"Wait, it's just about to break, it's more than I can take

Everything's about to change

I feel it in my veins, it's not going away

Everything's about to change"

War of Change _ Thousand Foot Krutch

Cheren is mad.

Depending on the severity of his losses, Cheren always comes back more unyielding and cruel as ever. I notice the uptick in dead bodies because I see him maul them and then I have to bake them all. Whenever his pride is hurt, he's like this. And all I can do is shovel the people's pokemon and glare at Cheren from across the room.

He catches me once. Storm clouds glower in his sunken eyes. A shiver goes up my spine, and I stop throwing daggers from a distance.

Hugh is officially off on his journey. First gym winners don't get on TV; that's usually reserved for someone who makes the 4th gym hump. (That's Elesa. Bitch model extraordinaire.) Still, Hugh does get a corner of the front page, and I buy a newspaper for the first time in months. Against my better judgment, I don't just snip Hugh's article from the newspaper, where in his interview he lets the people know he's on a journey to find his purrloin Mittens. I also flip deeper in the news section for anything interesting on the historical front. Nothing on Relic Castle, home of Reshiram and the older twin hero, and nothing about Abyssal Ruins, home of Zekrom and the younger twin hero. I turn to the classifieds. The Nimbasa Gym opening is still there.

I stand next to my trash can with the newspaper. I cut the job opening out and stick it to my fridge and throw away the rest of the paper.

Hugh also gives me a whole one hundred mother fucking dollars. I'm aware that gym battling is a lucrative business fueled by our tax dollars, but it didn't truly dawn on me how MUCH you could get by doing it. Hugh raked in a thousand dollars alone on Cheren. It's sickening. That's over a year's wages for me, and while I'm tempted sometimes to battle for money, I know better. Mama didn't raise no fool. (Though, how big of a fool am I for keeping her on life support?) And the gig only gets more profitable as it goes on. The reward jumps a thousand dollars for each gym. You beat the second gym? Two thousand. The fifth? Five thousand. The eight? Eight thousand.

The whole gym route alone is worth 36,000 dollars. It's an amount of money I can't fathom. In the wake of how much I owe the hospital, it's still a drop in the bag, but in the grand scheme of things, most people don't see that much money in their lifetimes. It's why the biggest, baddest trainers are celebrities in their own right. And there's only two kinds of trainers: the hot shots that focus only on their rise to fame and net worth, or the down-to-earth kinds that donate most of their money to charities and shit. There's no in between. They say it's because pokemon battling will either bring out the very best or the very worst in people, but I think it's because people are naturally greedy bastards that will never share their wealth.

I think that, but I consider how much I owe the hospital. I set aside a few dollars for food and stuff the rest in my mattress.

And life continues. I sweat and ache in the furnace room, stitch up pokemon and dress them for mini funerals for the dedicated trainers, and visit mom. She never gives indication of life. Her face is a price tag. Resentment grows in me like bubbling molten rock.

With the resentment grows my impatience and my temper. Hugh is a month into his trip now. He beats Roxie with the help of his new magnemite, and I'm not happy. I'm jealous. He sends letters and more money to me. The urge to rip up the green bills grows in me despite how much I need it. I don't WANT his handouts. I don't NEED his fucking handouts. I send the money back to his mother without a comment, and I can't be bothered to write him back.

I snap more at Golem when he drops things. Especially when I catch him practicing his Shadow Punch on my lunch break. I lash out at him until there's barely a glow in his core and make sure I've put the fear of god in his stupid mechanical heart about battling. With that attitude, he'd be as dead as my parents.

I put in my application to the Nimbasa Gym. I don't care if Elesa is a bitch to work under. I don't care that rent is almost twice what it is out here. I don't even care that I'd get a raise that would nearly double my earnings. Agitation eats at my bones and I'm heated all the time, regardless of the furnaces. Crushing the bones of pokemon becomes therapeutic even though I'm pissed at Cheren for being a high-and-mighty hot-shot who's clearly bitter about his life too. Nearly conquering the League challenge in one go and then being demoted to first gym on the gym circuit? I'd be pissed too.

