Cover art by Plum.
Content Warning: This chapter contains written instances of body horror.
To preface my words, I'm sorry.
My memory isn't what it once was. It has holes. Deep ones, at that.
This story is all I have. All I ask for is patience, and mindfulness.
May it work well in my stead.
Imagine a bed.
An average one, nothing fancy. Soft sheets, and a good mattress.
Your head rests on the pillow. It cradles your head as a delicate warmth envelopes you. The mattress too, wraps your body as you sink into the springs. It swaddles your person, lowered just enough—not too warm, not too cold. It practically begs you to relax.
Your eyelids agree, and fall shut. The dark nothing cradles your mind.
A field appears in the emptiness. Rolling hills span for as far as the eye can see, blades of grass dance in the silent wind. A few stray beams of gold trickle from above the clouds.
Just beyond the horizon stands an eggshell fence, short and stocky. Beyond that, vast acres of meadow, blanketed in grass and undergrowth. A choir of shifting dirt thumps far off.
Then, a dense flock of sheep crests the moor. They bray and coo, preparing themselves to vault the fence.
Thus, the moment comes. Rearing back, the foremost sheep charges ahead and leaps, sailing above the wood posts, and lands amongst the green. The second begins following suit, rearing back and rushing forth. Then, the third follows, and a fourth, then fifth. Each hop is perfectly synced with the last. It's almost as if they're being counted.
With a brief shake, the first sheep scoops a clump of greenery into its jaws. It bleats as the creature continues to devour mouthful after mouthful. Delicious, just as much as it looks.
The others hastily follow suit.
The pasture fills quickly, but none to worry. There's plenty of meadow. Sprawling, sunny-showered meadow.
An ewe goes for yet another bite, and wretches. She was of the first to arrive—so eager to have a taste, it had hardly crossed her mind to have a sip of water before her meal. Oh well, at least one basic need is satisfied.
...But on the other hoof, there doesn't look to be a pond or basin in sight. She doesn't recall passing one either.
Her tongue lies arid and the dry taste buds barely grasp the grass' texture. A few of her comrades voice their concerned bleats between mouthfuls.
Oh.
Oh, something's wrong.
She can't see her flock. She can hardly see at all. Her eyes burn and hassling ensnares her barrel.
It doesn't take long for the flock to grasp the weight of the sweltering problem.
Some begin searching for shelter, others wander the bordering plains. There isn't a droplet for miles. A few of the sharper animals try hunkering away in the picket fence's shadow, only to come to the realization it's high noon. It had been high noon. For hours.
The once blissfully grazing animal winces from the sting pulsing in her skull. She can't tell if she's even on a hill anymore. Where is she? Where had her flock gone? Why can't she breathe?
In an odd twist, a sense of calm washes over the ewe. She feels... drowsy. A voice in the narrows of her mind demands she resist but weakness swamps over it, crawling along her fetlocks. If not for her coat, she would swear her skin would slough to the ground. Her organs are being cooked inside of her as they work tirelessly to cool, as if she's the oven.
Then, something strange happens.
It's finally beginning to cool.
Maybe. Maybe, it's not bad.
Half-chewed grass dangles from loose, cracked lips. Hammering heartbeats beg the ewe to be released from its sweltering ribcage, desperate to be quenched.
Fluttering eyelids drift to a close—
...and lungs grow stiff.
As do yours.
...
The meadows are gone. You're in bed.
Dream's over.
For some reason, you feel damp, and clammy. Sticky, almost. It's as though something clings to your skin, yet you are perfectly dry. Even then, it seems there is more.
No, the strange bit is how lucid the dream felt. Especially with how difficult breathing is.
Why can't your lungs fill? The nightmare had ended, the sun is gone.
You aren't a sheep. You are a person.
An urge of restlessness slithers along your skin. You can't quite move. Any action made is bolted down, clamped by an empty force. It's like pressing against a spring; only, instead of resisting a coil, it's moving your limbs.
Hmm.
Your body should move. It needs to.
This is wrong.
...
This is wrong, as your eyes relay.
You are in a room.
It's yours.
Your flaming room.
Your flaming, smoking, room.
Gasp, scream, struggle—it doesn't matter. A lump of festering soot clogs your throat.
You can't scream.
So thrash, lash out and kick off the covers, throw the quilt, rip off the pajamas.
What difference does it make? None.
It's sticky and too HOT. Too hot to think, too hot to breathe, too hot to see.
Smog. Putrid, acrid smog chokes the room.
Smog, and light. A light scorching the world to hell.
Hot hot hot hot hot HOT HOT HOT HOT
You can't see what must come off, but it wasn't going to matter. The thick miasma above is overtaken by a blazing glory of white. It's hardly much of a room anymore. However, that hardly matters.
Leave. You must leave.
NOW.
Oxygen oxygen oxygen oxygen you need AIR.
but there is no air
THERE IS NO AIR
YOU NEED AIR
THERE IS NO AIR
THERE Is no air
...
Just like that.
Everything is gone.
...
...
...
...
...
. . .
?
...
...
I felt something.
...
Oh. I could feel.
...
...what did I feel?
...
. . .
It wavered. Sadly, it was too faint.
...
. . .
It happened again.
Less faint.
...
. . .
Light. Gentle.
There was nothing more.
Well, no. It was— something was missing. Yet, there wasn't anything else, only an absence.
-like texture. It missed texture.
...
...
. . .
Again. Light. Gentle.
...
. . .
...
The sensation began, dispersed, then began again, like a rhythm.
Ah. It felt like tapping.
What was it?
...
Light and wispy, but more was missing.
...
...
Once again. This time, closer. The answer felt close too.
...
. . .
Grass.
I figured it to be grass. I didn't know where I felt the grass from.
...
A new sensation rose. This one larger—much larger than the grass.
It was-
...
. . .
Cold.
There was something more though. A washing feel.
...
Ah. Joy.
I enjoyed the cold.
...
...
It's a Chill.
A delicate cold, like touching a damp towel. The feeling seemed to reach across my back, a bit similar to the first feeling.
Perhaps it was grass.
...
...
Oh, right.
I had a body.
I know. Ridiculous sounding, yes, but my brain had somehow... forgotten. That is, it hadn't existed just a moment before, yet jogging the memory made it reappear.
...And thus came a third sensation, though it was too weak. Another feeling had risen above.
...
. . .
There: a twinge near my ear.
Rather, twinges. Many twinges.
It seemed to bounce, then began tunneling until it reached the depths of my brain. The moment it did, I knew pain.
In an instant, I heard everything.
Beats and clicks and shearing pitches and grinding and- god, much more. It all thrummed and hammered in my skull, rebounding every. Little. Thing. Yet, due to the mess of noise, I couldn't listen. I couldn't make sense of it—only 'exist'.
And so, that was that.
Just my mind, the noise, and I. So I stayed, moldering inside over the litany of sound. Whines and ringing; chirps, cracks, crinkles—it was senseless. Just a senseless, raw, unfiltered mess.
I couldn't think of how to stop it. My own thoughts felt loud, as if clashing with the ringing for control.
Eventually, it ended. It took much longer than I would've liked, but the noise had calm.
...
...
. . .
...relief.
Relief filled my feeling-deprived void. The ringing still lingered some, but I was able to think. I may have sighed or groaned, but the void obscured that.
Once again, I was left in nothing.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Finally, another sound.
It crunched and popped against my eardrum, crinkling inward. In a way, the noise, while loud, wasn't grating like the pitches from before. It was... soothing.
I took note of the relief as my ear tuned in.
More sound arrived. Faint clicks and shifting crunches, scrapes of– yes, leaves. That's what they were. The scrapes of leaves on one another; it put my mind at ease. I wish I understood why.
My senses probed further.
...
...
...
There was no sound to the left.
...
Wrong. There was no left ear.
...
My mind tried to investigate.
...
...
...
Everything exploded.
I had thought the noises were awful. No, no. Wrong.
The world flashed. Sound flashed. My thoughts flashed. Everything flashed. It was bright. So, oh so so so so so bright. Mounds of noise bashed against my skull and pulses swelled from every corner of my body.
The pulses bounced all manner of signals at once in a frenzy. At first, I couldn't register them.
