The boy, now a young man, returned home onboard a cargo ship that took him to Pastoria, where he walked the rest of the way to the city bathed in sunlight.

Except, on the evening which he arrived, the sun had long set. The bruised clouds foretold a dark and stormy future.

Nonetheless, the journey paled in importance to the destination. What mattered was the sole reason I returned to this forsaken place: to make good on my promise with Grandfather.

As I walked the paved roads, I felt like a stranger in my hometown. There were condominiums where the old sandlot was. Broadcasting towers, giant LED screens, gas stations where there used to be nothing.

In many ways, Sunyshore had grown up. While I felt a pang of nostalgia, I was optimistic that the city had lost that creepy robot kid to the margins of history.

Vacuous sentimentality aside, I relied on my mental map and hurried to the old yellow house. My visceral organs sensed it first: that something was untoward. But excitement blinded intuition, and I let my hopes run wild with our promise of reunion.

So when the door opened and an unfamiliar face greeted me, I was speechless. The stranger asked if I was lost. I asked if Grandfather was having guests over.

I was told that this property was purchased two years ago. Perhaps I had the wrong address.

I insisted otherwise. This was Grandfather's house. He lived here with my late grandmother. He promised that he would wait for me at home.

All I received from the stranger was the warning that the police might have to be called if I didn't vacant the premise. This was private property, after all.

Okay… this was unprecedented. Did Grandfather move without telling me? But why would he, if he promised to stay?

Fueled by questions, I probed around for Grandfather's whereabouts. I recognized no faces. It's like Sunyshore had a boom in population after I left. No one had answers, and no one wanted to prolong the conversation with someone shabbily-dressed like me.

I was lost. Then a last-minute idea struck me, and I ran to the library, where to my immense relief, the old librarian from my childhood days was still there. I asked for my grandfather. I was given a very solemn expression and a quiet gesture towards the newspaper stand.

Okay… so… perhaps Grandfather made the headlines? I doubted it, but you never know what's considered sensationalism nowadays.

Alas, I found him! His name. The blurb about him detailed his hometown, his marriage with Grandmother, his honorable discharge from the military…

Suddenly, a chill tapped my heart. I had reached the end of the blurb—only four sentences—yet I was left with a deep unease. I read it again, this time seeing words that were not there before.

Two years ago. My grandfather had passed away from a heart attack. He made it to a plot in the obituary which I now held in my trembling hands.

I tore the damn paper into shreds. Grandfather couldn't die! He was invincible! He fought in the last Great War! Didn't the fucking press have anything better to do with their meaningless lives?!

I then tore a path to the hospital, where I demanded to see my grandfather. Security had to be called to kick me off the premises. Apparently I was a fucking "threat" to the sanctity of the institution.

Fine! If no one wanted to help me, then I'd do it myself! I just have to think rationally. If I was Grandfather, where would I be right now? At home. By the fireplace, polishing my mementos. Waiting for my grandson to return, like he promised.

So I made my way back to Grandfather's house while the first drops of rain began to fall. With a start, I realized that it wasn't the same place from my memories. The sunny paint had been washed over, the fencing rebuilt, the wooden mailbox replaced by a standard metal deposit which bore the new family's name.

No… No, this couldn't be…

I fumbled for the diploma in my pocket. I invested years and coughed out my hard-earned savings for this flashy piece of paper. And for what? For someone to validate my efforts. For Grandfather to embrace me, for him to say, "I'm so proud of you."

My feet moved on their own. When I glanced up, I saw the familiar austere profile of my house. The lights were on. My parents were home.

Children always returned to the nest.

The diploma gripped tightly in my hands, I took a tentative step into the gate. Another one into the yard. One more for the porch. The last one to the door.

I've lived here all my fucking life. So why was I so… scared?

Before my brain could process anything, I had already rapped on the door. The chatter stopped. My stomach plummeted. Would they even recognize me? Would they even want me?

My mother answered the door. Time stood still when our gazes met. Her grey hairs have been masked by dye, and her face remained sharp. Ready for anything… except her son.

I managed a polite smile as I presented my diploma. "I-I'm home. I-I have a PhD now…"

Father then came to the door. I felt like throwing up. An eternity passed with them flickering their gazes between me and the piece of paper that's worth more than anything I own.

Finally, Mother fixed her cold, steely eyes on me. In an equally dispassionate voice stripped of any familiarity, she said:

"You've lost the right to call me Mother years ago. Leave."

And she slammed the door in my face.

For an agonizing eternity, I remained motionless in my spot, staring at my warbling shadow. Then the panic settled in. The crippling, overwhelming fear of being abandoned.

"Mother!" I screamed. "Father!"

The knob was locked. Regardless, I kept pounding until I got the results I wanted… neverminding the pain spearing up my wrists, neverminding how my throat bled from overuse.