I stop visiting my mother. It feels good.

The pressure inside me builds and builds. It manifests in terrible nightmares, usually the same one about dragons. I cut and burn my hands more often because I'm not being careful. Golem sulks. I don't care. Let him sulk. He doesn't know any better. I graduated honors. I'm better than this. I deserve better; better money, a better life, a day off, fresh food, a fucking spigot that didn't have gritty water.

And one day when I'm in Cheren's gym, it all boils over.

That's the second kid he's made cry this week. Poor kid has one pokemon left, a little sewaddle that she protects with her arms. She's gotta be what, twelve? Thirteen? I don't hear anything Cheren says, but the girl is nodding so fast. I have her pidove and mareep in the back, a couple of dead bodies. She at least had the right idea—lead with her pidove and use the mareep on his bird. But Brutus had no qualms about tearing the throat out of her sheep and had no issue crunching the bird's ribcage.

The gym worker is healing Cheren's pokemon for the next match. Once Cheren is finished with her, she runs to the sidelines where her parents are waiting on her. In the silence of the room, split by only her crying, I can catch words like, "I'm sorry!" and ". . . Know grandma needed . . . thought I could do it!"

My fists knuckle around my shovel and my hateful gaze hits Cheren. I know this routine. Locals always challenge the gym when they need money in a pinch. A grandma? I envision an old granny needing some sort of medicine and the hospital bills being too much. I know a thing or two about that. It strikes too close to home.

Cheren halts in the middle of the ring. He's staring at me, and I glare right back at him, hoping he feels the venom in my eyes, hoping it spits far enough that it'll burn him from where I stand. He squares up against me, a storm of ice against a storm of fire. He lifts his voice, and it cuts through the muffled din of the crowd.

"Do you have something to say, undertaker?"

My hackles rise. Something about the way he spits the word "undertaker" like I'm as common as the patrats that die in this gym makes my blood boil. I push off the wall with my shovel clutched in hand before I can stop myself.

"Yeah, I've got an issue!" I snap back at him. His eyebrows lift higher, like he wasn't expecting me to lash out at him. I throw my arm out to the girl, who's staring in wide-eyed wonder. "I've got an issue with the way you treat your challengers! In fact, I've got an issue with everything about you, from your holier-than-thou attitude to that stick up your ass!"

Gasps rise up from the crowd. I see his fists clench and the person with his pokeballs is hesitating to give them back, but I don't care. Golem whirs faintly in my ears, but the pounding of my blood drowns him out. I like the look of Cheren's red face. I want to take that stupid red tie of his and yank it until he chokes. Maybe he wouldn't like it if someone brutalized his windpipe for once.

"I don't believe you have a say in the matter," he says in a stage voice. He's making sure everyone hears him. "You don't know anything about gym battling. You are just the undertaker. You shovel the dead. Nothing more. Get back in your place."

"No!" The word whips between us, cracking through the air. My face flushes and my blood rushes. I don't give a fuck what happens. Maybe I'll lose my job. At this rate? Fuck it. I stalk forward until I'm at the edge of the ring, shovel clutched in hand, and I want so much to use it to smash his pretty little jaw apart. "I know enough that you've got the highest death rate of all the gyms in the region! And I know you think you're tough for killing little girls and boys pokemon, but you're not!" I jerk a thumb to the back, where I already have six pokemon from the past three matches to burn. Cheren is fuming. His chest is heaving, and it makes his tie sway. "I get to cremate every pokemon you tear up, Cheren, and I'm tired of cleaning up your mess. You're lashing out this month because you got your ass kicked by Hugh Matisse and you still can't live it down!"

He's grinding his teeth so hard, I wonder if he's shattered his teeth. "You don't know what you're talking about," he spits, both literally and figuratively. He points to the girl who flinches away. "She knew what she was getting into! Everyone who chooses to battle a gym knows the risks. If pokemon die in my gym, it's because they didn't prepare to face the consequences!"

