Disclaimer: I hope you're all as excited for ORAS as I am!
Characters: Mitsuru/Wally-centric. Similar to my Read This In Reverse drabble, as it can be read either top-down or bottom-up.
Summary: The clock hands reel backwards./ The first installation of my drabble series commemorating Omega Ruby/ Alpha Sapphire. For Ebaz, who makes me want to write again.
Countdown for Mitsuru
12
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The clock hands reel backwards.
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11.
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"I lost to you, Yuki, but I'm not feeling down anymore. I have a new purpose in life. Together with my pokemon, I'm going to challenge gyms and become a great trainer. Please watch me, Yuki. I'm going to be stronger than you. When I do, I'm going to challenge you to another battle," you tell him, but you never leave that cave. You mean to, but your determination has long since frayed and your breaths rattle out of your lungs and you can take the boy from the hospital but you can't ever take the hospital from the child.
You wish you could do life over again and do it better, but you lived once and that's good enough, you suppose.
(Try not to think about how your life is a poem that ends halfway, a song that cuts off just as the chorus begins; just lay on that cold stone floor and try not to wax poetic about it, tell yourself that you've been preparing yourself for this since you were old enough to walk. Cough blood into your palms and watch as it stains everything it comes into contact with.)
Your gardevoir is so sad, so you force a smile, just for her.
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10
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Yuki's voice on the other end of the pokenav is low and lovely and sunlit. You close your eyes against it, let it warm the coldest corners of your heart.
"One of these days, I'll catch up to you," you say, just to hear him laugh. The wind stirs in your hair and you stare openly up into the sun, unblinking. You listen his exhale crackle through the receiver, synchronize your breathing with his.
It's the closest you ever come to a goodbye.
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9
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The first time you vomit blood, hunch over the toilet with your kirlia rubbing circles across your back and force yourself to admit that your life is all a build-up to nothing.
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8
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After night falls, pack your bags. The moon is dangling from a web of stars and you wish you could thank it for reminding you that there is more to life than waiting to die.
You carry your ralts in your arms, and soak in life untouched by scalpels and blood transfusions.
7
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Your first battle against Yuki ends not in a bang, but in a whimper.
"Being a trainer is tough, isn't it? It's not enough just to have pokemon and make them battle. That isn't what being a real trainer is about."
Despite the loss, you feel like music. You take Yuki's calloused hand and shake it once, allowing yourself to linger. He lets you, and your heartbeat crescendos.
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6
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The day that they tell you you're going to die, release a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Your ralts reaches up with a tiny hand, and you hold it to your cheek with a smile.
Your parents expect you to cry when they ship you off to Verdanturf. Instead you feel relieved to finally have their eyes off you.
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5
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You are fifteen when the rhythm of your life changes.
"…Would you really come with me?"
The grass sways wild and green under your feet, and your fingers clutch the pokeball as though it is your only lifeline. Your heart hammers against your ribcage like a fist banging on a door, begging it to open up, to let it free.
"Pokemon hide in tall grass like this, right? Please watch me and see if I can catch one properly!"
Yuki smiles at you with eyes that mirror the open sky, and it's the first time in your life that a smile directed at you isn't laced with pity. You feel a cough hitching in your throat and tuck it carefully under your tongue, grinning back at him with all that you're worth.
"You throw a ball now, right? I… I'll do my best!"
Your best has never been good enough but you try anyway: the capsule flies from your sweat-slicked hand and envelopes the pokemon in white. The ball twitches and rolls, and for the first time in your life you feel alive.
"I did it… It's my… it's my pokemon!"
Your best has never been good enough until now.
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4
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You are ten when you discover music.
The guitar strings bruise the pads of your fingers, but you continue despite your mother's protests and fluttering hands. The notes that you wring from the instrument are hideous but oh, they set you free.
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3
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Rehearse death all you want, but when the time comes succumb to stage fright, succumb to fear of the unknown.
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2
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Your gums bleed when you brush them. You spit red into the sink and listen to your father's voice from the kitchen, listen to it rise above the water dripping from the tap.
"I just… wish he could've been normal, you know? I would've liked to teach him to play ball, or battle, or…"
You spit again and watch as your blood ruins the porcelain.
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1
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You can't remember a time when being sick wasn't routine. Wake up, take your meds, vomit them back up, take your meds again—smile, smile as if nothing's wrong, smile as though having the IV hooked to your arm doesn't feel as natural as breathing.
Your mother is so sad, so you smile bigger, just for her.