That was soon fixed. It was pain.
Time stopped.
I flailed my arms. I flailed my legs. Nothing worked. My muscles pushed and pulled, contracted and retracted, and everything in between.
I couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. I was a prisoner to myself, trapped in my body. Unlike the noise, it didn't stop. It just kept going. Each time I thought a lull came, the convulsions returned in full.
Then, just as quick, the muscles released. A stream of something trickled from my lips between shallow wheezes. It was over.
Despite everything going on, a space opened in my mind for questions to slip through.
What is this?
...what did all of this?
What was all of this?
As questions trailed, something small landed on my chest with a tap. The tap was weak but it felt like a steel beam had shattered my ribs. From what I knew, breathing wasn't normally so hard. If not for my lungs screeching for air, I may have suffocated.
Something snuck into my nose between strangled breaths.
Recollection dawned on me. It was a smell.
The oder, while foul, seemed familiar. It was an odd fusion of smells, half synthetic and rubbery and the other organic. I recall something close to a terribly burnt steak. From the chemical aftertaste, it was still fresh. 'Perturbing' seemed to be the fitting word.
Forcing out the ilk, I finally took hold of my eyelids.
Bright.
...Much brighter than something artificial. My eyes burned. My ceiling fan had never been so powerful. Nor any lamp.
Truth be told, I was losing patience with this song and dance. The lack of answers for... practically anything was neither comforting or pleasing.
Maybe I'd gauge the environment. Well, if I could see.
I was able to sit up by shifting to an elbow. Why my left arm refused to respond I wasn't sure, but that was a matter for later. At last, my eyesight had been restored.
It was a good idea to get my bearings.
-on paper.
First: my apartment building was gone. There was nothing.
Granted, my sight was no better than seeing through a broken beer bottle, but a wall of green and brown trees is only so telling.
Second: I was missing something crucial. Just as I peered over my collarbone, my eyes stopped.
Suddenly, the environment wasn't important. I couldn't believe my eyes.
...
No, I didn't want to.
Bloody fragments of raw flesh pulsed and cracked. Smoldering. Deep, filthy black scorches littered my uneven chest. Sinew, mangled muscle, cartilage—all were exposed to the world, slowly writhing in place. A gashing crater dug into my thigh as large as a fist, a squelching, grotesque pulse occasionally visible through loose, ruined fabric. Soot peppered my skin, trailed by multiple divots that had were torn or had corroded away.
All manner of snapped twigs and ash embedded themselves into the mess. Only my right shoulder and below appeared unmolested, though still scraped and bruised. My clothes were little more than pieces of blackened fabric.
I couldn't bring myself any further, the feeling of air touching bone was too much.
All my strength fought to choke back vomit. It got horribly worse when I recalled the strange smell from before.
I could hardly recognize my own body, much less consider it to be a human. My human body.
With the last remaining strength I had, my eyes were torn away. I tried to cast the sight from my mind and failed. Over and over, it failed. It sat there unapologetically, an internal branding to match the outer.
However, it seemed fate had one last wrinkle.
From the corner of my eye came the object from before nestled in the ground. A blue strawberry with large, bulbous seeds sat in the grass.
...
Tremors raking through it, my hand made to pick up the berry. For whatever reason, I felt like I should've recognized it.
The meekest whiff of blueberry tickled below the mingling roasted shoe and leg meat.
Somewhere deep down, below the carnage, a flicker of relief churned in my gut. It trusted the object. Why, who knows. It believed- no, it knew the berry would help.
So, my half-dead, hardly lucid self bit the darn thing.
Wrong, wrong. I was wrong.
'Concentrated bitter' is not nice.
"...pblrrghh."
There was an upside to this: I had a guess at what the berry was.
If this, thing was what I thought it was, the only way to confirm was-
...
Even now, I struggle accepting I did this.
My face instinctually scrunched even further amidst the strained agony. It had fallen directly on my tongue, and my mouth struggled to keep the wretched thing at bay. My tongue thrashed about to escape from the taste and my jaw quivered in protest, but ultimately, I managed to choke the berry down.
Another surge sheered through me. Hardened, black scabs began to crack with an exposed bright-red underside, thin strands of pink flesh sluggishly weaving over the burns. On went the fresh fibers, stretching and knitting themselves like the handiwork of a master seamstress. Although it caused me to dig my nails into my palms and gnash my teeth, the strangest aspect was how I felt my body repairing itself. Unsettling, in every sense of the word, and yet unique and stunning— if not for the torture of my flesh being pulled and stitched over itself. I struggled to not think about the protruding twigs and stones. In a handful of minutes, a layer of stringy tissue had been stitched across most of the open wounds.
My mind drifted back to the fruit.
Realization struck like a hammer. My chest felt tight and my mind ground to a halt.
What I ate, it was no aloe vera, nor was it a magical plant. It was a Rawst Berry.
Memories claimed it was a berry that, when ingested, cured the 'Burn' affliction for a Pokémon.
A Pokémon berry.
...
The mind is rather powerful. Able to process things in less than a tenth of second, it's an interesting structure. Although, an overwhelmed mind can only withstand for so long before it, for a lack of better terms, shuts down.
Too many signals? It gets rid of them.
It's a defensive mechanism. An effective one, at that; though, it's more of a last-ditch effort. Regardless, the brain, well, it 'reverts'. Back to the basics. I assume that most are partly familiar with Maslow's hierarchy.
In this case, the brain seeks just the bare necessities: food, water, shelter, etcetera. Everything else is set aside. This includes both safety and rational thought. It was clear what would happen if I lost consciousness like that, and every moment that ticked by, I felt world and my body press heavier.
I tried to stand. I failed.
I tried again. Again, I failed. This time, my left leg ruptured under my weight.
Through a slew of wheezing, I managed to rise onto my legs. Then came more wheezing. The trickling blood and sweat plastered beneath my fingers added an extra layer of challenge. Balanced on my one good leg, I began to hobble.
A gentle breeze blew along, sending choirs of wailing stings through the wounds. I stifled the urge to collapse. Tremors ravaged my muscles and jostled my bones. Once the breeze died, the wandering resumed.
This turned into a pattern. The slightest gust forced me to brace as best I could, hoping I stay on my feet. It died down, then on I went. I don't recall how long this went for.
At one point, my eyes locked with a pair of gleaming ones from a bush a few meters away. A pair of tall, black pupils tracked me curiously while I tried to get a better look. The rest of it was perfectly obscured amidst the leaves.
Whatever the thing was, it was wary.
It refused to move a muscle until I took a step forward. The creature responded with a step back.
I didn't have time. I decided to try my luck communicating.
"...i..s...an..y..n...ar..und..?"
Speaking with lungs caked in soot isn't realistic, I found.
The eyes narrowed before disappearing from the bush, a tan, glove-like hand extending out from the thick brambles. It signaled for me to follow before scampering away from its hiding spot. If I had been able to control my body properly, I may have arched an eyebrow.
Had I been watched?
How long had I been observed, unconscious and dying?
My face flushed with frustration as I hobbled through a gap between a sturdy trunk and wall of plants. I had to be especially careful not to brush against much, lest I suffer further. Unfortunately, this, to, turned out to be less realistic the longer I followed.
Speaking of, I hadn't the foggiest idea who, or rather what, my guide was. I was grateful for the hospitality. Truly, I was. But after all I'd witnessed since waking, I couldn't help but stay on edge. Not to mention, I wasn't sure how much longer I could last. I was already seeing double, and I could only guess how bad things really were. My whole body pleaded to crumble and lie down. I wouldn't last a detour.
Eventually we came upon a clearing of dark green grass, a massive oak proud and center. A wall of thick-trunked trees dotted the area, one popping up a few feet in each direction. Lush greenery encompassed the area. Had the situation been different, I may have enjoyed the view.
The reprieve was short lived when my legs buckled beneath me, causing my body to come crashing down through the line of plants and brambles.
A stream of labored coughs and agonized cries rose within the stumpy shrubbery. A moment later I emerged from the flora, wheezing form staggering through coughs. Sanguine fluids dribbled from my body, clinging to the myriad of plastered soot and sweat.
From the weakness welling behind my chest, I was running by the minute.