"No, pokemon die in your gym because you hate your job!" I point a finger and flick it at him, snorting, "Trust me, from one person who hates her job to another, I can tell you despise this. And you know why? Because you thought you were some hotshot that could take down the League on his first try and now you're battling newbies! How's it feel, Cheren? Not quite the visions of grandeur you had for yourself?"

The room is deathly quiet. The audience fixates on us, not a shuffle to disturb us. The only noise is Cheren's labored breaths, the jerk of his jaw, the red buildup in his face. He snatches his pokeballs from the gym worker.

My stomach drops.

Cheren throws the shiny Silph Co. ball and out comes Redeye. The rat lunges on all fours. Cheren stands in the center of the ring. "If you think my battling is too violent for your tastes, then prove it." His voice rings out in the gym, pealing like a warning bell. All the anger in me flushes away. A chill runs up my spine when Cheren doesn't take his eyes off me. He scoffs when I freeze up. "If you can't stand up for your ideals, then I don't see why I should change the way I battle. It's effective, and I don't care how many pokemon die in this gym when I'm keeping weak trainers off a gym circuit they're not prepared for. You either fight, or back down."

My mouth opens when he admits it right to my face. The crowd is murmuring now at his unorthodox challenge, and before I can put my ass back where it belongs, an ear-shattering gong splits the air. Golem runs out onto the battlefield, core glowing hot, knocking like tumbling rocks and shaking his fist.

I blanch as white as a white person. "Golem, no! Get back!"

Cheren smiles, his teeth like razors. "I'm going to make you regret that, undertaker. Redeye! Bite!"

Panic splits my veins. "Shadow Punch!" I cry, and I drop my shovel and reach for Golem's pokeball. What are his moves? What does he know? I fumble to open his ball, and I hear him screech. My neck snaps up to see the rat tear through part of his arm, the wisps of his non-corporeal body rising like smoke in the air. He answers with his own attack, his fist glowing purple, and he smashes through the rat and into the floor.

God damn his normal types!

I open his ball and find the little slip of paper inside. My shaking hands struggle to unfold it, and Cheren calls, "Work Up!" and I shout the first attack I see written down.

"Mud Slap!"

The rat glows red and Golem lunges in closer, scoops his hand down, and mud materializes in his palm. It smacks against the patrat's face, and I look down on my cheat list for Golem's registered attacks. It's written in my father's chicken scratch, and it takes me a moment to decipher mud slap, rollout, shadow punch, iron defense. That's it? I go for the best defense I can muster.

"Iron Defense!"

"Bite!"

The rat charges and my stomach flips watching Golem cross its arms and a pale blue light flicker over him. He puts his beefy forearms in front, and the rat tries to sink its teeth into him. I wince when the fangs make purchase on my ghost, but this time even though Golem grunts, he slings it off, not as bothered. "Mud Slap!" I shout again. Accuracy, right? I can't let Golem get hit, and blinding that demonic little rat is the best I can do. Golem steps down and kicks up a splash of mud that spatters over the rat's face again. It snarls and thrashes like some possessed thing, but I can still see its giant teeth, see the blurred marks on Golem's body that are damaged, and I want to return him and forfeit so much, but Golem is blazing in a way I've never seen him, the little girl is cheering us on, the crowd is screaming, and all I can think about is the bodies in the other room awaiting a furnace.

Cheren's nose wrinkles, but he's smirking at me. "Work Up!" he says and I hate that he thinks I'm floundering. I hate that I AM floundering. I have one thing left in the world to care about, and he's out on the battlefield right now, hot and angry and defending me, defending that girl.

I look back down on my dad's handwriting. It's not enough to run and defend. I have to attack. I think of my uncle, of the raw power he commands as a trainer, and I lament that the strongest attack we have is Shadow Punch and it's useless against Cheren. "Mud Slap!" I call again, unable to do much more.

