Disclaimer: Arthur: : ) Luthor: Yup, I'm always taking requests! And yes, I can do that. Ash: Hey, bro, it's been a while : ) Yep, I'll be sure to do that for you. Deltra: Don't be silly, you can always request stuff; and yes, N better come back. Puppy: Thanks! Penny: : " D Yay! Thanks for all the reviews. And yep, it's apparently a direct sequel to B/W, just like G/S/C was to the original pokemon games. I love Cheren, too *hugs Cheren* Tri: Your prose is lovely, too ; w ; Mitsy: It's.. it's so hard for me to choose. Can I have both? Is that allowed? X D And okay, sure, I'll make sure Max gets some love~ Olih: Thank youuu ; w ; what a pretty review. ShinyAmpharos: Thanks for the fave!
Question: Does any part of this fic apply to you?
My Answer: Yes.
Characters: You, me, and us, because no matter who or where you are, you aren't alone. You know that, don't you? There's always someone going through exactly what you're going through. There's always someone that cares for you. And there's always hope for the future. I think that we really lose sight of that sometimes- the future, I mean. I think that we really lose sight of a lot of things.
Summary: Inspired by reading Olihmajor's new collection of ficlets, 'A Collective Journal', and talking to some of my friends here online. And yes, these are all quotes from pokemon games/movies. This is also dedicated to you. Yes, you, specifically. Because you are just that amazing.
Of Escape Ropes and Save Files
.
.
.
.
Delete all saved data?
…
~Yes
~No
…
Once data has been deleted, there is no way to recover it. Delete saved data anyway?
.
.
.
.
I don't know how to start this: I asked my life line for advice, but it disappeared into my palm before it could give me an answer.
Maybe you have Peter Pan syndrome, or maybe you're one of those paper hearts that's been held over a candle once too many times. Maybe you're one of those children that grew up too soon, too fast, or maybe you're one of those abstract paintings that people peer quizzically at in art galleries, all splattered with various emotions and personalities.
But I'm not going to try to cram you into a cliché, because I know how claustrophobic they can make people. Instead I'm going to give you words, if you'll have them. I hope you will.
They're the only way I can reach you.
.
.
.
.
PLAYER flinched, and couldn't move.
.
.
.
.
Fists bury themselves in your stomach, and you vomit gasps. You get slammed against the locker
or
the ground
or
the wall,
and
feel shoes drum against your ribcage in rapid succession, like the bang-bang-bang of bullets hitting steel.
He
or
She
or
They slur the usual insults,
and
you are faced with two options: fight or flight.
Yet another jeer reaches your ears, and you sag, allowing your trembling legs to go boneless. Maybe you glare, or maybe you cry. Maybe you spit an insult into the air, or maybe the blood in your mouth is getting in the way.
But you stay there, a jumble of battered bones, until the beating stops.
(Because it's not like you could fight,
(and flying is just
(f
(a
(l
(l
(i
(n
(g
(in slow
(motion.)
.
.
.
.
Attract: If it is the opposite gender, the foe becomes infatuated and less likely to attack.
.
.
.
.
"Fag."
You walk, and your footsteps have never seemed louder.
"Homo."
Stares weigh heavily on your shoulders, as if there is a dartboard on your back and their eyes are trying to hit dead center.
"Queer."
Your emotions play Cat's Cradle with your intestines, twisting them into unnatural shapes.
"Unholy."
Sweat trickles down the back of your neck.
"You're going to hell."
Their words haunt you, inflicting doubt and misery with every echo.
"You're going to hell."
Your hands clench into fists, as if you can somehow squeeze the words from your memory.
"You're going to hell."
"Shut up!" you scream
shout
whisper. "Shut up!"
Empty space reflects your words back at you.
.
.
.
.
PLAYER used CUT.
.
.
.
.
It hurts more than you expect.
You can practically hear each skin particle rip, blood welling up like tears from where you dragged the razor. You would think about how poetic this all is, how pathetic, maybe, but the shock at the pain steals all thought from your mind.
Tears fall, causing the cuts to sting even more.
Breathing in through your mouth, you memorize the feel of the warm wetness on your skin, and watch yourself bleed out. You can feel your emotional distress bleed out with it, drip, drip,
d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
from your body. The physical pain muffles it, locks it up in your subconscious for a few precious minutes, but you know that all of the worthlessness will surface once you're done.
It always does.
.
.
.
.
Insomnia: The Pokemon cannot be under the SLEEP condition while having this ability.
.
.
.
.
You've been walking around in a daze for what seems like forever.
Your judgment is off; your body is heavy and useless. Insomnia blows fog into your brain, slowing it down to a near-halt, and you can't remember the last time you dreamed.
(Did you ever?)
Every night you watch the shadows laugh themselves to sleep, and every morning you watch them wake, refreshed and rejuvenated.
(You lay awake, and wonder what you did to make sleep hate you.)
.
.
.
.
PLAYER used the Escape Rope.
.
.
.
.
You've thought about it. Maybe you haven't seriously considered it, but you've thought of it, even if for a fleeting moment.
Suicide.
You think you might want to go by drowning, with your lungs imploding and stars bursting behind your eyes.
or
You think you might want to go by pills, just letting sleep draw a blanket over your head.
You picture yourself jumping out the window and lying spread-eagled on the pavement below. You imagine what it would feel like to jump out onto the freeway, to feel pain and elation fighting for dominance in your veins as the car throws you through the air.