Right then, a distant chirp rang from within an overhead tree, followed closely by the subtle swish of branches and leaves. The sound of branches and twigs breaking quickly closed in. The rustling sped closer and closer until coming to an abrupt halt above with a shower of debris.
The creature soared down from the treeline, sticking the landing gracefully only a couple feet in front of me.
They had tan arms and a long face with a body reminiscent of a monkey, the tan color cutting off around their lower belly. The rest of their body was a brisk green, easily blending in with the forest leaves, and no taller than around two feet in height. Interestingly, the ends of their tail split off into two flat flaps, one a few inches larger than the other. Two big, lively ears twitched on each side of their head, listening to see if I was still breathing. Lengthy black eyes scanned me over, curiosity and worry overtaking them.
What truly stood out about the monkey was the miniature tree growing atop their head, from which the monkey pinched a small handful of the tree's "tuft".
"Pansage?"
...
It was a Pansage.
A pokémon.
A real, living pokémon.
...
If my brain had been functioning correctly, there would be a long slew of words I'd prefer not to repeat.
But it wasn't functioning.
In reality, I just sat there, bulging eyes refusing to blink. The lifeless stare traveled for miles as the poor grass monkey pokemon awkwardly shifted side to side. Their mouth opened again to say something, but I didn't quite catch it. A film had dropped over my ear and sounds began to slosh and slur beneath the murky layers. Silt washed over mounds of debris in waves, the world spinning on its head. It continued to spin faster and faster in the face of my brain's pleas to have it slow. Pungent haze swathed the trees.
I never noticed the weights strung to my eyelids.
Thankfully, reality must have chosen to bow its head.
With the surge of rolling soil weaving across the land, the deep green silhouette trudged through the wash of earth. It was as though the surging ground had no effect, breaking away specifically for the figure. The crumbling dirt made no noise with each step taken. An object fell from the being's hand, tumbling slowly as the steps meshed together in a surge of motion.
I somewhat wanted to lie on the ground as well, allowing the trickling light to take the reins of my vessel. I'd be hard-pressed not to mention how enticing the offer was.
The form skidded to a stop in front of me with haze nipping at its heels. The shadowed head reconstructed through the torso, sliding in close to my chest. A muddled sense told me a fleshy surface had made contact. The hammering of my heart rumbled across me.
Ba-bump.
A distant breath blew against my body, a slow but steady beat thumping against my eardrum. It sounded relieved.
A few more moments of stunned silence passed before motion caught my eye again. I leveled my gaze at the entity as it withdrew from me, wrapping an appendage around a blob on the ground close by. The creature then returned to my side and nudged the bushel around my lip. The being's intentions seemed friendly, and I wasn't so much a fool to turn down the help.
"... a..sa...ge? P.. pa.., ...ag...! " It insisted, nudging the bushel in my face.
To the delight of the grassy form, my jaw went slack. They then cautiously inserted the blob into my mouth, whipping their arm quickly as though I could've suddenly lashed out. At first the Pokémon attempted to coerce me into eating, but quickly stopped when my teeth began to grind the offering on its own.
The texture was fluffy and light, sort of like cotton candy. Thinking back, the tuft seemed like an amalgamation of a head of broccoli and lettuce. Only through the boon of hindsight do I now realize how lucky I was. Had I encountered an older counterpart of the species, I might've had to add "complete gastrointestinal failure" to the list of wounds.
Not that I would've noticed.
Swallowing, I felt the chewed offering slide down my throat, sliding smoothly along the way. The moment the tuft landed in my stomach, a second wind had flushed my system. My limbs tensed with vitality and my eyes fluttered. Granted, I hadn't been healed, but a loathsome weight had been lifted. The weakness pooling in my gut had been washed away. I could feel the cloudiness stuffing my head dissipate the longer I lie.
However, the golden, soothing rays turned into searing lasers. No longer did the temptation of sleep entice me.
My mind knew that it was certainly real, and even more so there was no going back.
I was in the world of Pokémon, whether I liked it or not.
...with no clue how I arrived, and more importantly, no clue how to leave.
...
".. .uu .. g ..u h. .." croaked from ragged vocal cords. My acquaintance paused, shooting a confused glance.
There wasn't much time before another burning sensation roiled beneath my skin.
Despite the quakes of pain, my fingers dug into my palm. A copper-flavored pool began to form where I'd bitten down on my lip.
Pansage poked me on the nose, face scrunching in concern.
Making the best of newly replenished stamina, I reasoned that standing would be an adequate test of the leaves. Through creaks and groans, the muscles ultimately held strong. Pansage hopped in place, clapping their hands with chirps and warbles. I wasn't sure how to express my gratitude, awkwardly ruffling the Pansage's tree tuft. The warble grew louder.
Unfortunately, my body spoiled the mood by howling in agony when I bent down. The sudden convulsion forced me to my knees. My inkling of a smile faded, a blank mask replacing it. My lungs felt wrapped in fatigue, left to an incoherent sputter. Pansage just sat quietly with analytical eyes.
Steadying myself, I studied the various debris strewn about. Focusing on just a few objects helped the dizzy spells pass much quicker once I steadied my breathing.
Pansage simply kept staring. A frustrated wheeze croaked from my throat, my head rocking backward. I mulled over the next few moments in silence.
...
...!
Moist dirt clung to the hairs on my wrist as I dragged my limp hand along the forest floor in a circular motion. I couldn't control most of my finer motor functions quite yet, but the rippling energy in my body wouldn't work well for long since I wasn't truly healed. Exhausting it too soon was dangerous, so simpler motions would have to do.
Despite the unclear visual, Pansage seemed glued to every move. Only by straining to hear did I notice the short, rhythmic breaths following each heave.
Eventually, my skin met a familiar divot and I allowed it to fall slack. A weak line was dredged through the middle, stopping about halfway through to add another circular motion. Finally came the other half of the straight line, drawn close by when divots connected. A hoarse grunt rumbled as I flopped my hand toward the primitive drawing. To my muted delight, soil shuffled a few steps in front of me.
The response from the pokemon came sooner than expected as they scratched their grassy chin. A glove-like hand flicked to my two o' clock. They tried to give me a few oral instructions too, but it was all simply ' pansage '. I tried to nod along anyway to be polite.
A strong convulsion surged through my abdomen.
It was time to move.
Leveraging a hand on my working leg, I braced my muscles to lift. My entire form quaked as though I was being crushed beneath the air itself.
To my surprise, Pansage screeched, arms flailing. Regardless, I kept pushing.
Eventually, the groans of bone and debilitated joints began to taper off as my vertebrae aligned. Knees wobbled and creaked, but remained locked in position. Somehow my lungs were able to pump barely enough oxygen into my body through gasps and wheezing to pilot my limbs.
The screeching paused. The Pokemon glanced up, curiosity lighting up their eyes.
I made to straighten myself out from the hunch I had adopted, but the deafening cry from my upper back demanded an immediate backpedal. Hunched was better than crawling.
A flicker lit up my brain, forcing an annoyed wince. Crawling to where?
I craned my neck down to the grass monkey expectantly.
At first, the Pokemon merely returned my gaze, scanning my features. The obsidian orbs flit back and forth before landing on my own, boring through my skull.
...
Finally, Pansage spun around and bound over to a closely-knit grove of eucalyptus trees. They began to hop about wildly, making a cacophony of indiscernible noise.
One arm wedged beneath my left leg, I began to shamble ahead. One drag at a time, the minute crumble of unearthed grass followed my heels by the time I arrived at the trunks. While it may have appeared to be more trees farther than my eyes could see, Pansage's powerful stance and continual glances told me otherwise.
" Pansage...? " They chirped.
From but a few feet away, one wouldn't have been able to see the tiny wrinkles tugging against my meek grin. Pansage managed to spot it though, as a similar, elated smile spread along their cheeks. For just an instant, the intense stare lingering on me seemed to lessen, if only a pinch.
I observed wordlessly as my little green friend blended into the lively undergrowth behind me.
One uncertain step after another, I began ambling along once more. I still had energy and daylight on my side, although time was waning.
The start of a long and arduous journey lay ahead of me, one I didn't want nor wish for.
But I no longer had a choice.
...
