you do not have to walk on your knees

Nov 14.

The weather is perfect.

I'll be setting out today.

It's fine, we're going to be fine.

Everything will turn out okay.

It's nighttime when you finally go, tip-toeing out of the house with Berry right behind you.

You both take in a deep breath of cool air as you come outside and sigh out clouds. You bend down to tuck Berry under your arm the way he likes and carry him forward that way. He nips playfully at the ends of your scarf, chomping at the clumsy handiwork that runs soft green along its sides.

Step by careful step, you make your way out of town. You keep to the edges of buildings and closer to the trees where the shadows are long and deep. Twinleaf sleeps unaware behind you, all its lights turned off except for a lone street-lamp that flickers the same shade as tonight's hidden moon. That lamp is always shining even when there is nothing inside to light it.

There is a feeling in your chest, a huge yawning emotion that threatens to swallow you up and leave nothing behind. But beyond that there is a package laying snug in your bag under layers of clothing, entrusted to you by soft hands and smile-wrinkled eyes. There is a pokemon warm and trusting in your arms, snoozing while you pick your way carefully through the tall grass and skirt across piles of snow. There is the clean night air, cold and starry.

You are going to be just fine, you know. You imagine a golden thread coming out of your chest and unspooling far ahead of you, connected to a back that you must catch up to. It is pulled taut right now because you're so far apart, thin like spider silk as it catches the low light.

But it will never disappear.

Even now it tugs you further and forward, promising you home when you get there, promising you unclipped wings and the sun shining high in the sky and never being lost again.

The wind whips through your hair and scrapes across your skin and you smile because it doesn't hurt. You're a little late of course but this kind of cold is your element so you walk forward sure and steady, counting each step. The promise of snow sparkles on your tongue.

How lucky, you whisper to yourself. Berry makes a low noise of inquiry and you wrap him up tighter in your arms. It's going to snow here soon.

In an hour or so the clouds will shake themselves awake and send down snowflakes, floating in the breeze to pile against the ground in layers of pure, blinding white. The perfect thing to cover up your tracks. It's a relief.

Your shoulders go loose.

You stop watching your back.

Berry blinks himself awake and nudges at your side to be let down. You bend to place him on the ground and get back up, humming as he begins to walk beside you.

The flare of alarm from sharp eyes staring at your backs comes too late. There is a noise that comes from outside of you, a sound like something unsheathed. Berry jolts once in the corner of your vision and tips over to the side. You fall with him, arms outstretched even as you hit the ground with a nauseating jolt.

It hurts.

With blood oozing from your knees, bruised and frightened and in pain, you don't hesitate to lurch forward to catch him. You cry out his name.

Berry! you call. Berry!

Buzzing starts up in your head and stuffs up your skull with sudden noise. It gets loud enough to blur your vision into smears of faint color. You begin to shake.

Berry always answers when you speak. He is always listening. Always.

Drip, drip, drip says the darkness filling your palms, overflowing. Berry doesn't say anything.

The buzzing in your head reaches fever pitch and harmonizes with the scream that rips itself from your chest and claws your throat to shreds. It dies on your tongue as most things do and red burbles from your lips, an unwelcome heat raging through you.

Footsteps are coming closer and you are gasping until you can no longer breathe. You wrench your fingers through your hair until it hurts and put your forehead to Berry's carefully so the soft sprout that he is so proud only brushes against your face, so you don't hurt him and you snarl.

The footsteps stutter. Your teeth begin to ache. The buzzing grows knives and rips and tears and shreds through what it should never have been able to touch, wild and hungry and victorious. Unnatural quiet covers the world and the buzzing in your head is savage and exultant, ringing viciously until it grows sated.

It silences itself.

…

[G̶͍̻̠̦͌̌̉͊̏͊̑l̵̡͍͚̭̤̔̂́͘͝ȅ̸̢̗͚̣͜͜n̶̛̺̦͙͔̥̎̈̌̑͠.]

It's nighttime.

The weather is perfect outside.

You breathe and you breathe and you breathe. Your chest is shuddering with phantom pain, an ache that pulses in your ribs and spreads out in splinters and cracks. But it's fine. It's fine because Berry breathes with you.

You tiptoe out of the house with glass lodged in your throat. You stand outside of Twinleaf, the wretched place. You keep Berry held under your arm, sighing softly as he dreams his hazy dreams. Tremors go through the hand that holds him close.

In a short while it will snow.