"I'm sorry!" I cried. "Mother, Father, please let me come back! I promise I won't betray you again! I promise I'll make you proud!"

Then a harsh white light trapped me in place. I watched, mortified, as a uniformed officer approached, a flashlight aimed at my face.

"There was a report of an attempted break-in on this property."

"But I live here!" I shrieked. "My mother and father are in there!"

The office glared at my patched-up coat. "Step away from the door, sir. Hands in the air."

And the next thing I knew, my wrists were bound in metal. I was led to the precinct while still in a daze. They threw me into a windowless room to question why I was trespassing on private property.

In all honesty, I was terrified out of my mind. This was my first time in an interrogation room. Handcuffed, having armed, uniformed adults glare me down. Yet I insisted, with whatever was left of my courage, that I lived there with my parents.

They didn't believe me. They told me that the district prosecutor and her husband had no children. It was my turn to stare at them incredulously. What kind of fucking lie was that?

Then their attitudes changed when an office returned with my file. The suspicion in their facades dissolved into… pity. Apologizing, they removed my handcuffs and even gave me a box of juice while I demanded to know what the hell was going on.

They showed me my file. Nothing out of place… except for my family information. There was only one name listed: my grandfather. Listed as deceased. Other than him, there was no mention of Mother and Father… as if we're not even related.

From the authorities' perspectives, I was still in shock over my grandfather's passing. Since he was my only relative, I latched onto whoever could substitute for my parental figures—the case being the renowned district prosecutor's family.

While I struggled to comprehend everything, the officers gave me warm milk and a jacket that would fit me. Since I was still underage, I would qualify to be taken under guardianship by the state.

A sympathetic officer walked me outside. Thunder and lightning littered the blackened distance. It was pouring now. The rain came down so hard that it frothed on the ground.

I was told to wait here until they got someone from the courts. After the officer left, I sprinted into the storm. I ran and tripped and ran without a contempt for the consequences.

Eventually, I reached the beach. The sands had flooded; debris was strewn haphazardly across the shoreline. Heart hammering in my chest, I scrambled to the surf and called out for Grandfather.

And! A miracle happened! I saw him! Waving back at me from the darkness! Nourished by joy, I kicked aside my shoes and dove into the treacherous currents.

"Grandfather!" I cried. "You're alive! I knew you weren't dead!"

But Grandfather seemed to get farther away as I swam closer. His mouth was open, yet no sound came out.

Wait. Where was his face?

In my horror, I lost my footing and was pulled under by the tides. As I flailed, I swallowed enough saltwater to distend my stomach. The ocean was too powerful. I was too weak.

Then something yanked my collar. When I next regained awareness, I saw that Magikarp. The Zubat and Murkrow. They had dragged me back to the sand.

"Hello," I croaked. "It's been a while. How are you? You haven't c-changed a-a-a…"

And like my voice, I fell apart. These bloody emotions surged out and kept spilling like a broken faucet. My grief manifested as extreme nausea which was expelled as vomit.

Grandfather was dead. Mother and Father had cast me aside.

While I wept, my stomach churned. I hadn't eaten anything because Grandfather promised to make me soup when I get back. I was truly looking forward to that.

The gales blew in from the sea, chilling me to the bone. I wanted food. I wanted a roof over my head.

No, I could survive without that. What I needed was my family. My home.

I was exhausted, my soul and body stripped bare. I wished to close my eyes. Drift away from the present. Hopefully I'd see Grandfather in my dreams.

While my mind detached, the Zubat propped my jaws open with its wings. Leaning over my mouth, it heaved… and regurgitated a waterfall of blood.

That shit was the vilest crap I've ever eaten, and that's saying something. Hell, in that one moment I swallowed more blood than a human would in their lifetimes.

"What the hell?" I bellowed. "Are you trying to fucking kill me? I'll—"

Then I froze. No, it was only trying to keep me from starving to death. The truth dawned on me as lightning plunged the world in white:

These Pokemon wanted me around.

So I embraced them. Their heartbeats quavered in my skull. But they're so warm. So real.

All right. I had decided. Zubat, I'd stay around to be your primary food source. Murkrow, I'd stay around to humor you. Magikarp, I'd stay around to protect you until you can fend for yourself.

Revitalized by my burning convictions, I rose to my feet. Wiped away the red rain. I was a leader now. I owed it to my Pokemon to live.

And on that fateful night, I left my hometown.

As I've learned the hard way, the only thing I knew about the future was uncertainty. Little journal, our time together has come to an end. If I brought you along, something might happen to you.

Me, I will die somewhere along the line. But at least my memories will be safe.

Little journal, thank you for keeping me company throughout the years. You didn't abandon me. If my death wish hasn't been fulfilled, I will come back to visit.

For now, I put you to rest in my special place. Then I'll be stowing away on the next ship out of Sunyshore with my Pokemon. Farewell, old friend. Here's to our promise of reunion.

-Cyrus