so many close calls. He almost lost his starter, his best friend, Pikachu, to death as well! Only because Xerneas was around and saved him did Pikachu survive!
His latest Kalos League loss isn't helping either. For once, he was so close to achieving the title of League Champion, yet he fell just short, by one attack. All his previous league losses all piled up on him at once, instead of just one that he could simply brush off. Old rivals, old travelling companions, they all bring back the memories from past league losses, past undeservingly failed battles, past undeservingly won battles, past…
All the losses, all the deaths, all the memories…
All piled up together?
Guilty…
I'm guilty of not helping when able to, not saving people's lives when able to. I'm useless. I'm just hopelessly useless. An idiot who can't do a single thing right. Someone who never bothers to visit his friends, a terrible friend. Someone who rarely visits home, a terrible son. Someone who can't win a single league, a terrible trainer. Completely, utterly and hopelessly pathetic.
A terrible person altogether.
He's just a short distance from snapping.
Ash smiles a smile, another one, keeping it carefully plastered on his face, hiding the turmoil within.
Its a fake one. They know, they'll see through my facade, they'll stop your plans. They know the scars you hide, they know the plans you've made, they know the letters you've carved, they know the words you've written. They. Know. You. Are. Suicidal.
Everyone smiles back, fake ones too. They know how hard it must be for Ash. First his childhood friend and crush, Serena, lost her life in a tragic airplane crash, then his mother was brutally murdered in front of his eyes. They could only imagine what was going through his head.
Smile all you want~ Fake that smile, plaster it on your face. You could be a master at this and they'd still see through your facade. They're your friends after all. Why aren't you telling them? You little scaredy Meowth~ No better than Team Rocket you are.
His smile falters but he fixes it back up and no one but his all seeing, all knowing self proclaimed little sister Bonnie notices, although she says nothing. What could she ask? What's wrong? They all know what's wrong and for once, they can't help.
He sits down by the table and stares blankly at the pancakes made by Clemont in front of him. A fork in his hand gently prods one of the pancakes absentmindedly, a blank look on his face. Iris did not like that. As much as Ash used to be an irritating little kid, that blank look simply does not suit him at all. It was scary, almost as if he was going to turn the fork and stab himself in his heart, only he would never do that, ever.
Cilan looks on in worry. Iris's face had started darkening, that familiar gradual descent into anger already taking place inside of her. On the other hand, Ash's expression was empty, blank, lifeless. That look that seemed to be a descent into… Madness? Insanity? Sadness? Depression? For once in his connoisseur career, he had no idea what such an expression could mean.
Dawn had taken to alternating between fretting over Ash, taking deep breaths to calm herself and repeating her mantra of "Nothing to worry about!" over and over again. This was one of the times her mantra was a lie. A completely and utterly terrible lie. She sighs. Maybe she should inform her mother that she would be staying in Kanto, Pallet Town, for longer than expected.
May is currently on a long break from contests, intent to be there by Ash's side until her mentor is ready to deal with the troubles of life again. He used to be so happy, so cheerful, even his motto of "Never give up until the very end!" was absolutely concrete proof of that. Yet now, he seems to be slipping, slowly but surely losing himself by drowning himself in sorrows.
Max is staring at his idol, trying to find a logical explanation and reasoning behind why the worst things always happen to the best of people. He came up with no answer. Damn you Arceus. He saved the world multiple times, (heck he even saved you Arceus!) yet all he gets is another two big blows to his psyche. Watching him pick up the shattered remains of himself after nearly dying each time used to be painful enough, but this is a lot worse.
Brock, the Pokémon doctor, is contemplating what went wrong with his friend. It is either the pancakes or his friend that has issues, and as a chef, he personally feels that the pancakes are amazing. Besides, it used to be in Ash's genes to eat food quickly, complimenting the chef no matter how terrible it is, unless absolutely unbearable. He wonders whether Ash can be healed using the same ways he heals Pokémon and almost immediately dismisses such a thought.
