It's a Sunday morning in the quaint house in the quaint neighborhood. The television displays the morning cartoons as the smell of breakfast still lingers in the surrounding rooms of the kitchen.

The young boy lies with his stomach on the living room floor, paying no attention to the show that is on. His little sister sits on the couch, watching and laughing along with her favorite show.

"Time to heal you guys," the boy says, referring to the game in his hands. With the pushing of some buttons he maneuvers the character into a red building.

He hums along with the familiar computerized tune, the music engraved into his memory.

"Yes," he says selecting an option.

The pink-haired lady takes his pokémon and he bobs his head along with the short tune that goes along with the process of healing.

"Thank you very much, miss. It's been quite the pleasure," he says with an air of English formality.

"Who are you talking to?" his sister suddenly asks.

His cheeks flare pink and he quickly glances behind him at the girl, embarrassed that he hadn't realized he was actually talking out loud.

"No one."

He clears his throat and his sister smiles before turning her attention back to the television.


As often as I come here it still makes my skin crawl.

It's the nice types that really get to me.

The music just makes it worse.

Her expression is blank as I approach the pink-haired woman. I stand on the other side of the counter and I feel that familiar pressure pulse. As soon as I do her eyes light up and she smiles down at me.

She asks politely if I'd like to heal my pokémon and I stare at her, unresponsive as usual.

I can just see the box above her head, displaying everything she's saying, with another box that contains two options.

One is chosen and she turns around to the machine behind her. The little capsules appear at a steady beat and a cheerful tone announces it's done. She turns back around, the capsules having disappeared, and smiles warmly.

She says her good-byes and welcomes me to come back whenever I need to.

I wish I could look away.

The box disappears.

Her smile is immediately wiped from her face and she stares blankly ahead like all of the others, all evidence that she had just been smiling and talking cheerfully just moments ago are gone.

I turn away and walk to the door.