A/N: This story has been discontinued and is being rewritten right now. There is no point in following this story, but I will leave it for sentimental sake. If you would like to read it, go ahead.
James sat uncomfortably in his seat as he listened to each of his piano teacher's pupils play their various songs that they had prepared for this exact moment, to play in front of the crowd of eighty-eight people, ranging from parents to talent scouts. Every song that began and finished brought them closer and closer to what their teacher described as the grand finale: James' performance. Over the last two months, he had prepared his own song that stood apart from everyone else's in the fact that his was an original. Despite his teacher's constant praise about how it was "simply amazing" or "a work of genius" he had his doubts. True, he had always been brilliant when it came to music, he had only had eight weeks to prepare it, and that proved challenging even for him. Nevertheless, there wasn't any escape from playing it in front of what seemed like millions of people as he trudged up to the stage regretfully. As he approached the piano, he heard his mentor begin his introduction.
"Hello, and thank you for coming to our show. But before you go, I have one final student who has been able to blow me away with the impossible progress he has made, only having eight lessons and nearly surpassing my ability to teach him. Just like all my other students, he will be playing a song that he has prepared, but unlike any of my other students, he will not be copying the work of another composer. This song is his own composition that he has written himself. I would tell you the title, but I think that honor should be given only to the creator of the piece himself."
James stared at his teacher astonished at what he was requesting him to do. He stood up from the piano bench unsteadily and walked over to the source of his impossible amounts of fear and dread. He grabbed the microphone with shaky hands and brought it slowly to his mouth. "Um h-hello, I'm James B-Brown and I w-wrote this song. I c-called it…" What was the name again? Great, he had forgotten the title of his own song and was now broadcasting that fact in front of an endless sea of people. He stared at each and every face hoping in vain that one of them would have it painted on them as each and every pair of eyes stared back with what seemed to be filled with judgment and scorn. His fear began to swell up more and more like a balloon threatening to burst at any moment. His vision became dotted as he swayed back and forth. He fell forward as darkness surrounded him and shut him away from the horrific stares of the monstrous people.
He slowly began to hear the quiet murmurs of people ranging from worry to blatant fear. His eyes fluttered open and he caught a glance at the people surrounding him. Adelaine, his mother, was knelt beside him with worry clearly expressed on her face. She was the first to speak. "Oh my God, James, are you alright? What happened? Were you scared? Do you-"
"Stop!" James said, trying to process the information that his mother was shooting at him. "I'm fine, I just got a little nervous, that's all." He said, sitting up slowly. "Let's just get this over with so we can all go home and get some sleep." He staggered towards the bench and rested his hands on the keys.
As everyone sat down, his fingers began to dance off the keys leaving an echo of different tones and melodies as each hand traded off on their pseudo arguments, reminding him of the name of his song. "Division," He muttered under his breath as the last strands of his song resounded through the room. The applause roared through the chamber as he stood and bowed, his nerves slowly began to return after being in front of so many people. He ran-walked off stage before anything bad could happen again to find his mother and two siblings talking to a well dressed man that he didn't recognize.
"Hey James, great song! This man is from the Berklee College of Music, and he wants to talk to you," his mother beamed. James turned nervously the man and stuck out his shaky hand.
"Hi, my name's James," he muttered unsteadily.
"So I've heard, and you have no need to be nervous, I just have a few questions regarding your experience in music. Now, I've heard piano isn't the only instrument that you can play," He requested.
"Well, I mean, I can play a few," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
"And by a few, he means six," his brother, Peter, "translated"."And those six other instruments include bass, guitar, ocarina, violin, saxophone, and harp, accompanied by perfect pitch, and a beautiful singing voice."
"That's enough!" his mother interrupted. "This is his interview, not yours."
"Oh that's quite alright ma'am, they just wanted to help. James, would you mind coming over here?" The man requested.
"Um, sure." He replied. They walked over to the first two seats and sat down.
"By the way, my name's John." John said.
"H-hi J-John." James stuttered while trying to avoid eye contact by looking down at the floor.
"James, please, there's no reason to be nervous, I just want to know a few things about you," John said warmly, a smile adorning his face with the sincere goal of calming his nerves.
"Alright." James returned with a weak smile. Seeing that he had calmed down a little, John started with his questions. After five minutes John was finished with all his questions and left very impressed. Though none of his questions had "right answers," James had certainly come close to it. They walked back to James's anxious family.
"So, James, how did you do?" His mother beamed.
"Well, I mean, John said I was very gifted." He responded, scratching the back of his neck.