"Go wide!" Cheren commands with an ease I don't have. Redeye scampers across the field, and Golem misses. My heart pitches when Cheren's smirk deepens. "Bite!"

"Get out of there!" I scream at Golem. I take a step forward and grab my shovel again, intent on bashing the rat's head myself if I have to. "Run, Golem, RUN!"

My child-sized Golett whines and turns, pelting across the field and toward me. The rat chases him, much faster, and it overtakes him. I watch helplessly as it leaps, overbite primed, and Golem trips, face-planting on the ground. Redeye sails over him and lands near me. I wind up the shovel in case it gets closer, but it turns its eyes back on Golem.

"Bite!"

"Iron Defense!"

Golem curls up and protects his head and face. He knows Cheren's battling style too. My heart drops from my ribcage when the rat's Bite lands on Golem's forearm again instead of his neck. Mud Slap isn't working. I need to hit harder!

"Rollout!"

Golem winds up with the patrat attached and hurtles to the floor. He crashes on top of the rat, and I wince, hear a squeak, and and Golem tumbles out of his roll and on his butt. He scrambles to his feet, and I stand with my heart slamming against my throat, but the rat is twitching. It's hurt. It won't get back up. Cheren returns him. I catch his face. He's redder than a tomato berry and bubbling like a volcano about to erupt, but the raw panic has bled from me. We . . . we won. I look back at Golem who seems to realize it too. He cher-chunks with excitement, gesturing and hoping for validation from me.

A pokeball pops open. My neck snaps to Cheren who's released his pidove, Chinook. Golem hums a low warning, and my stomach churns so badly I'm afraid I'll taste my breakfast again.

"What are you doing?"

Cheren glares at me. I can barely hear him above the screaming crowd—whether they cheer for him, me, or against us, I can't tell. What I can hear is Cheren's venomous, "This is a gym battle, undertaker! If you want to beat me, you have to fight all of my pokemon!"

"You can't do that!" I can't believe him! It's not fair! "I only have one pokemon, asshole! Battles are supposed to be one-on-one!"

"And gym rules are different!" Cheren snaps. "You should have thought about that before challenging me!" He extends his hand. "Chinook! Gust!"

I hear my father's voice in my head, leading me in those stupid nursery rhymes, singing, Flying types stay above the ground zone, it's best to kill two birds with one stone. The wind batters us, and Golem, klutzy as he is can't keep his footing. My mouth opens of its own accord. "Rollout!"

Golem hurtles forward again, curling up like the lumpiest blue cannonball I've ever seen and rocketing towards the bird. He leaps up, crashes into it, and the pidove squawks and screeches in anger.

"Leer!"

I start, shocked at the switch up. Cheren doesn't—oh fucking god. He's setting up for his little devil dog. Brutus. What am I supposed to do about that thing? If he sets up his Work Up, I'm done for! Golem—with that Bite, Golem will—

Golem keeps rolling. He's picked up speed now, and despite the uncertain wiggle in his trajectory, he bounces back up to the bird and knocks it out of the sky. Chinook hits the ground and Golem plows over the thing like a car wheel over roadkill. The bird crunches. I can't be white anymore; I can practically taste the bile in my throat, and I know my pallor is an unsightly green.

What am I supposed to do about his lillipup?

Golem tumbles out of his Rollout again when Cheren releases an audible snarl and returns his bird—it returns. We haven't killed it. Somehow. Golem might have broken every bone in the thing's body, but it's still alive after that.

Someone touches my arm and I jump clear out of my jimmies. I nearly swipe at the kid with my shovel, and I see the little girl by my side. She's—She's proffering me a potion. She shoves it into my stomach when I can't force my hands to grab it. "Take it!" she says to me. She looks up at me, tears shining in her eyes, and she says, "You get one potion for the match, so use mine! You can't let him win, he's—he's a bully!"

