MER
By the time Martha reached Viridian City, her neck felt stiff as a board. Telling herself to not look back was one thing; actually listening to herself was another matter entirely. It had taken a massive effort to not turn her head just a little bit, because a little bit was always the start of a larger bit, and eventually, she'd have to bite...
And all the way, that same ditty running through her head:
– why did you do it, why did you leave, you stupid stupid bint, you haven't been out of Pallet in eighteen years, you left the house open, you didn't even pack properly, you are stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid –
All this time, telling ten-year-olds to bring clean underwear with them, and she hadn't even packed her running shoes.
Across the street now – a Pokémon centre. The bright, scarlet front lighting up the viridian night. She kept her gaze straight ahead, crossed the road, walked up to the building, sagged to the ground like a sack of potatoes sprinkled with stupid useless woman –
There, on the concrete-tiled pavement, she crumpled into a heaving ball. She was exhausted, her legs ached, and she knew that it had nothing to do with the distance she had walked.
And her head felt too heavy for her neck to hold, so she rested it against the Pokémon centre's white front, and she breathed deep, and she tried to relax, and she couldn't…
She was in a world she'd never known. She had tried to remember, over the last few months, what her life had been like outside Pallet – but nothing, there was just nothing, and she was alone, and she was stupid, and she –
– she'd done it. She'd left Pallet, finally. She'd made it, and she was… free.
you should never have left but I did you fool you don't know what's out there but at least I am you are needed in pallet but I –
– had nothing more to say.
She sat up, turned to face the black asphalt of the road, and the spattered streetlights that threw Chiffon at the sidewalks and the odd passerby. It felt foreign, and frightening, but in the circumstances, welcoming – and the sounds, of the cars and lorries that drifted by, and the noise of doors opening and shutting in the distance, and the voices of people talking on the phone, they were just… there.
A man ambled past her, paying her no attention. She pulled her legs in so he wouldn't stumble – then got to her feet. She would have to… stay at the Pokémon centre? That was what everyone travelling through Kanto did, right? Did it cost money? What if they were full? What about food, would she need a Pokémon to stay there, would she would she –
Movement. She turned to the left, looked down, saw a periwinkle shape emerge from the centre and stumble its way onto the road on four legs. It looked like a turtle, with a dirt brown shell and a blue, wilted tail. There was an air of confusion about it, as though it didn't know where it was, only that it would rather be somewhere else…
It didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything, and certainly not to Martha, who felt drawn to the unfamiliar creature, felt her eyes follow it as though her gaze was glued to its bobbing head, and she was tempted to trail it, just to see where it was headed – heard words in her head urging her to go on, go on, heard – engine nois-
She shouted, or thought she did, and the tortoise heard it or didn't hear it, and the car came rushing and hit it with a thud and kept going, like the driver hadn't just ran something over, and she only barely remembered to look to both sides before darting across the street, to where the turtle was lying on its back, damaged, in pain – dead?
The shell stirred. Martha threw herself forward, grabbed the turtle with both hands, lifted it up…
It stared at her.
She stared back.
It blinked.
She swallowed. "… Um…"
It stared some more.
Then, it winced in pain, and Martha almost dropped it as she hurried to shift her grip. A darker spot was spreading over the right-hand side of its shell, where the car had struck. She stroked it, just a little bit, with her thumb –
"Skwer," groaned the turtle, and she pulled her hand back.
"I… I, had better, get you inside," she said, and straightened up.
The Pokémon centre, that was the hospital, Martha knew that much. She would just hand the tortoise over, tell them it was a traffic accident, ask them for a room for the night, it was that simple.
It was just that simple.
Just that simple…
She didn't notice that someone was walking up to her until they had already walked into her. A dark shape under the yellow lamps, who didn't even stop to apologise, just kept going straight ahead, like he hadn't even seen her. "Hey!" she shouted, but the man didn't listen, didn't stop. She sighed, looked down at the Pokémon in her arms again, crossed the street.
It didn't struggle. Martha was grateful for that. It stayed still in her arms on the pavement, through the doors, over the floor, to the front desk. But when she rang the bell on the counter, it winced. She stroked its head. It was calm.
She threw a glance at the clock on the back wall. 00:30 AM, it read. Half naught. Would there still be people here? Hospitals never stopped working, did they? What if someone got taken ill at a quarter to one?
They couldn't be closed. Not now. She struck the bell again, stroked the turtle. It was quiet, it was calm. No reaction. Nothing.
Now you've done it. You have no idea what to do. You're lost, and that thing is going to die, and you will just go crawling back to Oak in Pallet, you should never have left –
But then another voice said Look right! and she listened.
The words 'Did you come in late?' met her in underlined, black letters. Underneath, the poster read 'Service hours 8:30 to 23:00', and below that, there was a map.
Keys on the wall behind the desk, bedclothes behind the reception booth, bedrooms upstairs. Toilets in the hallway, washing room below the stairwell. It was a free self-serve hostel, with – no mention of medical facilities.
She looked down at the turtle again, stroking a finger across its chin. "How are you doing," she said.
"Skwer?"
"I'll take you to my room," she said, "and, and you'll rest. Tomorrow, I'm getting you looked at." It felt like an intrusion, but she saw no other option. Nobody was in, nobody could help. "Okay?"
Her finger suddenly nudged something pointy, cold. She started, looked closer, found a chain –
– and a square, silver tag, with writing on it.
It said…
"… Mer." It had a name. It had an owner. It belonged to someone.
Someone who wasn't Martha.
"… And… we'll find your trainer, too." The word left a sterile, metallic taste in her mouth, like she had eaten the nametag.
She looked down again, and frowned.
"Tomorrow."
Tomorrow.