...bhum..bhum..bhum..bhum..bhum..
Even though I could only hear from one ear, the hammering of blood through my body was deafening.
Another band of salty beads trickled down my forehead. I was sweating like a pig in a desert. My clothing remnants were soaked in both blood and sweat, along with fresh cuts meshing with the old from trips and crashes. I'd done my best to nurse any reopened wounds, but it was mainly from unconscious cradling. The slow, constant trickles of ruby-red liquid were taking their toll.
The sun had far since reached its highest point in the sky, and the shower of sunshine did little to improve my experience. Aches and burns were beginning to blend in with the new prominent threat of sunburns, the wails rising in volume with each step. To keep my mind off of the morbid thoughts, I allowed it to wander; and the moment I did, troves of questions resurfaced.
Why was I in the pokemon world? Where am I? For what reason? Why am I so tired? How did this happen? Who caused this?
What caused this?
...
Well, the pounding and ringing didn't provide much clarity either.
Every fiber instructed me to rest, but it fell on a deaf ear. I could no longer feel my feet, just an amalgamous sensation. Yet onward they slogged.
But the sun... the sun felt so wonderfully comforting.
...as had the forest floor. It was no longer crude and barren of any burrowing roots, simply... hm. Grassy. A thin coat of grass that belongs in a well-lit meadow, where the sunlight is plenty rather than the sheltered woodland.
Perhaps a rest wouldn't hurt. Thick grass can act as a decent mattress, after all. Hah, we always loved sleeping behind the porch of Grandad's distillery, no matter the age. The yellowed grains never could be beat by any old mattress. Somehow, the sunlight seemed more inviting that way, just enough to have someone slumber the day away.
Ahh, wouldn't I love that. There never was anything quite like it in college. The campus was phenomenal, but too far for my liking.
Perhaps I should pay Nana a visit sometime soon. At least, after she wakes up from her midday snooze.
Hmm. On second thought, I would appreciate a nap. A nasty headache was rattling my brain, and enough shut-eye would set my head straight.
Yes, yes.
I could do with a rest.
...
But... there was something at the back of my mind. Something unpleasant, but truthful. I wanted to keep it banished beneath memories, but it remained on the tip of my tongue. It tickled my curiosity while sitting just out of sight.
No matter, it'd likely still be there when I woke up again.
...
No.
I didn't want to sleep right now. I could sleep after I finished what I wanted to do first.
Yes, that's it. Work first, then rest.
Merely a matter of time held me back. Help wou—
C rA cK.
The world shattered when a powerful slam drilled into my spine, knocking the wind from me and sending me through a cacophony of branches and thick bushes.
Blurs of colors rushed past me as hundreds of sensors in my body simultaneously activated. The world warped and twisted in a frenzy the further I tumbled, sharp objects embedding themselves into my skin. I could no longer repress the torture clawing against my throat as a guttural scream erupted, interrupted with each strike of head against ground. Many burns were mixed in with dirt or gouged open, as the fall shredded through marred flesh. It took all my concentration to remember how to breathe rather than hyperventilate, morphing into an even bigger challenge while keeping my airways clear of debris flying about.
Plucking what protruding thorns and splinters I could find, I strained to roll myself onto my side. I tried to levy my body at an angle with my good arm, but the damage was too great. The arm gave out and crumpled inwards. My head slumped back down onto the grass, a few clumps of dirt settling within my hair. A second attempt yielded similar results, but on the third try I finally righted myself. Legs wobbled with the present threat of failing, but extended per my demand.
There. I was halfway to standing. Next would be straightening my spine. Slowly.
One by one, vertebrae began to stack as though they were pieces of a trembling puzzle.
SHnk.
My form crumpled to the ground.
A slash tore across my shoulder blade, painting the grass a dirty crimson.
As a fresh dampness crawled down my skin, a storm of cries lay caged behind gargled sputters. My mouth shuddered from screams that never left my lips.
It was then that a streak of yellow caught the edge of my eye: a small, frail figure curled inward at the base of a stocky pine tree.
I could only make out the body, the head and legs tucked away as it pitifully shook in terror. While my vision was still hazy, I could make out similar cuts and slashes littered down the spine. A handful of bird pokemon were hovering around the fox, enraged squawking rippling through the air.
It was likely that I had been mistaken for a guardian.
Regardless, I still drew breath. I needed to stand.
I tried to stand. But my legs collapsed.
Fine. I was still breathing. Thus, I must stand.
I went slightly further the following attempt, only for another beating to dive into my flank. Not only was I back down, I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't even lift myself a foot off the ground before buckling.
' Let... up.'
The previous attacker swooped in, cutting into my left forearm. The blistered flesh didn't help soothe the injury; if anything, it amplified . The constant searing erupted, roiling through my limb. A slew of gasps spilled out as well, seemingly conjoining with the roar of blood in my ears(?). Twisting and writhing in the bloody muck seemed to be all I could do.
Then it finally set in.
' I can't do anything.'
…
...
That fox.
Ironically, I can't recall why the fox had come to mind. Perhaps it was from a " deeply ingrained generosity " that decided to pull a string or two. Perhaps a strong dose of empathy kicked in and I simply couldn't tolerate the scene.
While most of the ideas seemed feasible, a single pulsing, buried emotion was enough of a tell.
Yes, when my unsteady eyes landed on the sniveling kit, I witnessed it shriveling up against the protruding roots, and I felt a weird sensation welling in my chest.
It crackled.
It spurred.
It roared, and it lashed.
The way the animal had already given up on life, no longer shivering and accepting of its cruel judgment; it was pathetic .
And I would tolerate it no longer.
There was one substantial drawback though that I quickly noticed. The left side of my body was numb. Leg, arm, shoulder. I could feel none of it. Despite what vigor fought, my legs refused to lift or stretch. To put weight on them would certainly lead to permanent damage.
...hah. As if that part would have mattered.
The sturdiest remains of my own shirt were stuffed into my mouth, jaw slamming shut upon the fabric. My face contorted into a beet-red blister, every able muscle in my body tensing. The last few remaining doses of adrenaline blasted through my veins as I rose off my knees, struggling much harder than before.
...
In some ways, people may say that the world is weighing on their shoulders. The cruelty of natural and unfair circumstances is heavy, truly. Most crumble. And why shouldn't they? It's the might of the planet, crushing against just a person. A mortal human amidst billions of others.
The answer should be simple: to push back. To resist. It's a natural recourse, at least.
But it's flawed. A human can't lift a planet. It doesn't matter how metaphorical one can be, they can't. Humans are... human. They're squishy, average , and meant to be in groups. On their own, on a biological level, they cannot thrive on their own. They aren't meant to.
Another swoop merely nicked my ear.
Not enough.
'... up. '
But, allow me to take a step back.
Despite the 'squishiness' of humans, they have merit. In fact, I would bargain they're awfully deceptive.
So I tried.
' Up.'
Now, there is an odd phenomenon with organisms — humans, especially — that defies known science, for as long as time. Why, hm? Well, no one's sure. For centuries, it was thought to be a mere theory or myth. It's had a plethora of names; will, determination, aura, souls, and many more. All of these adhere to the concept that somehow, someway, life can find a way to either roll over and die, or choose to simply say " No ".
In fact, there was once a news story I heard as a child of a man being crushed beneath a roughly two-ton boulder while rock-climbing. He'd reached a plateau in the cliff face, and his partner was beginning to scale the incline he had recently trumped. However, the first man had sat down for a moment to catch his breath. As he rested, a boulder not much larger than he was began to jostle. The man turned his head back only to be greeted with four thousand pounds of sedimentary rock descending onto him. Terrified with no escape, the climber was forced to contest the stone. Unfortunately, his legs were already trapped. The ultimatum had been set. He either would be crushed to death, or he would have to lift thousands of pounds with only his arms.
And yet, something magnificent happened.
For nearly two minutes, the man lay prone, fighting with all of he had against the might of gravity. Every ounce of his body creaked and shuddered. He strained .
Something changed. The man couldn't recall what had caused it, but it happened as his body began to give out. Lungs were compressed by stone. Muscles condensed forcefully against one another.
But somehow, the boulder moved . It moved off.