You press yourself tight against the scratchy bulk of a large spruce and breathe in the scent of pine needles and cold things. Things that will never melt. The wind whips through the trees and curls around you and Berry sneezes himself awake. You hold him tight in your trembling arms.

He pushes himself up to tuck his head under your chin and your eyes water at once, warm tears slipping down the side of your face. His sprout tickles your nose as he startles and looks up at you with wide eyes. You hush him without breathing and he says nothing but leans into you again and listens. Berry always listens.

There is only quiet in your head now but you can hear the echo of emptiness anyways. Silence is also a sound.

The footsteps pass you by.

The wind whispers.

You follow close behind and the darkness burbles and the scream rises and you say a name. All three die on your tongue. As most things do.

The snow begins to fall.

You pick your way carefully across the tall grass and the sky opens up.

In moments, blinding white blankets what you have left behind.

There is nothing left.

● • ● • • ● • ●

Sandgem's beach is more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

Berry sways forward on unsteady feet because he spent the whole trip there curled up against your chest listening to your heartbeat until it slowed down and evened out. Until you were both certain of each other's safety once more.

Now he dips his face in the glittering waters and rears back at the bracing cold. He makes a startled noise that turns into a chirring laugh and runs over to you immediately, catching the corner of your jacket in his mouth. He tugs until you stumble to your feet and follow.

You both sit at the edge of the colorful sands and listen to the waves crash against the beach. The water numbs your hands when you reach out to touch it but it feels good.

It feels clean.

Berry dances around you, his splashing the cheerful music that accompanies him. When he has finally had his fill of playing, you dust the sand from both of your bodies and let the lights guide you back to the town proper.

From there you find the lab still open and knock before letting yourself in. The brightness inside has you and Berry blinking away stars. Professor Rowan catches sight of you both and his eyes grow bright at once.

"Ah, Glen and Berry! It's quite late but I am pleased to see you have found your way here nonetheless."

The professor's assistants seem confused as the professor ushers you inside and then leaves just as quickly. They rush about, sitting you down with gentle hands, bringing you a towel and a hot drink. One of them has the same smile-prone mouth as the boy you saw in the summer but his hands flicker and jump in a way that is entirely different.

"Oh, hello hello. Welcome to the lab!" he says. "I'm one of the scientists helping the professor with his research. I'm sure you've met my son, Lucas?"

His eyes are alight with inquiry, his head tilted to the side like a curious bird. You nod and a lovely smile overtakes his face as he beams at you.

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful! My son Lucas also helps the professor with his work, mostly through gathering new data and being a fresh pair of eyes on the newer projects." He taps at his glasses and chuckles, gathering the now wet towel from your hands and replacing it with a blanket. "I'm sure he's still at it even now! Did you see him outside?"

You did see him outside, mere moments ago, sitting on a bench under the gleaming street-lamps. His head bent over a thick notebook and he was completely absorbed with writing something. You passed by him with quiet care, unwilling to disturb his focus. He hadn't seen you.

"Aha! That sounds just like him!" Lucas's father says. "Well I'm sure he'll find his way to the lab sooner or later. Now make sure to drink up all your tea. It's a little sour because the recipe calls for some aspear berries but it'll chase the chill away for sure!"

I will, you tell him. Thank you.

He leaves with a big smile and fluttering wave and is buried between the documents on a nearby desk in short order. The other assistant had gone back to her own work as soon as she had offered you the towel but she looks up now to give you a warm look. You nod to her in greeting and her lips curve up just the slightest bit. She turns her head back to a machine that sparks and glows oddly underneath her hands. You catch a staticy giggle as she taps at it and realize there's a pokemon in there, gleefully playing tricks.

Professor Rowan returns soon after with a lightness to his step that you notice at once. He gives his greetings to Berry, looking him over with eyes that soften with pride and joy before turning those very same eyes onto you. Then he holds out a pokedex and folds it into your hands.

"You've done a wonderful job so far, young Glen. I have never doubted my choice to give you a pokemon but I see today that is not enough. I am so very proud to have set you on this journey and honored to be a part of it."

Your eyes prickle with tears and Berry is by your side at once, nudging at your legs in alarm.

I'm happy, you tell him and he subsides but still insists you pick him up. You seat him in your lap while the professor looks on with quiet delight.

The pokedex beeps as it starts up.

Berry's face appears on the monitor and words begin to scroll on screen. A serious, monotoned narrator reads them aloud.

[The shell on its back is made of soil. On a very healthy TURTWIG, the shell should feel moist.]

