Hi! Wow, haven't done anything Pokemon for a while, I've only posted a
couple of things...somewhere. Can't remember where. Anywho, I wrote
this at the begining of my senior year when a kid I kinda knew commited
suicide. I was asked in one of my classes what I would say if I had the
chance to talk to him just before he did it, and this is what I came up
with, Pokemon fic style.
The Gun In Your Hands
It was going to be so easy.
I put the gun to my head and rested one finger lightly on the
trigger. Now all I needed to do was pull, and there went my miserable
life.
I suppose afterwards people would wonder why I did it. I guess
they would say things like "oh, but he was such a good boy!" and "there
was nothing wrong here!"
But there was something wrong. Everything was wrong. My parents
had pushed me to be the best at everything, soccer, football, even simple
things like kickball, dodgeball, and fuseball. Most of all, Pokemon. I
had lost friends along the way, I had even grown to hate myself.
At least I was the best, right?
I felt the smooth, cool metal beneath my fingertips, the cold
circle pressed to my temple. After I died, everyone would go to my
funeral. Everyone would cry. Everyone would feel sorry and wish they
had done more, and I would laugh at them because it would be too late.
I added slight pressure to the trigger. Now.
The door burst open and I almost pulled. By some miracle I was
simply frozen in place. Ash was standing there.
Ash and I had been friends for years...at least when we were
younger. We had played together and had sleep overs, defending our
hometown from evil doers with sticks in hand and his mom's cooking pots
on our heads. Until he fell by the wayside in my effort to beat
everyone.
Now he stood there, framed by the doorway, and stared at me.
It didn't last long, he stepped into the room, amazingly calm,
and took the gun from my nerveless fingers. He stood there, looking at
me where I crouched on the ground. When I think about it now I suppose I
could have jumped him and taken the gun back, but I just sat in the same
position while he held the machine of death in his hands.
After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke. "I've had a
lot of stupid ideas in my life, Gary. But all of them combined aren't
nearly as stupid as this."
I wanted to laugh my head off, but I didn't. "So what? You
don't understand."
"I understand," he replied, almost inaudible. "But this is the
most selfish thing you could ever do. Did you even think about the
people you'd leave behind, Gary? Did you ever think what this would do
to your parents, your sister, your grandpa, to me?"
"Yeah, I did. Give me the gun," I said in a voice that was dead,
even to me.
"No," he held it above his head. He knew I was taller than him.
He knew I could get to it if I stood up. "I won't. You didn't think of
us, Gary. You thought you did, but you didn't.
"Think about it, Gary. Do you really want to cause people you
love, people you care about to live with regret, with pain, with sorrow,
for the rest of their lives? What about the life you're not going to
live if I give this gun back too you?"
I glared at him. "It would be a pretty miserable one."
"Will it be?" he stepped back when I stood up. "Will it be
miserable? Does it have to be? Talk to your parents, talk to your
family and friends. They're always their for you."
"I don't have any friends, and my family doesn't even care," I
could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks now. I thought about
wiping them away, but the action was never sent to my hands.
"Then why do I care enough to take the gun out of your hands?" he
asked softly. "Your family does care about you. Just talk to them.
Suicide is not the answer. It's never the answer."
"You'd take the gun out of the hands of your worst enemy, it
doesn't mean anything to me," I was choking on bitter tears. I was
amazed he could hear me.
He looked like he was trying to smile, but he was crying now,
too. "I guess that's true. But your definately not my worst enemy,
Gary. You're my friend. Remember that."
He walked out of my room, and I noticed he left the gun in the
hallway.
I made no move to get it. Ash had taken the gun out of my hands.
-For Jacob, I can only wish someone would have taken the gun from
your hands
Well, hope that didn't depress anybody too badly. Read and review, it
lets me know that you love me.
couple of things...somewhere. Can't remember where. Anywho, I wrote
this at the begining of my senior year when a kid I kinda knew commited
suicide. I was asked in one of my classes what I would say if I had the
chance to talk to him just before he did it, and this is what I came up
with, Pokemon fic style.
The Gun In Your Hands
It was going to be so easy.
I put the gun to my head and rested one finger lightly on the
trigger. Now all I needed to do was pull, and there went my miserable
life.
I suppose afterwards people would wonder why I did it. I guess
they would say things like "oh, but he was such a good boy!" and "there
was nothing wrong here!"
But there was something wrong. Everything was wrong. My parents
had pushed me to be the best at everything, soccer, football, even simple
things like kickball, dodgeball, and fuseball. Most of all, Pokemon. I
had lost friends along the way, I had even grown to hate myself.
At least I was the best, right?
I felt the smooth, cool metal beneath my fingertips, the cold
circle pressed to my temple. After I died, everyone would go to my
funeral. Everyone would cry. Everyone would feel sorry and wish they
had done more, and I would laugh at them because it would be too late.
I added slight pressure to the trigger. Now.
The door burst open and I almost pulled. By some miracle I was
simply frozen in place. Ash was standing there.
Ash and I had been friends for years...at least when we were
younger. We had played together and had sleep overs, defending our
hometown from evil doers with sticks in hand and his mom's cooking pots
on our heads. Until he fell by the wayside in my effort to beat
everyone.
Now he stood there, framed by the doorway, and stared at me.
It didn't last long, he stepped into the room, amazingly calm,
and took the gun from my nerveless fingers. He stood there, looking at
me where I crouched on the ground. When I think about it now I suppose I
could have jumped him and taken the gun back, but I just sat in the same
position while he held the machine of death in his hands.
After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke. "I've had a
lot of stupid ideas in my life, Gary. But all of them combined aren't
nearly as stupid as this."
I wanted to laugh my head off, but I didn't. "So what? You
don't understand."
"I understand," he replied, almost inaudible. "But this is the
most selfish thing you could ever do. Did you even think about the
people you'd leave behind, Gary? Did you ever think what this would do
to your parents, your sister, your grandpa, to me?"
"Yeah, I did. Give me the gun," I said in a voice that was dead,
even to me.
"No," he held it above his head. He knew I was taller than him.
He knew I could get to it if I stood up. "I won't. You didn't think of
us, Gary. You thought you did, but you didn't.
"Think about it, Gary. Do you really want to cause people you
love, people you care about to live with regret, with pain, with sorrow,
for the rest of their lives? What about the life you're not going to
live if I give this gun back too you?"
I glared at him. "It would be a pretty miserable one."
"Will it be?" he stepped back when I stood up. "Will it be
miserable? Does it have to be? Talk to your parents, talk to your
family and friends. They're always their for you."
"I don't have any friends, and my family doesn't even care," I
could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks now. I thought about
wiping them away, but the action was never sent to my hands.
"Then why do I care enough to take the gun out of your hands?" he
asked softly. "Your family does care about you. Just talk to them.
Suicide is not the answer. It's never the answer."
"You'd take the gun out of the hands of your worst enemy, it
doesn't mean anything to me," I was choking on bitter tears. I was
amazed he could hear me.
He looked like he was trying to smile, but he was crying now,
too. "I guess that's true. But your definately not my worst enemy,
Gary. You're my friend. Remember that."
He walked out of my room, and I noticed he left the gun in the
hallway.
I made no move to get it. Ash had taken the gun out of my hands.
-For Jacob, I can only wish someone would have taken the gun from
your hands
Well, hope that didn't depress anybody too badly. Read and review, it
lets me know that you love me.