All the man felt was pain. He didn't know how. All he felt was searing burns, and then he couldn't feel his body. Despite the weight on him, the man had moved the boulder. The event wasn't without repercussions though, as the climber sustained muscle tears and strains across his entire body.
Now, this phenomenon is referred to as hysterical strength, a byproduct of the body recognizing a life-or-death situation. The body creates an abundance of adrenaline and floods itself in a last-ditch effort to save itself. While extremely damaging, it may just be what is needed to save itself.
However, no one knows how to "trigger" this. And in truth, we may never know.
Hysterical strength is an odd occurrence indeed.
' Up. '
But do keep in mind—
' Up. Get up. '
It's not a theory.
' Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. GET UP. '
...
'Get up.'
It's a phenomenon.
I trembled like a leaf, one foot in the grave. Yet, I stood.
Describing what I felt... as much as I hate to admit, I can't. Not with words, no. I would like to say my body was moving on impulse, but in the spirit of truth, to this day I'm not sure what kept me moving. Feelings had been numbed, yet pressures and weight still registered.
The world had melted away. Sound. Shapes. Color. Smell. It was trapped behind an intangible barrier.
Something new rocketed by, missing entirely.
Two words rang in my head.
Move. Now.
My legs lurched, my remaining hand clenched with white knuckles. Pressure drummed in my skull.
Go.
My eyes refused to waver from the motionless fox. The limbs below me began unconsciously shuffling.
Six meters sat between us. The bird in my sights — a plump Spearow — screeched in annoyance and stalled in the air, seconds from delivering another blow.
Go.
Five meters between us. I no longer noticed the tissue in my calves shredding apart as they slammed the ground.
Go.
Four meters between us.
Go.
Three meters between us. The surrounding birds began taking notice of my presence.
Go.
Two meters between us.
GO.
One meter between us. Only a few precious moments from impact, and the Spearow had yet to move.
Fool.
Zero.
...
C rU nC h.
All I felt was a sensation brushing the back of my fingers. What the sensation might have been; the finer details were lost to me.
A fist had collided perfectly on target, the tiny body of the bird pokemon crushing around knuckles. I heard nothing but the ringing in my ears, my body stumbling forward like a vehicle with no driver. The feathered Pokemon sailed through the air before bouncing off the tree, finally dropping to the ground in a writhing mess.
Gasping and wheezing over the fennec, I slumped on the tree for dear life. It wasn't painful, though. I was just tired. And good lord, was I tired. More tired than I had been in my life.
The Pokemon withdrew from its furry shell, raising its head and taking a wary glance. Our eyes met.
It stared deep into my eyes, a mix of petrified confusion, emptiness, and a third emotion I couldn't place. But worst of all, there wasn't a hint of fear.
Not even a twitch.
...
Through the void of numbness, a small hole formed. It squirmed and writhed, emphatically clawing at the barrier.
It crackled.
It spurred.
And it tore through, kicking at ribs and organs alike.
My head craned around to face the horde.
My stomach began to quiver.
A lump appeared in my chest. It was suffocating, but, ironically, the suffocation didn't hurt. All it was was... elaborate. The only feeling close enough that I could scrounge was discomfort. Even then, the feeling was somehow just out of reach, yet still striking me all the same.
The discomfort rumbled in my throat.
A tiny whimper thumped against the barrier.
The lump grew.
The lump grew larger, feeling as though my rib cage would burst. It kept growing bigger, pressing against my heart and pinching my lungs. My heartbeat felt like a kickdrum.
As I swung my head to the side, my eyes burned holes into the fennec.
It was peering up at me. And that moment our eyes met, the lump exploded.
I didn't feel like myself. Granted, I didn't necessarily look like my normal self either, but that's neither here nor there. For as long as I'd known, feelings rarely ever took hold of my better judgment. Of course I had the occasional impulse- I am human. I just tended to stray from rash decisions. Although, I was bleeding from orifices that shouldn't have been orifices in the first place, so control wasn't something I had much of a choice of.
Lips began to contort and press as they formed words that would never be. My tongue whipped around to articulate sounds that would never pass to the air. My chest grumbled with what little power it had left, slamming over and over to supply enough oxygen for pleas that would never pass through the burnt vocal cords that I so desperately wished to use. The trembling form of the fennec froze as it watched the erratic motions spit and flounder.
None of what I instructed my body to do seemed to be working. I made to push air from my body to make a noise of any kind, and my jaw continued to fly open and shut without a sound. I demand for my shoulders to crane my arm to the left or right, and all it succeeds in doing is having the pine's bark scrape along my battered flesh as I lost my grip. To compensate I command for my fingers to do something to help, for some semblance of a sign, and the fruits of my labor are rewarded with a spasming wrist. All of my facial features were contorted in torturous ways as if straining them might make a difference.
I tried to cry out, and all that came was a wheeze . Just a single wheeze was the last noise I could produce despite all my effort.
And through it all, that fox just stared. It didn't even tremble anymore. It just sat, terrified, and paralyzed.
Staring right at me.
...
...what was this?
I'm not very ambitious, nor complicated. Not in a typical sense.
And that's okay.
I had made a terrible decision amidst my fervor, diving head first into business that wasn't mine. I didn't even care much for the pokemon in the first place. In fact, it seemed to only attract distaste.
...
...hah.
So, why.
Honesty, why?
Why hadn't the fox fled?
Why was it choosing to stay?
Why?
Why—
Why would it sit in front of me?
As the flock of destruction grew closer, the battered fox raised its hackles and a growl rumbled in its throat. The irritation in my face drained.
Not one thought sat in my head, nothing more than an echo chamber. Whether it was from the mite's audacity or impending doom, I'm not sure. If I was still thinking straight, I would've said a few prayers. But no, I just stood with my half-lidded, empty eyes.
Then, my brain clicked. The last emotion the pokemon had shown me.
The tiny fox wasn't inviting death. It had quivered in the face of doom well before my arrival. No, that couldn't have been it. They were finally pleading for help, for me to find a way out. Even in my state, despite the human on the brink of death. It wanted me .
With tremors rocking through the fox, a tiny lump began to swell within its throat. In a few seconds, the growl in its maw seemed to rise like an elevator. The lump stopped by the time it reached the lips, a mischievous glimmer tiptoeing along its cage.
Suddenly, a small ball of yellow flew from the fennec's mouth. As it sped through the air, another swirl of red and orange shot out. Then came a third.
Each ball seemed to somersault through the wind, soaring into the heart of the frazzled swarm. Some of the Spearow and Pidgey at the front managed to veer away, but the projectiles erupted in the back, a spew of smoke gushing out the top. A Murkrow and Pidgey tumbled to the ground through the mesh of bodies, awkwardly splayed out. Screeches of rage arose from the mob. The fennec let out a meek bark back.
A speck of motion whispered in my peripheral vision, my attention darting to the left of the tree. A form sat along the outer rim, creeping along as though stalking prey. Before I could react, the Spearow sprang out and drilled its beak into the thigh of the fox. The little creature yowled in pain, whipping its head back as a few stray embers fumbled from its mouth.
The avian screeched a victorious " Squawwwk !", a handful of praising chirps rising from the flood of shrieks. An uncertain yet vexed feeling welled in my stomach.
Something peculiar happened.
One moment, I was staring at the swelling gash along the animal's thigh.
The next moment, my hand was no longer at my side.
It was as if my body had developed a mind of its own, and all it took was a single blink.
Fingers found feathers and bone bashed with beak. The sickening crack of cartilage and tissue snapping thundered against the thick veil of ringing in my head.
The Spearow's body shot through the air and landed a few feet away, bouncing once before coming to a stop.
On one hand, vindication flooded the emptiness.
On the other hand, I'm unsure how I had even moved. It was like a foreign body was now mine, as if I still had a sliver of control to grasp. But that wasn't the truth. No, my legs were stuck. Still as a statue, as if encased in steel.
" Feeeeeeen… " the fox murmured, reeling its head back with a miniature ball of embers forming within its jaws.
The flurry of feathers was diving all at once. They wanted to show their hatred. The anger. The rage that we struck down their comrades.
All my form could do was bear witness with weary eyes and dilapidated, beaten limbs. The only action left was to watch the world fade from view as it fell out of focus.
