They just stood there. The bags just stood there, mocking him. From now on, this would no longer be his room. The space around him would become just another space, perhaps for some other family to move into. He couldn't imagine what the bags were saying, but then again, what shape was he in to imagine anything after him and his mother's brush with death the previous night?

Ralphie hadn't been too terribly shocked to realize just how serious his mom had been about moving. In fact, on one level, she didn't blame her. It would take a lifetime to get away from the sounds of screaming, collapsing rubble, and groans of agony that would pepper their dreams from this point on. Still, there was that stubborn little shred of innocence that was clung to, just in the back of his mind. There was just a shred of him that's the one to become a Pokémon Master.

Using the last reserves of his will, he took one last glance around the room. Very small, but more than spacious enough for him, he had been born in it, literally. There had been stains from his entire life, from claw marks that decorated the ceiling, thanks to an incident involving a rogue Sandshrew to the bar marks on his bed from the time he snuck a Charmander into the house and nearly burnt it down. This wasn't just his home base. It was hishome. He could scarcely imagine sleeping anywhere else.

Upon circling his line of sight back to his bags, a flare of anger rose up inside him, and he unleashed a kick containing all the force he can muster at those bags. What scared him was that he did this without a word, or sound. He wasn't even sure exactly what he was mad about. It could've been everything, or it could have been nothing. He didn't understand. What was happening to him?

"Ralphie, are all of your bags packed?" His mom called from downstairs. Her voice sounded chipper. He didn't need to be a psychologist to know that she was putting on an act. It was a nice little display, designed so that she can keep his spirits up. She'd used it only one other time before.

He mindlessly took his bags and walked downstairs, but not before passing by a mirror placed in the hallway leading to the stairs. He looked just as much like a zombie as he felt.

How fitting. The thought echoed throughout his mind. I should be dead anyway.

They were in the car before either of them even knew it. Did his mother even know where they were going? She hadn't actually mentioned where she wanted to move. In fact, after a certain point, Ralphie began to see the same scenery over and over again. When he finally got up the nerve to ask where they were going, his mom's head hit the steering wheel, leaving the car to echo with a honk that scattered various flocks for miles out. Within minutes, they were both crying profusely. They were both thinking the same thing. Why am I still alive?

Okay, so this chapter was dark (and short), and I couldn't find a proper "jumping off" point after it. Hey, that's the life of a writer for you. Until next time!