Berry twists around at once in an attempt to look at his shell but fails. He turns his eyes up at you with a pleading look. You tap at his shell to test and nod reassuringly; he's healthy and his soil is perfect for planting. Berry puffs up with pride.

Someone muffles their laugh into a cough and you startle, turning quickly.

It's Lucas.

You didn't hear him come in at all.

A painful jolt of fear runs through your chest and you freeze in place.

Lucas stares at you wide-eyed and you catch sight of something like realization flickering in his eyes before he bows his head in apology.

"Sorry," he says, with full sincerity. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Standing beside him, his Piplup makes a low chirping noise of agreement. Berry replies before you can by jumping down from your lap and nudging the Piplup in greeting. He does it with such enthusiasm that he bowls him over. A loud flurry of scolding peeps erupts almost immediately.

Lucas blinks at you in bewilderment as you accept his apology with a nod and offer him one of your own. Then he smiles.

"Oh no," he says, mirth clear in his tone. "That's alright. Jewel here doesn't really mean it. Your Berry's always been saying hello to him like that."

That's not what you were apologizing for and you both know it but Lucas hustles the conversation along without pausing. It would be strange to apologize again so you let it go even though guilt settles in your stomach. You ignore it and refocus.

"These two have been friends since they hatched," Lucas says.

Jewel is such a pretty name and this Piplup with his sapphire eyes and satiny feathers certainly suits his title of treasure. You tell him so and Lucas's smile grows wider, softening the storm of his eyes to something closer to calm waters.

"He's got an older brother named Crown," he informs you. "That's where I got his name from. He's pretty royal-like don't you think?"

You look at Jewel who is doing his level best to order Berry back into the blankets with unsuccessful results. Berry flops into his side and takes Jewel down with him to a series of protesting chirps which he blithely ignores until Jewel subsides with a huff and steals the majority of the blankets.

Looking at him reminds you of a little princeling, one used to being listened to out of love. His lack of true upset tells you that he knows Berry is listening in his own way. And that he would rather Berry listened another way for once.

It doesn't stop him from getting Berry back for his antics. Jewel spins around in the blankets with a sly look in his eyes, bit by bit until Berry has been tightly cocooned with only his head free, and then slips out. He flops on top of his trapped friend with a victorious hmph and pokes at him with glee. Berry looks at you with wide pleading eyes and Jewel chirps smugly when you laugh.

Prince Jewel, you dub him in your mind, as you congratulate him on his victory. The adorable authority on ruling Berries.

Jewel lifts his chin, pleased.

"Well now," says the professor, amusement warming his voice as he bends down to untangle the two. "I'm sure you're both happy to see each other again but let's be gentle now, shall we? Up we go."

He places Jewel in Lucas's open arms and Berry in yours. "Now then, Glen. It's quite late and I'm sure you'll be wanting a bit of a rest before you set out proper. Would you like to stay at the lab? Or hmm."

Lucas interrupts him before he can continue. "We have an open room at our house professor," he says. "The lights are going to be on all night here and you really don't have enough space to spare for anyone to get a proper rest. Sorry professor."

"No, no." says Professor Rowan, waving the apology away. "You bring up an excellent point. In fact I was just about to suggest that. What do you think Glen?"

Lucas turns to you with a sheepish laugh. "The room is actually mine but I'm off to Jubilife tonight so I won't be using it. Is that okay?"

You look at Berry who is blinking hazily in your lap. He's almost half-asleep but still struggling to stay up to keep you and everyone else company. You nod in agreement.

"Excellent," says the professor. "Do take care on your way out. I am truly looking forward to hearing about your journey and the pokemon you meet, young Glen. Travel safe, the two of you."

You wave goodbye to Professor Rowan and tuck Berry under your arm like usual where he promptly relaxes and lets his limbs go slack. Lucas looks on with bemusement and returns Jewel to his pokeball before leading you outside. The contrast in light between indoors and outdoors is so sudden that you stumble on your way out of the labs. Lucas just barely manages to snag you before you fall on your face.

"Alright there?" he says.

You hum in embarrassed agreement.

"Okay," he says with a sort of laugh running through his voice. Nothing mean, you realize almost immediately, but there is amusement there. "Let's go. It's pretty late and you'll need to sleep soon if you want an early start tomorrow."

You are all of a sudden quite tired, as if Lucas bringing up the lateness of the hour and realizing you really should get to sleep to recover from the night's events has flicked a switch in your mind. Your footsteps are slower than usual but Lucas is patient as he shows you around town on the way to his house. He points out the still open pokemart and pokecenter and informs you that they never close. He takes your hand when you falter on a step and helps you steady yourself.