Oddly, a foggy light began to cover the earth. Fuzzy red and orange flickered to and fro around the corners of my vision, briefly dispersing the drowsiness clouding my mind. As my eyes refocused, well, I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing. But, as the blurriness cleared...
The scene unfolding? It was— well, certainly...
...
... something .
...
" ...KKKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINN! '' the fox belted out, a tower of flame exploding from the maw through the swathe of Pokemon.
In a way, it was… captivating, watching the bodies plummet from the sky.
...
Deja-vu.
There was a sick touch of deja-vu, and I hadn't the foggiest idea why. No specific memories seemed to resonate, and yet a streak of spasms rekindled my burns, earning a sharp cry. The cry faded quickly as I found myself unable to lift my chest.
I wanted so desperately to avert my eyes, but I... couldn't. Something held them in place, locked and scanning every detail.
Scores of birds began their plummet from the sky. Many frantically beat their wings, searching for a means of salvation. Terrified cries rang out in all directions, pounding against my ears. The silhouettes of feather melting from bone seared into my retinas like the work of a branding iron. The only sense I could feel besides the sizzling aching and chilling terror was the terrified thunder in my chest. It sounded more like a lifeless machine than an organ, each pump wheezing along in an unsteady tempo.
The rest of my body had gone numb, my control no longer prevalent over the fatigue. Sections of my body began to fail.
First, my arms flopped to my sides like swings.
Next came my legs, giving out as my frame careened down to the ground with a thud. I clenched my teeth and tried to force them to put me upright again, but no matter how much I willed it so, all that came was a single twitch.
I suppose my body wanted that rest.
The beaten fennec hopped back when I collapsed. Flicking its head back and forth, the Fennekin stared at me for another moment and nudged me once with its nose. I made no reply, nor reaction. None of my facial muscles were responding anymore. Suddenly it broke into a sprint, scrambling beneath a fallen log. It had acquired a limp from the stab wound in its thigh but made a speedy escape all the same.
I was now alone with the two unconscious Spearow, and the weak crackling of dying flames on feathers whisking away.
The sun was feeling awfully comfortable again.
With one last glance to the smoldering embers ahead, I allowed my face to plant itself among the grass.
...
Hopefully I could hold out a few minutes longer.
' Deep breaths. In... out. In... out. IN... and out. Almost— '
CRUNch.
My elbow grazed the tree bark, tearing through flesh. I hastily wrapped my arm back around the trunk for dear life, knees wobbling. Lady Luck must have decided to turn her head, as I'd scrounged enough strength to leverage myself against the wide trunk.
Clinging with my remaining arm I had control of, I shifted to a protruding stick. The tip of the rounder side nestled into my armpit, teetering occasionally. The dead wood creaked from the added weight but held strong. Burrowing splinters helped keep the branch secured, but it was hardly a bother. I couldn't feel pain. Or anything below the neck.
With a few short heaves, I managed to slide my pulsing legs beneath me. The strong sensations of fatigue flared immediately, but it didn't make a dent in the layers of haze floating behind my eyes.
All that existed was the path, and I wanted to walk down that path. If anything I needed to. The path was salvation. It was safe.
My legs didn't want to walk though.
Nothing to fret over. Just wait, and they will obey me. Then, I could follow my path again.
Before struggling to perform basic movements, an arrow had been scribbled into the crusty dirt pointing to a sparse gap in the hedges. The grass patches were bare along the sides and the sunlight seemed to be more concentrated where it struck the ground.
I couldn't see well, as my vision had horribly digressed, and my eyelids felt like sheets of steel. Blood loss had wrought havoc, and the effects only worsened by the minute. Finding the arrow quickly turned into an irritating chore.
Pushing off of the stick and taking my first steps, I was surprised when I didn't keel over. Some pops and tremors came from the left side of my abdomen, but nothing beyond that. Although, my left leg needed to be manually moved to keep from catching on undergrowth.
Parting the branches as best I could, I ambled through the grassy threshold. A barren pathway lay ahead, an elegant stone archway staring down at me towards the end of the path. Other fixtures and ornamentations jut from the wall, but I paid no mind. There was something far more important.
And unlike most recent events, it was a good thing.
Cracked lips parted for a lopsided grin, the skin of my left cheek hissing.
' I... made it. I actually made it.'
My mouth parted, falling slack. A great stress had fallen from my shoulders, crumbling to pieces. The urge to laugh gnawed at my throat. I could've sworn I'd even felt a chill pass through my ribs.
It was such a nice change, in contrast to the blistering sun. Awfully soothing, too. The rhythmic rising and falling of my chest began to slow.
'Are the... are the stones getti-'
An unstable leg stomped forward, my right arm pushing on the knee. My teeth chattered from the impact. I let my focus slip for just a moment, and in five seconds…
Well. Five seconds was all it would take.
Oh.
So the path wasn't done.
. . . fine.
One flimsy trudge at a time, I ambled through the gateway.
The distant lullaby of the breeze traced along my ear. Felt right for a quick nap.
But not yet.
The wave of afternoon heat had since passed from Fowler's Avenue, dewdrops of orange collecting along the horizon. Shade from the overhanging clouds had lost its luster on the front porch, bathing the calla lily beds in what little sunlight the day had left to offer. The late July evenings was always Meredith's favorite time of day to water the hanging baskets, as the day's heat had already begun to wane while the sky seemed to bloom over the treetops.
As the bottoms of her fraying gray sneakers scuffed the cream-colored brick, bony fingers wrapped around the cloth handle of the watering can. With the usual pops of adjusting joints, the half-filled tool was hoisted to the woman's side. Today had seemed to continue the chain of humid weather for a fourth day, so the warm bedding would hold water well.
Meredith adjusted her ruffled blouse as the tumbler in the door clicked shut behind her. That sticky lock never wanted to be fixed, no matter how many times she'd asked Lary to look at it. The boy was smart and it wasn't that he didn't try to find the solution— the blasted contraption just wouldn't stop getting stuck in some unseen groove.
The older woman shook her head. Hopefully she wouldn't need to make another trip inside if the Chilan berry spray had worked its magic.
Before the gardener began to tip the can, her eye caught on one of the flowers tucked into the back corner of the arrangement. Keen, relaxed eyes scanned the greenery before narrowing in annoyance. Sometimes Meredith swore that the Caterpie only picked on her lilies, as if there was a mile-long deficit. They weren't as high maintenance as the neighboring begonias, though. Those were prone to many more pests than Caterpie.
In some ways, this was the part of Meredith's day she looked forward to most. It was a time of respite, to simply let loose. Suffice to say the woman wasn't discontent with her choice of stay; her time in Santalune had been wonderful. The cobble-paved city provided an easy outlet to foster a previously starved hobby of Meredith's, and the job opportunity she'd moved for was well worth the jump.
That had been food for thought. The rigid stiffness had shown up more often. Perhaps a weekend trip was due in the coming month. It could make for an excuse to pay Freida a visit, or maybe investigate that new local cafe Lary occasionally murmured on about. Apparently the restaurant had a parent building two towns over with similar reception. It wasn't often that a cafe managed to spring from a smaller locale rather than Lumiose, especially with a tight regional market.
Meredith's silver necklace bobbed up and down with a light chuckle. It was nice knowing she wasn't the only one looking to expand her horizons.
Through the trickling water, a rhythmic flap tickled Meredith's ear.
"Did I wake you, honey?"
" Vi i i i ~"
The wrinkles tugging on her cheeks relaxed. "Are you sure? Well, thank goodness. That trellis isn't too different for you, is it?"
A high-pitched coo warbled behind Meredith. Stubby, round legs descended over the blouse's sleeve, slightly billowing from the touchdown. On second nature Meredith swept back the stray ashy lock over her glasses.
"Those flowers will give you space, with time." The gardener shifted to the next pot. "They've hardly even bloomed."
" Vi i iv iiv."
Meredith swapped the can to her free hand, flexing her aching fingers. "Oh, quit whining. You should be able to catch Clairre still if you hurry. Her Aster baskets came in yesterday." She could still hear the faint sneezing as she left the woodwork for lunch.
A stalled buzz came over the older woman's shoulder, disappearing around the block. Meredith drew out a sigh. At least she took the relocation well. Vivian's adaptability never did waver over the years, nor did her peculiarities.