"In fact, I think he is so gifted that he deserves a scholarship." John said with a smile, catching James and the rest of his family of guard.
"What? But I'm only thirteen!" James blurted out.
"Precisely my point, you see, your skill would be incredible for a man who had studied piano and music theory all their lives, but, it should be impossible for you, though in a way you have done the former." James just stood there paralyzed until his brother began to prod him.
"Hey, James, you alright," he asked, "James?" James responded to his brother by removing the surprised expression from his face to replace it with a smile and an outstretched hand.
"It was nice meeting you John," he said happily. He shook John's hand and walked out normally.
"James, wait!" His brother said running after him and out the doors. He was met by the chilling wind of the fleeting winter and looked around to see James waiting by his car.
"Hey Peter, come on, what's taken yah'?" James shouted. Peter just shook his head. He always did stuff like this if he got overwhelmed or was extremely angry, he would just act like nothing happened, cause hey, it was better than facing your problems. Peter just walked over to the car, pulling out his keys and unlocking it. James hopped into the passenger seat of the red convertible and put his seat-belt on. Peter didn't even bother asking if James wanted the top down. He stuck the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot.
"So James, you did pretty well tonight." Peter complimented.
"Thanks." James said.
"No problem, in fact, I think you deserve a prize." He said, reaching into the center console.
"Oh no, please, it's-" But before he could finish, Peter was handing him a Pokémon booster pack. Seeing this, James tried to hide a blush.
"Uh, thanks, but, don't you think I'm too old for that?" James said while taking the cards from Peter's hand.
"Nah, I mean, there are trainers twice your age. And after I saw that card collection under your b-"
"You touched my cards?!" He yelled, "I mean, I, those were just my old cards from fifth grade, I just never got to throwing them out." If there were any doubts that he was blushing, they had been erased by now.
"Sure." Peter retorted. They rode in silence until a small tidbit of information sprinkled into his head.
"Wait, I don't keep my cards under my bed." James realized. Peter just smiled in triumph.
James stumbled into his room, shut the door behind him, and booted up his computer. He typed in his password and opened up his internet browser. He checked his email and got mainly Youtube messages and spam. On Youtube he would mainly upload videos of his music or tutorials on how to play popular songs on various instruments. He loved doing it because he could get feedback on his music or help other people out with the only thing to connect him to his internet persona was his hands and sometimes his voice, therefore not running the risk of being recognized in public. The main things he got were either some thanks or explanations on how it was awesome, rarely getting tips on how to improve it.
He shut down his computer and headed to his bathroom. On his way out, he examined his normal figure. He wasn't scrawny, nor was he chubby, or muscular. He was perfectly average, just like he liked it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt for a moment like he needed to treasure the sight, as if he would never see it again.
As he looked at himself, he began to feel sick, like he was about to vomit. He began to feel something crawl up his throat. He quickly ran back to the toilet and began to release the disgusting substance from his mouth. It kept on flowing and flowing until his stomach felt empty. He was left sweaty, strained, and unbelievably hungry, and would have gotten up and grabbed something to eat if he could stand, but all he could do was kneel there and stare at the remains of his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He was finally able to lift his head and stare at the door, to see a man standing there. James had never seen him before, but he seemed to put on an air of familiarity, like whenever you see your friend in a costume. James scrunched up his face in confusion and fear.
"Who are you?" He strained. As if his stomach was trying to answer his question, he began to vomit again, but this time, his stomach bile was accompanied by a dark red substance. By the time he was done, he felt practically dead. He collapsed and barely stayed conscious. As his eyes became heavy, he began to feel like he was being pushed into the shape of something else, his clothes slowly swallowing him up. As this happened, he began to feel his ears move to the top of his head and push to a point. He felt his legs push back into his body until there was nothing but his feet left, which slowly pushed out into oval-like paws. His cheeks began to push out and cover with pink fur. He began to feel like flaming needles were pushing themselves out from all over his skin and a huge rod was pushing itself from the end of his tailbone. He felt it push and bend slightly half-way through. Finally, his nose began to push forward into a slight muzzle.
He coughed up the last bit of excess blood and the man began to step forward. He bent down and fished the newly-formed pichu out of his now ridiculously huge clothes and held James in his arms. James looked up with a pained, tired, and confused look.
"Shh, it's okay, go to sleep, you've been through a lot." He whispered in an almost familiar voice as he rocked James back and forth. As his eyes fluttered shut, the mysterious man began to wash of some of the leftover blood and bile, dried him off, and softly set him on the counter. "And you have so much more to go through," he sighed, soon dissolving into the air.