It's different from the way Barry does it, with his hands vibrating with energy, radiating heat, rushing you forward and ever higher. You feel more awake with Barry, his light and laughter infectious. But now something in you calms. Lucas himself radiates calm and maybe that's why. His hand is warm and firm. You are safe enough to feel drowsy knowing he won't let you fall.

Lucas's house is close to the beach. From here you can hear the faint sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore in pendulum motion. For a moment you get to listen to its consistent rhythm, punctuated only by the soft jingle of keys and the click of an opening door at your side. The house is quiet and dark but for the low murmur of the television and its faint light. As you both walk in and take off your shoes, an elderly man turns from his seat on the couch to look over.

He speaks in a low whisper so as not to wake the little girl curled up on his lap.

"Lucas? We thought you were off to Jubilife tonight?"

"Hey grandpa," Lucas whispers back. "I still am. I'm just here to lend Glen my room for the night."

"Ah, I see." Lucas's grandfather turns to you. His eyes are steel-grey and strong, but the marks of frequent joy are still lined into the corners of his eyes and mouth. His voice is sincere if not gentle. "Welcome to our home, Glen. I hope you are able to rest well."

Thank you.

"Would you like anything to eat?" he says and you shake your head quickly before he gets up. "Alright then. I suppose my famous nanab-pecha pie will have to wait until morning then."

Your eyes light up with curiosity and he catches it immediately. "Hoh? Interested are we? Well, I'm sorry to say but the recipe is top secret stuff. I've broken records with this pie, you know?"

Records? Top secret?

"Well," he begins, much louder than before but his mouth clicks shut as the bundle in his lap moves just the slightest bit. The little girl wrinkles her nose and grumbles a bit in her sleep. Lucas's grandfather hums for her under his breath, his eyes showing a hint of panic. He pats her back soothingly. His shoulders slump when she subsides.

Lucas stifles a laugh.

"That's my little sister," he says in a soft whisper, a grin tugging at his lips. "She's got grandpa wrapped around her little finger or he'd never let her stay up this late and fall asleep watching Pokemon Ranger."

His grandfather harrumphs but doesn't deny it.

"And the recipe? The ingredients are nanabs and pechas," whispers Lucas as he points to the stairs and the two of you begin to climb up as quietly as you can. He lowers his voice a little more for the next bit. "But the secret is that he grows the berries by hand."

Lucas snickers as another, louder harrumph trails you up the stairs. Then a childish whine rings out followed by a flurry of apologies. You can hear his grandfather soothing the little girl back to sleep with lullaby soon after, sung in a low rasping voice.

"It's okay," he says with a smile to answer your questioning look. "He doesn't mind me telling you."

You reach the top of the flight and he opens the door to the left to let you in. The flicking lights flicker on.

"Here it is," he says. "My room. Home sweet home."

His room is lined with bookshelves and filled with books. Books on chairs, on desks, in leaning towers propped up with pillows. Papers are scattered across the floor in strange formations as if to match the constellations drawn on the walls. In one corner is a large, neatly made bed and everything else around it appears to have had a whirlwind run through it. Knickknacks are tossed into every corner and stray marbles glittering against the plush carpets.

Lucas coughs, cheeks turning just the slightest bit red.

"It's a little messy," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I wasn't expecting guests today. Make yourself at home, though."

You shake your head to reassure him it's fine and walk around a collection of open notebooks on the ground on your way to the bed. One of them says Field Notes #48 at the top. You catch sight of an oddly shaped pokemon drawn on top of it as you pass by.

Something black-red lights up faintly at the back of your mind as you see it, eager.

Your focus on placing Berry down on the bed brushes it aside. You place him gently onto the pillows and it takes the strain of your arms at once. You've gotten used to carrying him around but he weighs a lot more asleep.

"Alright, get yourself all settled in." says Lucas. "I've got to go now. Will you be okay?"

Of course. You think so?

He gives you an encouraging look before he goes. "If you need anything, grandpa will be happy to help out so don't be shy. Have a good rest and I'll see you around sometime, okay?"

Waving goodbye, Lucas shuts the door to his room with a soft click and leaves you alone. It's quiet all of sudden. The sudden lack of him comes as a mild shock to your sleep-slow mind but it's nothing you can't deal with.