The evening choir began to clear their throats as scattered buzzing filled the sky. Listening to the subdued clatter of dress shoes against cobblestone and swishing vines slithering along earthy walls; a cool draft flourished through Meredith. Slogging conditioning units once clogged the world, but those days were far gone.
Meredith rolled her ankle in its socket with a push of her specs. Slumped, almond-shaped eyes studied the soil, then the sky.
With a playful scoff, she set down the watering can. "No need to wait…"
The worn soles tiptoed down the stairs, fingers gliding along the wrought iron balusters. Still warm to the touch after a long day, but not hot enough to cause discomfort. She traced over the divots and the scuffs, the shallow dings and flecks of metallic peelings, each memoirs of that estranged first week. Few days like it had been seen since.
Meredith blinked away the thought and unclasped her hand from the dulled metal. She'd had enough thinking for one day.
Rounding the street corner with fleeting rays at her back, Meredith caught a glimpse of the waning activities around town. Two boys sat with their backs to a bench, savoring the last of their popsicles. Raymond fiddled with his bouquet of keys as Terra placed down the bags in her arms with a huff to do the job herself. A young Poochyena scurried down the street, half-eaten prize tightly fixed in its jaw.
The older woman chuckled. If not for her trained eye, she may have missed the tinge of pink fluttering that disappeared two blocks down.
Meredith flexed her toes back and forth. The years of sprinting down Routes were behind her, but a few drops of pep in her step never hurt.
Stones below began to melt together as the lady trot past a three-way intersection. Brick and mortar crept along the corners of the sidewalk, stretching overhead into passing awnings overhead of storefront and residence alike.
She rolled her eyes. Somehow that Pokemon was going to learn Teleport on their own if they kept running off so quickly. After rounding yet another turn in pursuit, Meredith had yet to lay eyes on her beloved partner again. Instead, the looming gateway of the town's entrance from Santalune Forest cast an encroaching shadow onto the street, gazing far off into the distance. At least Claire's apartment was around the corner.
...oh? And who is that?
Meredith began to slow, pulling to a saunter. Her eyes searched through the last flecks of brilliant sunlight tumbling from the treetops, trying to make out details on the lone person meandering through the gateway. Despite being around 30 meters away, an itch tingled the back of the carpenter's neck.
As the older woman drew closer, the more blatant curiosity took hold. Whom Meredith assumed to be a man had gnashed, spacious holes in his clothing, along with quite the outspoken mop of hair. He was also quite the lanky fellow— likely a full 20 centimeters taller than she. Their right arm and leg appeared deformed with alien ridges and divots descending into various places of the body. The man's walk seemed to be stunted, as though perched thousands of feet in the air.
A knot began to tug at Meredith's stomach. An odd— no, estranged wheeze passed from the man's mouth, muddled with wet garbling. Liquid trailed from his arms and fell from his fingertips. Each step he took was awkward and out of line, as though catching himself from a fall rather than walking.
Meredith stopped in her tracks.
The cowl of light had begun to taper off from the older woman's view, presenting the slender, battered face of the man ambling towards her. Dried mud and caked blood molded together across his left cheek, obscuring a grotesque crimson peeking through. Various cuts were strewn about the figure's nose and forehead, covered from soot, filth, or knotted hair.
Strangely, the man's face showed no pain. His lips were parted and jaw slack, limply swinging in tandem with each weighty step. A light quiver shook his jaw as he drew breath.
What quickly made Meredith's stomach double over were the man's eyes . Sunken and narrow, the emerald eyes were glazed over, blocked by a clouded haze. However, he continued to peer forward in an unwavering stare. It was as though he couldn't see, yet still his gaze seemed to pierce through the air itself.
The man halted.
Meredith felt the air become thick enough to choke on. The older woman's feet were glued to the pavement. She hadn't felt so helpless in years, much less did she ever expect to experience paralyzed again in her life.
Then, the light began to fade, and the rest of the man was revealed.
Meredith's heart stopped.
A memory — an awfully familiar memory — began to play.
She didn't know what to do.
So, she did the first thing her mind could conceive.
I couldn't feel much.
For that matter, I couldn't think of much either. Or hear much. It was all murky.
My hearing did well picking up one noise though.
And that sound; oh, that dreadful sound.
It tore through my eardrums. I wished for my teeth to gnash together or to wince, practically anything to dumb the effect. The shriek lasted for less than a second, but the ringing lingered much longer, torturously trapped in my skull. It just kept bouncing and echoing , over and over. Pounding and pounding and pounding—
My body pleaded to let loose an equal scream, but nothing could come out. No part of me could soothe the pain, as though I was bound to an empty husk.
I had tried to approach the figure before me, as I couldn't see anyone else. Last I could tell, there were a few structures around, but I'd failed to encounter another person since entering the town. The world was fading quickly, and I couldn't allow this person to fade too.
At first, I couldn't tell if they had seen me so I continued on my way, but the result I received told me all I needed to know. It also told me that I could still feel pain, despite it too being muted after moments.
As for the figure...
They could help me. They were on the path, after all.
They had to help me.
Through the ringing, a separate, concerned voice resounded soon thereafter. Blurs of movement shifted along the streets then, which I eventually recognized as curious onlookers. Either that, or I was granted the pleasure of a welcome ceremony to the afterlife. The fact that I couldn't distinguish between the two was too disturbing to invite any further thought, so I set my sights on what I knew was real.
The person ahead.
They remained unwavering, utterly motionless.
...
They still weren't moving. I needed them to come help, so I needed to draw their attention in some way.
Hm. I'd always been told that I should use my words to convey something I wanted. So I went to speak.
I couldn't hear what exactly came out, but my tongue hardly moved aside from a single jostle and liquids rumbled weakly from my throat. Ah. Perhaps my jaw locked and word fragments fumbled against my lips. They wouldn't have understood me.
More figures fumbled around my view. The forms had melted into a mass of different colors along the sidewalks. Black spots began to pop up in my vision and the world around me swam.
Thankfully, I could still make out the figure before me. If they remained in their spot, I supposed I would come over myself. Waiting for a chance would nary be a wise or fruitful option. Thus, I would create my own chance.
Oh— oh, well.
My legs beneath me began to sway. Then, a sensation was sent to my brain as they both popped and shifted. My heart was all I could hear in my ears, pounding harder and harder.
Thump...
Thump...
Agh.
I felt exhausted.
The amalgamous blobs of muted color began to encroach around my peripheral, consuming anything before them. They made noise, but it was too far to discern. I didn't want them. I didn't need them, I needed the person ahead.
I had to keep going. They weren't far.
Two steps were taken.
I could continue going. I knew I could, and I must. I had made it through an array of obstacles already. Stopping would be utterly pointless.
Three slow steps fell one after the other.
The encroaching haze drew closer, engulfing my view. I could no longer see beside myself.
That is fine. I only had a small distance left.
Two more steps were taken, taking a moment longer than before.
I could very well make the distance. I was fine. I would be fine.
The person is there. They are there for me.
In a way, it felt... nice. It was a nice air of relief.
I heard strong blurbs of sounds, most likely urging me to do something as evidenced by the sharp tones and urgent calls. Many messages were blocked altogether by the film encasing my head.
One additional step was made.
The messages would hardly matter anyhow. Knowing the precise meanings wasn't needed. The figure was a handful of steps away, nearly within my reach. Surely I could make it to them. What would I do once I accomplished this? That was too far in the future to consider. I need only focus on the journey for now.
Perhaps... one more step. The melting world encompassing my vision was beginning to border within pivoting distance.
My body made to move my legs once more...
...And yet , they too had faded. The ever-growing presence had swallowed them within a petrifying stomach.
Color in the space had begun to drain, as had the last flecks of senses I had. The blurry figure before me had been swirling amidst four copies of itself in a haze, weaving in and out of heavy blinks, but instead was replaced by a partially-obscured visage.
Lord, I was so tired.
The remaining pain began easing away into nothing. The raucous noises in the haze drifted away. I didn't feel it anymore.
Ah... better. Much better.