Cheren's next pokeball pops open before I can get a word in edgewise. "Golem!" I cry. He looks back at me, and I furiously gesture him over. "Come here!"

"That's against the rules, undertaker!" Cheren snaps when Golem approaches. It dawns on me that the idiot doesn't even know my name. "You're not allowed outside help!"

I hate him. I fucking hate his guts, and if he's not careful, the last thing he'll be worried about his my pokemon. I shake a fist at him from across the field. "You get your potions supplied by the gym! It doesn't matter where I get mine!" and I spitefully spray Golem's deteriorating arms. The twisted energies holding him together smooth out, and the puncture marks, tiny black dots, disappear. And even though fear paralyzes my veins, and even though that kid is getting on my nerves with her heart eyes for me, I want to beat him. I want to make Cheren eat his words. I want to humiliate him right here, right now, in his own gym, in front of all these people. I want to make him eat shit for how many pokemon he's killed, and in particular, I want to crush that little murdering dog of his and shatter all of its teeth so it'll never Bite someone again.

"Work Up!" Cheren shouts, and his voice is frayed, like he's at the end of his line.

I remind myself of our defenses. We can weather these hits. We HAVE to. "Iron Defense!" I call one more time, and that familiar light I like so much flickers over Golem like a passing street light.

"Work Up!"

He's got to catch up with Golem's defenses. He gleams like an iron wall, so I call, "Rollout!" and hope the attack builds enough to crush the lillipup before it damages us too much.

Golem winds up and shoots off like an unsteady dreidel before gaining traction. He whips into the dog who takes the attack too easily for my taste. "Work Up!" Cheren shouts again, and dread fills my throat like swallowed cotton. He's going to hit too hard. That Bite is going to tear the life out of Golem. I want to pull him back so bad, but Golem is ringing like stones raining on a gong, I've got this little gremlin pinning all her hopes on me, and hysterical dismay tears through me. ME? She wants to pin her hopes and dreams on ME? She's out of her damn mind and is a terrible judge of character!

Across the field, Golem tumbles to a stop again, this time catching himself on his hands. He turns around and launches off again, and I look to Cheren. He's sweating. The heat has flushed from his cheeks and into his neck where his jugular presses out like he's swallowed a baseball. "Bite!" he screams, and every hair on my body raises—

He's going for the throat.

Golem goes hurtling forward straight towards Brutus and his sunken black fangs, and I scream, "Stop! Stop, Golem! Mud Slap!" Golem swivels out of his attack, stumbling and tripping and trying to stop his momentum. Mud flings wildly. I think some of it hits the dog, but my heartstrings freeze and snap in terror when the dog latches its black teeth into Golem's throat.

A blood-curdling scream echoes out of Golem. I cry out when he screeches like nails on a chalkboard. His body dissipates from the hit. Pale purple smoke curls up from his body, and the lillipup tightens its jaw and crunches down. Golem staggers about, dying right in front of my eyes, and I freeze.

I fucking freeze.

Golem thrashes with this thing attached to his throat, and more smoke pours from him. The surface of his body cracks like a film of ice over water. He's not dead. He's suffering. He's got his hands up around the lillipup's head as it tears and yanks on my golett like a chew toy, and Golem makes strained noises I've never heard before. His life force pours out of him, manifesting in that horrible mist that covers the battlefield.

Cheren crosses his arms and rocks back on his heels. "Brutus, Bite again. Go for the core."

My eyes snap to Golem's core. It flickers madly like a heartbeat in a seizure, but it's still bright. All the tension slacks from me. He's still alive. The lillipup lets go, and Golem stumbles to a knee, but he's still ALIVE. The lillipup opens its mouth for the killing blow.

"Mud Slap!"

I need that thing to MISS this next attack, and Golem reacts, reeling in pain but swiping out and smacking the unsuspecting dog in the face with a cake of mud. I don't wait for Cheren's counterattack. I scream, "Rollout!" and Golem rolls over the disoriented dog. It doesn't do much yet since the dog flips back to its feet, snarling like it's a houndoom, and I realize my mistake: I keep stopping him. I keep pulling Golem back from his Rollout when I need to let him go. I need him to gain as much momentum as I can and CRUSH that mutt.