You decide to make yourself at home like he said and your bag falls off your back with a soft thump. You stretch out with a deep sigh of relief, letting go of the tension you've been carrying around all night. Riffling through the bag nets you a pair of pajamas and a toothbrush. You tiptoe out of the room and find yourself in the bathroom in short order. The mirror informs you that there are faint bruises under your eyes, clearly visible but with enough determination, still possible to hide. A short rest will do wonders for them. You haven't slept in quite a while.

The mirror also informs you that your hair is a mess now that your hat is off. Brushing it out taxes your already tired arms but you pull through and manage to make Berry go through his proper night routine as well. He doesn't even grumble but he splays out across the bedsheets and falls back asleep the second his head hits the pillow. You take your time about getting to bed, gently relocating a stack of books so you can reach the windows and push them open to get some air.

The moon is still in hiding but there is plenty of light from the stars. You watch them for a spell. Soon your eyes grow too heavy to keep open so you crawl under the covers and get comfortable and fall asleep.

Well. You try to fall asleep.

As the seconds pass the rhythm of your heartbeat only ticks higher and higher until you can feel it pounding against your ribs so hard you think it'll bruise. Something begins to crack within your chest. Sleep doesn't make itself known. Fear does. You push it back, unwilling to deal with it now.

The red in the back your mind twitches and surges back to life.

Fear comes back rampaging.

You sit up.

You feel unsafe.

You return the dozing Berry to his pokeball so he can rest easier and look at the room. You consider standing up and pacing to run off the excess energy but cannot budge. As you sit there on a bed that is not yours, in a room you have been graciously invited to be a guest in, you realize something. This is someone else's home. You don't belong here. You can't stay here. The door should have never been opened for you.

A feeling you hate to dwell on opens up within your chest. The walls in this room are painted blue instead of green or brown. The windows are open but the air that comes through is warm and sea-tinged and unfamiliar. You feel wide awake and electric with tension, jaw welded tight and shoulders hunched.

Nothing is right.

Nothing is going right.

You move to your feet and get dressed again, putting on a heavier jacket as you do. You run your fingers across Berry's pokeball as you get it properly clipped in. You take some solace in the fact that at least one of you will be getting proper rest. The hood of your coat comes up. You walk downstairs silently, shoving on your boots and slipping out the door.

You feel awful for wasting Lucas's time and his generosity.

You feel a twinge of regret for missing out on the berries.

You don't notice the thoughtful frown that watches you leave.

There is no space left in your mind to be noticing anything.

● • ● • • ● • ●

There is no snow to crunch underneath your boots but stray patches of ice still glitter in the faint starlight. You plant one foot on the ground and let the other one glide smooth back and forth across the ice just to remember how it feels. Then you put your weight down on and watch the way it buckles and breaks under the pressure. You move on.

The grass around you is knee high and the wind is nonexistent. Your chest is tight. Each breath sticks in your throat. Seconds crawl by like claws at the back of your neck.

You keep walking. You need to keep walking.

You can't hear anything at all and there is something jarringly wrong about that. No night owl noises, not even the sound of your own movement or the pulse of blood in your body. You have to press a hand against your chest and one at your throat to make sure that you're still alive. Even then, doubt still fogs your mind.

Leaves brush by the tips of your fingers with each step forward and your thoughts are slurry at this point. You feel like your head is screwed on sideways, the angle of your spine all wrong. At some point you stop moving. You cannot pinpoint when but there is a moment where the world slides on its axis and leaves you lying on the ground.

The ground smells green and cold. Cheek pressed against the grass, your heart twists oddly. The weight of your bag is heavier on your back this way. It makes your ribs ache as they are crushed, invisible bruising just barely cushioned by the layers you are wearing. There is nothing in front of you but a large swathe of grass, standing silent and still.

Then it begins to move.

You are frozen in place.

You don't blink as golden eyes appear in rustling shadows and creep towards you. They stop at the edges of your already flickering vision and stay there.

Then the golden eyes blink once at you, very slowly.

You blink slowly back.

Your mind is empty and a faint echo inside of it tries to remind you of the concept of danger. The golden eyes are still watching and you barely react, numb and dull. The eyes creep closer in increments. Soon after a cold nose presses against your cheek.

When you don't respond, the shinx pads around you in circles, bemused and a little concerned.

"Mrr?"

It pushes its face against yours, rubbing up against the curve of your cheeks until sparks leap from its fur and sink underneath your skin. Sparks you can hear. It gives you something to hold on to. Your breathing eases enough for you to inhale a shuddering breath and let it out and then do it again in measured cycles.

