Disclaimer: Inferno: I said it all in my PMs, lol. Kasumi: Thank you for your reviews, I'm so glad you liked them!
And guys, guess what? I GOT MORE THAN A HUNDRED REVIEWS! *Squeals and forces everyone into a huge group hug* I love you guys! It feels like just yesterday when I sat here typing these things out, and it felt like no one liked them. Looketh, it all started with you! And all of you wonderful, wonderful people just added to it, and look where I am now! You've made me all extremely happy, I hope you know that.
Question: Hmm… Hottest pokemon character, in your opinion?
My Answer: THAT IS SO HARD. Hm. I say Steven Stone, because I am totally addicted to him right now.
Characters: Wally from R/S/E (Kasumi and Inferno, I'll do your requests soon, okay? I just need a bit of time for some inspiration so I can write them well)
Summary: His life.
Relapse Slowly
~Is this a lasting treasure,
Or just a moment's pleasure?~
Destroy
Blood laced with morphine is being pumped by a heart that is breaking, falling, crashing, and he slams his raw and bleeding fist into the wall, knowing that even if he was strong enough to destroy everything and everyone around him he wouldn't be strong enough to destroy what is killing him.
Bittersweet
He sits on the windowseat and presses his porcelain-white hands up against the glass, watching the sunlight play across the garden and turning it into flashes of iridescent rainbows and stained-glass patches of beauty that blind and dazzle in equal measures. He stays like that, watching as the day bleeds into evening, and the evening into night. He watches as the stars are drowned out by the town's lights.
Star light, star bright,
All those stars I can't see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight.
I wish that I'll live, someday.
A wish is something bittersweet, he finds.
Love
Heaven-hued eyes drip kindness and delicacy, and he can feel as the one-sided emotion gravitates inescapably towards love.
Hate
It's toxic, and every time he looks into the mirror he feels it rise up in him until he's nothing but shattered self-esteem and 'why-can't-I-be-different-this-isn't-what-life-is-supposed-to-be's.
Happiness
The playground is bathed in moonlight, and he swings higher and higher until he's the same height as the sky, his hoarse laughter tear-stained but accomplished.
You always told me to reach for the stars.
Death
He fights tooth-and-claw against it every minute of every day, but he eventually comes to wonder just who he's fighting for.
God
"Be a good boy, now, and say your prayers," his mother coos.
He closes his eyes and kneels, but focuses only on the darkness that stretches out behind his eyelids.
Immortality
She's beautiful and she's real and she's herself, but he knows that if he holds onto her he'll take her down with him.
So he doesn't.
He keeps his hands at his sides, and tells her nothing's immortal.
"Not even love?"
"Especially not love."
Dark
Shadows play across the ceiling, and he looks on as the darkness writhes, unafraid and fascinated.
Light
The skin of her hand is a few shades lighter than his, and she swings their hands between them, daylight refracting off her teeth.
Smile
Dead leaves blanket the ground, and he can't find a reason to smile anymore as August dims into September.
His will to live is dimming with it.
Distance
She's right there in front of him, but he wishes that she were a million miles away.
At least then it would be easier.
Wedding
He's bitterly glad that he won't be around long enough to see her fall in love, get married, have a family.
When he tells her so she screams at him and starts to cry.
Funeral
Azaleas bloom in May.
Wreathes of them loop around his tomb and rest at its base, a painful reminder that plagues her for the rest of her days after she lays a bouquet of them down and exits the cemetery, one hand pressed against her chest.
Insanity
She's his shooting star.
He chases after her until his legs break down and his heart bursts, not caring just how insane it all is.
That's love for you.
Path
His is long and winding, and he treads it with tattered shoes and faltering steps.
Mirror
He looks into the mirror and sees a boy's face with an old man's expression. He sees a sallow complexion and bruise-like shadows etched under eyes the colour of a meadow after it's been burned down and forgotten.
She looks at him and sees an angel.
Imaginary
He plaits imaginary words and far-off lands together and calls it poetry. It's the only thing that convinces him that time is passing.
Suicide
The first time he tried, he was too young to know what 'suicide' meant. Still, the reason between then and the next time he tries is the same:
If I'm going to die, I want it to be by choice.
Wicked
He can't be talented and have boyish charm like Brendan, and he can't be gentlemanly and have wicked good looks like Steven. All he has to offer is his heart.
"I want you to have it," he tells her, even as her eyes brim with tears. "It's been yours all along, anyway."
Prison
His house begins to feel less like a home and more like a prison each day.
Fear
He wishes that he would have died before he learned to have fears about what lay in store after death. He wishes that he would have died before he met her.
He wishes he would have died before he started to live.
Courage
He writes everyone a letter.
Steven Stone: Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about courage. It made me understand what I need to do.
Brendan Birch: Thank you for helping me catch my ralts. And thank you for taking care of May.
Mom and Dad: Thank you for everything. I'm sorry. Please know I love you. I just can't keep pretending to be okay anymore.
Aunt and Uncle: Thank you for letting me stay with you, and for not ratting me out to my parents when I left town. I'm sorry. I love you.
Wanda: Thank you for being such a wonderful person. I'm sorry I won't be around for your wedding. You'll look beautiful, though. You always do. And I want you to have my pokemon. Their pokeballs are attached to this letter.
May: Thank you for being yourself. I love you. Trust me, it's better this way.
Tears stain each and every piece of paper, and as he seals each envelope he seals away a shard of his heart away as well.
Then, after depositing the letters into the mailbox, he goes back to the hotel room to empty his medication into his hand and pop all the remaining pills.
Daybreak
He wakes up from where he slept on the cold forest floor, and gets up with an aching back. Still, when he sees the sun emerge from behind the trees and smells the crisp, clean air, it's all so wonderful that it makes him bend over in hacking coughs that splatter blood all over the branches below.
Rain
After he takes the pills, he wanders out into the rain to die.
He tips his face back and lets the water run off the contours of it, relishing the feeling of coolness. He inhales deeply; in out, in out. His eyes dart, trying to take in everything. His mind is racing, gathering all of his most precious memories around him.
They lift him up like wings, and he feels a tugging sensation urging him upward just as he falls to the ground.
Heartbreak
He kisses her, and runs away. She doesn't follow.
He presses a hand flat against his heart and feels it tremble, feels it shake.
And he likes the pain. It lets him know he's still alive.
Play
Play pretend. Relapse slowly. Serenade her with violins and woo her with inkwell-words that are like fine lace and diaphanous moonrises.
It won't make a difference anyway.
~But will my heart be broken,
When the night meets the morning star?~