You wonder what it would be like after.
So you look down at your hands, and think of a rope in them. You try to think of how people you know would react, and if they would miss you.
And the noose around your heart tightens, just a little.
.
.
.
.
"There is such a thing as being too stupid! Add it up, and you are nothing more than a warped, defective boy."
.
.
.
.
"Why can't you just be normal?"
Self-esteem hugs itself, the wind combing its hair with gentle, coaxing fingers so unlike its parents'.
"You're completely useless."
Fuck you, it thinks. You don't know me.
"Get out."
It chants a mantra in its head: I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
"Ungrateful."
Toes hang over the edge of the building.
"I'm disappointed in you."
Its body leans forward.
"Get over yourself. Get on with your life. You don't know what stress is."
I hate you. The streetlights shine like beacons below. I'm sorry.
"You're a failure."
Self-esteem pitches itself off the building, and falls like a stone through the air.
"You have nothing to be sad or angry about."
.
.
.
.
PLAYER fled using RUN AWAY.
.
.
.
.
Maybe you watched that kid get bullied, and kept walking past.
Maybe you overheard those girls gossip, and didn't bother to defend the one that wasn't there.
Maybe you agreed with your friends when they were sneering about that person that you like, just because it was the easy thing to do.
Maybe you started talking shit, since the situation called for it.
Maybe you saw those guys taunting that special need's child, and turned a blind eye.
Maybe you thought, I should do something. I should help. I should stop it.
But you didn't.
Why didn't you?
Why didn't you?
Why didn't you?
Instead you ran away from your morality, because you're a teenager and the social norms are as solid as walls, boxing you in.
(Is that really an excuse?)
.
.
.
.
"Both Pokemon and people will meet their destined partner someday! I believe it because my sister who got married said so!"
.
.
.
.
Promises turn to dust, settling in the creases of your fingertips. Kisses and maybe-love butterflies lie cold in your stomach, the toxins of their dying wings sending fumes of poison up to cause your heart to shrivel up into an unbeating mass of flesh.
{Boys break hearts.}
You should have known better. You should've known that no relationship lasts. You should've known. You should've known.
You should've known that you can give your body away, but it won't change anything.
You should've known that you can play pretend, but it won't always become true.
You should've known that maybe you were loved once, but love fades.
You should've known.
{Girls do, too.}
Now all you have left is these fragments on the floor, and they cut your dust-coated fingers whenever you try to pick them up.
{But breaking hearts is so passé- can't we be trendsetters, and try fixing them?}
But you don't want to pick them up right now: you want to sink to your knees, hold them close to your chest, and cry all of your I should've known betters and But I was in loves and What went wrongs into the floor.
So you do just that.
.
.
.
.
"Life is wonderful… but why?"
.
.
.
.
Your get-well card didn't work. Deep down, you knew it wouldn't.
or
The death was completely unforeseen. But you did see it, you did- you just didn't realize you saw it until it was too late.
It was cancer-drugs-alcohol-accident-suicide. It was words-cannot-describe-but-they-try-to-anyway. It was denial-rage-grief-depression. It was blame mixed with agony, and it's like the first time you saw him cry and the last time you saw her walk away. It was like when your pet died
or
when you failed that one time.
or
when the tears just wouldn't stop, no matter how hard you tried to make it otherwise.
It was just like that.
Except it wasn't.
.
.
.
.
A world of dreams and adventures with POKEMON awaits! Let's go!
.
.
.
.
"What did you learn in school today, dear?"
I learned that intangible letters make or break your too-tangible future, and I learned that 'future' is beginning to not even sound like a word anymore. I learned that scientists mixed fantasy in with acid, and that's why adventures don't exist anymore. In Gym, I learned that changing rooms are made for prying eyes to examine your every flaw. History taught me that hope went extinct along with the dinosaurs. I learned how to say 'You're not good enough' in French. My English teacher explained how 'happiness' was a synonym for 'success'.
"J'ai appris que je ne suis pas assez bonne."
In Math, we were given a quiz on failing. I passed. Then I spent lunch learning that makeup can't hide hollow eyes, and that music lovers wear headphones so that they don't have to listen to the sound of our aspirations being fed into the paper shredding machine.
"What was that?"
I learned why Peter Pan didn't want to grow up: because when you grow up, something inside you dies. Who you used to be dies. You die.
Today, in school, I learned that everyone dies.
"Nothing. Just…nothing."
.
.
.
.
Once data has been deleted, there is no way to recover it. Delete saved data anyway?
~Yes
~No
.
.
.
.
So maybe you think you're too fat, and are puking your imperfects up into the toilet. Maybe you find yourself chasing everyone you love away, because you don't want to disappoint them. Maybe you spend your nights wishing that there was someone out there to love you. Maybe you're scared that you aren't going to get anywhere in life. Maybe you watch those people falling and dying on the television, and are swamped with just how bleak our world is.
Maybe you take shit from your friends, or bullies, or parents. Maybe you cry yourself to sleep. Maybe you can't find any hope in the hopeless anymore.
We all exist for a reason. And though this isn't a beautiful piece of writing by any stretch, I just wanted to put this out here:
Sometimes, maybe you want to die.
And I understand.
.
.
.
.
Once data has been deleted, there is no way to recover it. Delete saved data anyway?
~Yes
~No
…
Saved data was not deleted.