The shinx purrs encouragement at you. The sound wakes you up long enough for you to drag yourself into a sitting position. Fumbling at your bag with fingers rendered almost useless with cold, you manage to get it off your shoulders and unzip one of the compartments. Berry's pokeball gleams in the low light and for a second you can only stare it.

The shinx catches sight of it and runs a circle around you in excitement.

No. You shake your head and put a finger against your lips. Shh, you try to convey. He's sleeping.

As you rummage through the bag for something that keeps slipping your mind — a snack, you want to offer it a snack, focus — one of your hands hits the package by accident.

Ah.

You realize a moment before it happens that this is what will break you. The package still being there; the square corners of it pushing into your palm. Physical proof of home existing.

Biting down on your tongue and clenching your teeth, you hunch over the bag. You can feel the last scraps of control you were clinging onto by the nails torn away. Your composure goes down the drain. You have enough presence of mind to muffle yourself with the puffy sleeve of your coat. But that's about all you have left.

On the cold ground, the first night of your trainer journey with a wild shinx and the open sky for company, you cry until you feel sick. Sick with agony, sick with horror, sick of death and running and being in this situation on your own when all your life you've had your best friend there beside you. It was never supposed to be this way. Things were supposed to be okay. Better than okay. Things were supposed to be happy.

Tears drip hot down your face and red roars to life at the back of your head so loudly that the next time you blink you're crying blood. Your hands are no longer your hands and then they are. You are fourteen feet tall, towering above the trees, burning with hatred. You are smaller than you age, hands clawing at dirt, and you feel like an insect.

You want to tear this emotion from your body so badly. Only the knowledge that you musn't, that you need to persevere, that this is only a moment in time that will go away keeps you from reaching for your throat.

(At least he got out safe. It could be worth it just for that. It will be worth it.)

Your hands wind tightly into your scarf, into the softness of it, the clumsy green handiwork of plant buds in snow. You remember the flowers at your windowsill smashed one by one, the porcelain from their pots cutting into your soles. Petals crushed and soil strewn on the floor. You remember crying, begging, pleading. Footsteps. Screaming. Pain on top of pain.

Darkness pooled in your palms.

The way the snow sparkled tonight.

Compose yourself!

You shake the memories from your head, breathing faster and faster. Focus instead on the green at the edges of your bag. Think of where you tried to immortalize your garden with a needle and thread. Try to picture the green walls of the room you were safest in.

The package too is twined with green ribbon. Remember his mother with her warm, tired eyes (your mother as well, in truth) and the spark of her smile just like his. The light in her.

You grind your teeth and force yourself through the hurt, determined to come out the other side. Green like Berry, you think, and stare hazily at his pokeball. Green like growing things.

Some of the red subsides. You feel a little better.

A soft mew comes from beside you and you turn around, hiccupping. The shinx is staring at you.

There is an odd, pensive sort of resolve in its lamplight eyes. It pushes its head against your leg once as if to comfort you and then turns on its heels and runs away.

Fresh pain bubbles up because now you've gone and done it. You've scared away someone else. You wipe viciously at your eyes and swallow down the rest of your sobs, shaking with the effort of putting yourself back together. Composure, that's what you need. That's what you always must have.

A nearby tree offers enough support for you to get back on to your feet. You are still seeing blood where there is none (where it used to be, G̶͍̻̠̦͌̌̉͊̏͊̑l̵̡͍͚̭̤̔̂́͘͝ȅ̸̢̗͚̣͜͜n̶̛̺̦͙͔̥̎̈̌̑͠.) but that doesn't matter. You close your bag and slip it on. The clip with Berry's pokeball on it is within easy reach.

You suck in one harsh breath after the other.

You can do this. You have to do this.

Things will be okay.

Everything will be fine.

You just need to keep going.

The weight of your bag settles on you. The red resettles in you instead of sloshing around inside your body painting nightmares into the back of your eyelids or sitting like a spiked ball at the end of your throat so you can barely swallow without pain. Now it makes itself known in a quieter way. Subtle suffering instead of the harshness that is written into it's being.

You can hear again yes, but now you hear much more than you need to. The sound of your hand lifting from the tree scrapes across your eardrums like sandpaper. You don't know if this is better or worse. It hurts, a side of you cries, sounding altogether too young. It hurts!

Stop crying, it's safer now, the other insists. From now on, we will always hear the blow coming.

You compromise. Nothing will ever be able to sneak up on you again.

It's worth it.

It doesn't hurt that bad.

This much is still within your limits.

You dash your hand across your eyes one last time and blink away the static. You have to get going. There's no more time to waste.

Someone calls your name.

"Glen?"