Cheren's body weight shifts when he realizes we haven't given up yet. "Bite!"

The dog charges. I see Golem slowing to stop and turn around, and I shout, "Keep going! Don't stop, Golem! Faster!" He wobbles like a wheel with no support. Then, his hand shoots out and though he loses speed, he uses his palm as a pivot to keep moving. They collide. Golem screeches again, and I know that Bite is killing him, but he keeps rolling. The dog makes the mistake of keeping its teeth sunk into him. Golem is picking up speed now, and the dog whaps against the floor once, twice—three times before it lets go. We've knocked the wind out of it. While Golem turns for another pass, the lillipup eats its oran berry.

"Bite!"

My eyes widen when Golem hits the recovering Lillipup. It yelps and tumbles back in the dirt at the force of the hit. Cheren spasms like he put his finger in an electrical socket. "I invoke the right to use my potion!" he snaps, and the dog limps back to his side for healing.

"Don't stop, Golem!" I dig in my heels and spread my legs. Golem continues to keep his speed, whipping around the battlefield in a great blue whir. By the time Cheren sends his dog back out on the field, I point and give him no quarter.

"Crush it!"

"Bite! Go for its core!"

But Cheren's too focused on the killing blow. The lillipup hesitates to attack at the last second, unable to reach Golem's core with him curled up in a ball. His Bite skims off Golem's opposite shoulder, and I see more of Golem dissipate into smoke, but he plows into the dog like an unforgiving truck. His momentum carries him straight through the dumb mutt, and it squeals and falls back. Golem zooms around the field, faster and more graceful than I've ever seen him before. My heartbeat is flying. Cheren's chest heaves so fast he might be hyperventilating.

He can't take another hit, and he knows it.

I oblige him.

"Golem! One more time!"

"Bite it! BITE IT!"

Golem zooms in like a freight train. The dog shakes—it's not charging, it's waiting for the hit, and it costs him. Golem flattens the dog like roadkill. It's body crunches and snaps. Golem comes flying out of his Rollout with uncontrollable speed, and the graceless dope flips head over feet multiple times before he skids to a stop, flat on his face. My heart stops. It's dead silent in the room now. I can hear Cheren's labored breaths across the field. He's shaking. He's pale as the dead.

The referee steps out on the field of battle to check the dog even though it's my job and he's technically not supposed to touch the bodies. If they're dead, it's a hygienic thing, germs of the dead, you're not allowed to touch, only me in my big-ass gloves. But I can't move. I've locked my knees, and I think I'm losing blood flow down there, but I'm light-headed, so clearly my blood isn't flowing anywhere anymore. Golem rocks back up to his feet with a wince, clutching his throat that Cheren tried to tear out, but he's a ghost. He didn't have any main arteries and airflow there. It's why he survived.

The referee stands and looks to Cheren who looks like—heh, like he's seen a ghost. "Alive," the ref says. He drops the red flag to Cheren and raises the yellow challenger flag to me. "Match end! Cheren's pokemon are unable to battle! The undertaker is the winner!"

The sound wave of cheers that blasts from the stands knocks me off my feet. I collapse on my ass because I can't feel my legs, and all of a sudden the blood is rushing again, I'm seeing spots and my knees down sting like a thousand needles stabbing me from the inside. Golem's core brightens, twinkles, and he does a little jump, waves to the crowd, and then he hunches over again because he's in so much pain. But he glows. He glows from the inside out with light and joy and pride. I've never seen him shine like this.

I stand up. I find my voice.

"What the hell do you think you were doing!" I shout. Golem whirls and cringes. He looks down at his feet, and I grab him and shake him. "Are you out of your damn mind? You could have died! You're DISSIPATING you stupid twit! Shit, shit—" And my hands join his at his neck, where he's still losing the most purplish smoke. I'd heard ghosts dissipate when they "die" again, but this is my first time SEEING it. I've never seen his corporeal form disintegrating in patches, cracking and peeling like a spiderweb on sunburned skin.

