Disclaimer: Beast: Bianca's a good character, in my opinion : ) I would definitely read a story about her, if you wrote one. Olih: Thanks : D Your camera sounds wicked cool. What books did you get? Oh, Burgundy's a girl from the anime (I had to look her up, too, don't worry ^.^') Penny: Thanks : ) Kyo: I WOULD MARRY KAORU TOO. AWW YEAH. Mitsy: Thanks! And yeah, any food-related name works ^.^ Tri: You should try it out! Writing out memes is actually kinda fun : ) Arther: Yay! My friend code is 5370-0977- 1192 : D Silver: Yeah, she's the purple-haired girl : )
Question:
My Answer:
Characters: Jack X Karen, Jack's OCs, requested… like, a millennia ago.
Summary: Go check out Champion Jack's story, 'A Trainer's Journey'. The two main characters have GOT to get together; they're so cute!
Tomorrow
When she first stood up for him against Gary on that first day of second grade, she was his hero. And from that day forward, he vowed that he would be hers, too.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, I'll tell her so.
But he held it off, because he always had the tomorrow after that.
.
.
.
.
(Inbetween dreams of championship battles, her face surfaced along with long-buried emotion, only to be pushed down into his subconscious the second he woke.
(He thought he could afford to push it down, because he had the tomorrow after that.)
.
.
.
.
When they travelled together in their teenage years, she was his best friend. And from those years forward, he vowed that he would be hers, too.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, I'll tell her so.
But he held it off, because he always had the tomorrow after that.
.
.
.
.
(He was twelve, and a twelve year old didn't know what love was: a twelve year old couldn't identify this shaking in his hands, this trembling in his heart. He was too young, far too young; or at least, this was what he told himself inbetween their almost-confessions and almost-lip-touches.
(He thought he could afford to be ignorant, because he always had the tomorrow after that.)
.
.
.
.
When they stumbled into adulthood, she was his love. And for forever and a day, he vowed that he would be hers, too.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, I'll tell her so.
But he held it off, because he always had the tomorrow after that.
.
.
.
.
(He couldn't tell you what the climate was like the day she died, or what the grass felt like underneath the material of his shoes.
(But he could tell you that he was powerless to protect her as the Rocket grunt's pokemon landed the killing blow to her chest; he could tell you that he was powerless to save her as her eyes stared and stared and stared into his own.
(And all he thought was why he thought he could afford to wait, even if he always had the tomorrow after that.)
.
.
.
.
When he went to her funeral, he didn't wear black. He wore her favourite colour, her most favourite colour, and brought all the flowers and trinkets that reminded him of her.
It was open-casket (to torture him with her still-staring eyes, and she didn't wear that kind of makeup, why would you make her wear that kind of makeup?), and mourners (clad in dismal blacks and grays, it would have clashed terribly with her cheerful attitude) flocked to say their regards to the man (that wasn't him, that didn't deserve her, that didn't love her- because he loved her first, loved her first and better and more than anyone else).
He watched with burning eyes as they closed her casket up, and lowered her into the ground. And he cried for her- not for him, because champions didn't cry- since she couldn't.
And he put the flowers onto the freshly-placed dirt atop her grave, while whispering an elegy of his own into the cold stone.
(You are my hero, my best friend, and my love.
(I love you, Karen.)
He didn't hold it off, even though he had the tomorrow after that.
He didn't think he could afford to wait, because even though he had the tomorrow after that, she didn't.