Misty wonders whether a good dose of water is what Ash needs. Knock his head with her mallet, drag his sorry butt all the way to Cerulean Gym, and toss him into the swimming pool. That could go four ways. One, he could break out of this stupor, which is highly unlikely. Two, he could get mad with her and do something he might regret. Three, he would remain exactly how he is now. Four, he could stay down there and attempt to drown himself. Misty does not attempt to continue on this train of thought.
Ash stopped attempting to stomach any food and retreated up the stairs, his friends' worried gazes following his back.
Smile a smile you dead boy, you shouldn't be alive. So fake a smile and hopefully live another day, see the sun rise over the hills of Pallet again. Its what makes you happy isn't it? Not that I'd allow you to feel happiness anyway~
Ash flinches at the voice. It had been haunting him since Serena's death. About Serena, he missed her so so much. He isn't as dense as everything thinks he is. He noticed the signs. He was well aware that Misty, May, Dawn, heck even Iris had crushes on him at different points in time. He played the dense act to not break their hearts and did the same for Serena, until he finally realised that he loved her too.
So someone finally understands their feelings, go get her boy! Oh wait, I forgot. She's dead. D-E-A-D. Dead. Never coming back ever again. Same as your mother. D-E-A-D. Tell me dead boy, what is life worth living for anymore?
He doesn't understand. He knows what life is worth living for. It is and always has been to be a Pokémon Master, to travel the regions and learn more about them, to become the very best, that no one ever was. About the voice's nickname for him, why 'dead boy' of all names?
Dead boy because I am your emotions, and I. Am. Dead. If your emotions are dead, therefore you are dead. Now tell me, why did you want to become a Pokémon Master. Wait! You have no need to answer me. I know already don't I? I am a part of you anyway. You wanted to impress your mother. Well dead boy, good luck impressing someone who is dead with your new dead emotions. You could pretend to be a zombie without any effort you know?
He flinches again, knowing exactly how true those words are.
A sudden urge runs through him, bringing him to a corner in his room, one that hides a box, a box that contains a weapon.
He opens the box and takes out the weapon, marvelling at the sharp shiny silver edges of the razor blade. He smiles emptily as he presses the blade against his wrist, drawing some blood as he drags the blade across it. No surprise there, he had been cutting for some time now. He smiles to himself about how the pain makes him feel something, how the pain makes him feel freedom, something he had not felt for a long long time.
He thinks back to the words he had carved on himself. Worthless, weak, coward, dangerous… Then, he smiles. He knows where he belongs, but first, he needs to inform his friends of his newly made decision, not like they would ever approve of it, but they needed to know of it anyway. Actually, how about informing them of it a little too late?
He grabs a piece of paper, thinking hard as he writes down a series of words to his friends, not putting in much effort since firstly, he doesn't write much; secondly, he's eager to do what he needs to do; lastly, Who cares anyway?
He sighs, folding the note and placing it on his lap. As for the blade, he holds it against his wrist, taking a deep breath before pressing down.
Bonnie is worried.
She is the best at reading emotions, especially Ash's when she had been trying to figure any special feelings for… For her.
The feelings that she had read off Ash during breakfast weren't the most settling. It had been one of someone with nothing left to live for, and everyone knows that people with nothing to live for are essentially the most dangerous out any possible person. The carefully masked desperation buried under layers of hurt and blankness that no one else could read scared her.
Desperation for what?
Desperation for death.
She is worrying about the worst case scenarios that include a depressed Ash and a blade.
Her face pales as she remembers the pinkish whitish marks on his wrist.
Maybe those fears are realistic.
The door to his room flies open and he flinches at the loud noise.
Bonnie takes one look at his wrist and screams for Brock.
He blinks a few times, his world blurring and crisscrossing and…
He sees a faint outline of her. Serena.
Then, everything goes black as some people rush into the room, yelling his name.