Something metallic clinks near me. The rectangle badge flips face up and I see Cheren stalking away. "Hey!" I shout. I pick up the badge and throw it at him. "I don't want your fucking badge, I want you to stop slaughtering pokemon because of your fucking wounded pride!" Even though the badge hits him square on the back, he ignores me completely. "Hey! I'm talking to you, prick!"

Cheren disappears into the back. One of the gym workers comes forward, and I grab my shovel, ready to defend Golem if I have to, but he comes with a potion. He helps patch Golem's wounds, saying, "You should let me take him to the Pokemon Center. He's going to need—"

I return Golem, and I snap, "I'M taking him to the Pokemon Center. Cheren can suffer a schedule delay after that stunt he pulled."

And I stalk out.

The next morning, an envelope is delivered to me with the badge, a check and a certificate. A thousand dollars. Just like that. I trounced Cheren, made him a laughingstock with one pokemon, and now I'm swimming in more than a year's wages.

There's another letter. Nimbasa Gym wants an interview with me.

I show Golem the shiny gym badge that's a lot heavier than I expect. It's not until the day after when I've slept the edge off my fears and worries that I can say, "Look." A smile curves up my mouth. "You did good."

He glows. I like the look on him. I pat his shoulder, get ready for work, and before I go, I glare at him. "Don't get any ideas. This isn't going to be a regular thing." He has the good graces to look sheepish and I return him.

I go to work. Cheren avoids my gaze throughout his entire day of matches. He doesn't kill a single pokemon, but still manages to win near-flawless matches. Funny, how that works. You can battle without going for the kill. Who knew, right?

My night ends early without any pokemon to cremate today. It's a good day. I find out that I'm on the front page. I skim the newspaper that both lauds and vilifies me for what I said, but at least they call Cheren out on his shit for making me battle him. Tch, for my IDEALS. Ideally everyone would stay out of my fucking business and try not to slaughter their pokemon for money and fame, but what do I know?

And then, I go to the hospital. I go see my mother and sit down next to her. There's not much gusto in me, but I hold up the badge.

"Beat Cheren yesterday. Didn't get to see you. Had to pick up Golem from the Pokemon Center. He's . . . He's fine. A real scrapper. Should have seen him." I fall silent and twiddle the badge in my hand. It's just another reminder. I've been wasting away in a furnace room instead of living my life. I'm talented and smart, and I can budget the hell out of money. I graduated honors. Golem and I beat Cheren without losing a single pokemon. Not only do I have the intelligence for excavations like I wanted to do when I graduated, but I could even make it decent at the gym circuit if I chose. I look at the bed where my mom lies still.

My brow darkens. After stewing on it for so long and putting things off for so long, I think I'm ready to face it. I'm ready to own up to my selfish patterns. I'm going to do something for myself for once. And fuck what the world thinks. I'm doing it for ME. I'm through sifting through the ashes of my life, and the first thing that has to happen is going to happen tonight.

I stand. I pat her cold hand and blast a heavy breath out. "Look Ma," I say. I shrug. "Don't take it personal, okay? I don't know if you'd want me to do this or not, live like this or not, but the choice isn't yours anymore. It's mine." My upper lip quivers a moment before I stiffen it. I hike my chin up. "Sorry, Ma," I say again, but this time, my voice is faint, like the breath of the wind in the distant trees. "I can't wait anymore. I've got a chance to finally get somewhere and make it, and . . . I'm taking it."

With that said, I leave her side. The beep of the machine tracking her heartbeat fades from my ears as I head back down the halls to the front desk. Karen looks up at me. "Josephine?"

My jaw ticks. My brow cinches, and I wonder how angry I look to her when I tell her with no inflection,

"Pull the plug."