Disclaimer: Arther: No problem : ) Mach: Yes, of course! AshKetchumDarkSide: Yep, I can do those!

Question: Do any of you know about Heart No Kuni No Alice?

My Answer: Please say yes ; w ; I love it so much. It's going to be my next fandom! ~ Although, of course I won't stop writing about pokemon.

Characters: Kaito (an OC of mine) as requested by Arther. (Curious about who he is? GO READ MY NUZLOCKE. NO, I WILL NOT STOP SHAMELESSLY ADVERTISING THIS, I DON'T CARE HOW ANNOYING IT IS)

Summary: It's my personal belief that all ghost pokemon were once human. This is a story of Kaito, and his human life- and death- that led him to become a gastly.

We All Float On

Hesitation wars with resolve, and the chair wobbles as I step onto it. The handmade noose- the one I had to look up how to make- hangs from the pipe, and I force myself to stick my neck through the opening, the blood from my already slit wrists staining my jeans.

But you know, I really didn't think it would hurt.

I mean, the internet made it sound so… so easy. I thought suicide would be painless. An easy way out of not getting into college and being shot down by every music company out there. Hanging sounds better than overdosing, or drinking myself to death, which I have taken to trying lately: then again, anything is better than living in this stupid old house in the middle of Eterna Forest, along with all the gastlys. I swear, they are the only ones that like me nowadays. Not even my parents call in to check, or my ex, for that matter. Of course, none of that matters. Not anymore,I tell myself, adding it to my list of lies. That's sweat that's making my eyes sting, not tears. I'm not scared. I'm sure I want to do this.

But my wrists throb with every beat of my heart, and when I step forward and fall down, my neck aches and my feet can't touch the ground and I'm having doubts and I wonder if I can maybe call this off for now.

Because you know, I really didn't think it would hurt.

They say the brain lives on for a few minutes after the heart stops. Maybe that's true; maybe it's not. All I know is that the sensation of hanging from a noose isn't nearly as poetic as it's cracked up to be, and that thoughts running and crashing into each other doesn't make for a peaceful death.

Instead of a white light, I see gastlys materialize from the shadows, their dark eyes liquid with fascination. Their vapors brush my skin, or at least I think they do- the coldness of them mix with the coldness that seems to be spreading throughout my body. And even as I'm thinking that I really should have called my ex instead of waiting around for her to call me, even as I'm feeling sorry and stupid about taking the rejection of my band so personally, the bruise-coloured bodies of the gastly fill my vision, and my thoughts finally get tired enough to stop altogether.

And you know, I didn't expect it to hurt.

But when it was over, I floated.