Flecks of color frazzled and fazed in and out before my half-lidded eyes lost sight of the figure ahead. The last coherent shape I saw was an appendage extended in my direction before a wall of dulled gray and red covered my vision.
Soon, that went too.
Eventually I was left with just my heartbeat drumming against my brain.
Thump...
...
Thump...
...
thump.
...
...
Then, my mind went blank.
It felt like only minutes had passed when I came to.
My brain rushed to find a pulse, sending out signals into the void. Eventually, a faint sound came back.
...thu mp .
...
...thu mp .
I...
I survived.
An instinctual breath of relief filled my lungs. The air flow no longer felt narrow and conceited, as whatever had burrowed into my airway was gone. It was refreshing, but still belabored.
Among the soothing melody of flowing oxygen, a different noise caught my ear.
...
Beep.
...
Beep.
I immediately recognized the sounds of a heart monitor to my left. Hm.
My brain sent out a diagnostic to my nerves, later met with an overwhelming clamor. I could feel an odd type of material stuck onto my sides and I no longer felt ruined fabric coating my person.
I began to stir, trying to rouse myself.
There was a bit of useful advice I had learned though: when situations have grown dire and there are few options available, try not to charge in headlong with reckless abandon. The pain feels much worse than can be explained through words.
For clarity though, I'll try.
It.
Hurts.
...
I digress.
After a brief period of wrestling with my senses, I managed to regain control. While breaths were shallow and staying awake was a chore, my eyes cracked open. They were quickly met with overpowering fluorescence overhead and messy spots. With a drop of patience and a pinch of straining, my eyes were finally able to adjust.
The interior of a well-furnished hospital room faded into view. The room was adorned with various trays, each with their own sets of medical equipment. On the adjacent wall was a line of cabinets, labels on each handle marking their contents. The waiting chairs seemed high quality; a sturdy red spine and white seat were supported from thin metal bars curving around the sides to form legs. The room itself had an orange paint coating, clean enough that it appeared fresh. An array of screens were attached above equipment with metrics and numbers I couldn't understand, each one fully transparent despite the lack of frames.
...Odd.
My experience with hospitals was limited, but I knew what the typical interior of one looked like. As my weary eyes swept the room, my attention was immediately drawn to the abundance of medical equipment present. While I knew that health care buildings were supposed to be as best equipped as possible, it was the magnitude of machines bunched together that raised a few questions. Many were compact contraptions I'd never seen or heard of before, huddled tightly beside the bed's railing. Especially heard.
Hearing was… simply, a mess. Sounds bounced around the drywall, creating an echo chamber for the lifeless orchestra produced by the machinery. I expected for the noises to be scathing, but it seemed to be just cluttered, not loud. No; instead, one long, shrill buzz rang in my head as clear as day.
A device must have been attached around my skull, as a muddled trill sang in my left ear in place of the surrounding clamor. The disconnect of soundscapes was nauseating the longer the noises persisted, and I wished for it to stop.
I made an attempt to shield my ears, but quickly discovered that my right arm was bound from the elbow. Finding what had bound me was impossible, as my neck, too, was stuck. As for the left arm?
I was unsure if I still had a left arm.
Tubes jut from most of the machines, snaking along the tables nearby or connecting to other machines. I couldn't make sense of the mess, although it was clear there were quite a few substances being pumped to one source.
It didn't take a genius to discover what the endpoint was.
Only after I was done with the room sweep did I notice the nurse in the doorway to my right. She seemed to be signing a slip from a bin beside the door, likely a medical form. From the two pink rings of hair draped behind her head, short pink skirt, white apron, and blue-crossed cap, I gathered that she was a Nurse Joy— a vital element in keeping a pokemon center running spic and span.
The nurse was interesting to think about.
' So, this is a pokemon center. Or, something close to one. When was I taken into the center's care? ' I couldn't seem to wrap my head around it.
My mind wandered back to my battle. Something felt off.
' I don't feel my old clothes. '
A beat passed.
' I don't have an ID, do I? Likely never had it before either... Anything I may have had is either ash, left behind, or somewhere in the building. Well, it's not like I had much to begin with.'
My brows furrowed.
' Staying will only create problems. Even if I need to. But then all my problems come the moment I wake again.'
I had to leave, no matter what state I was in.
A weary sigh left my lips. I was already beginning to feel tired again.
I rocked to the right.
...
C r e e e e ee e a a a k .
...whoops.
In retrospect, waiting for her to turn around or allowing her to at least leave before showing signs of life would've been vastly better ideas.
Oh well.
"Oh gracious, are—? This... j-just one moment, sir!" Nurse Joy stammered before dashing out the door, clipboard clattering to the floor.
' Fantastic... Well, irritating, but this should change nothing. I may as well begin now. '
My first step was to remove the breathing mask wrapped around my face. Fumbling with the plastic straps was much more annoying than I would've cared for — especially when the straps became entangled around the odd device in my head on the left — but it eventually gave way. The process would've been faster if I had more than one functioning arm, and not one wrapped in a cast to boot. Breaking free from what had restrained my right was simple enough, just an ounce of thrashing and yanks threw it loose. As for its brother… there wasn't much I could've done, considering I couldn't feel it.
The sensation was odd; I knew that there was something attached to my socket, but vc beyond that?
Nothing. Just a hollow chamber. I may as well have had an empty stump stitched on.
I didn't even try to remove the strange cone surrounding my neck and shoulders.
Summoning what strength I still had, I swung to the right. My shoulder cried out in pain, forcing a wince against the feeling. However, the ache this time seemed to be... lessened.
A hint of surprise briefly crossed my face at the discovery. I was beginning to notice that many of the pesky wounds from my travels were either gone, or heavily sedated.
I shuffled close to the edge of the bed, only the white guard rails obstructing me. Frustrated, I tensed my legs and swung them. This accomplished little aside from creating an agonizing set of stabs course through my legs. Little did I know of the small splints sticking through my legs that I had then smashed deeper into muscle.
Needless to say, the pain was overwhelming , leaving me stunned for a few moments.
Ouch.
Biting through the stinging and full-body aches, I threw off the supporting slings and grafting equipment left. The extra layering of gauze and bandages stayed taught through the removals, but did little to keep from minimizing the searing that came with each motion.
At some point, I had failed to notice the cord of the inserted IV drip tube fed into my arms. A few tiny droplets of blood and fluid began to trickle down my arm, drawing an uncomfortable shiver. No matter how futuristic the technology came, something about IV bags being ripped from skin was terribly unsettling. Even the thought of accidentally tearing the insertion point was more painful than the actual event.
Once I'd cleared as much as I could from my person, I was left in a panting heap. The oxygen tubes tickled my nose as they bounced from side to side. I tried to find how to remove them, but gave up in the end and disconnected the tips. The gel nodes and strap across my torso for the heart monitor would have to stay too. Much to my annoyance, the droning buzz persisted.
Leaving an infirmary before discharge is hard, especially when the healing isn't finished.
At last, I teetered over the railing. Just supporting myself over the edge felt difficult, as if my limbs would give out at any moment. It'd been years since I'd felt so weak.
I first tried to lift my legs over the rails. That quickly failed, as I could hardly hold them a few inches from the bedsheets. Next I considered pulling myself over, but that idea was shot down just as quick. Going top first would just leave me careening to the ground. No, that wouldn't be optimal either.
Eventually I opted to manually lift each leg over the railings, dangling helplessly above the marble floor. It was slightly helped from how the bed I was in was partially too small. Pushing myself over though was somehow more of a struggle than keeping myself up. I nearly slipped twice on cords and devices, but luckily I found my footing.
See, I had guessed that I'd only been out for days at worst. Considering the dire straits, perhaps a week. I assumed my legs would ache or be asleep, but nonetheless I'd be able to get around to some degree. Baby steps might not be favorable, but it must be possible.
Once again, I was wrong. Horribly wrong .
As my bare feet touched the cold, exposed tile on the floor, I felt every muscle turn to putty.
No matter. It was only a temporary setback. After virtually welcoming death... however long ago I was last conscious, fatigue felt like a stepping stone.
...if the stones were laden with poisonous barbs.
My legs wobbled and teetered, forcing me to grasp onto the bed frame for dear life. Any shift in weight was practically a death sentence, standing on the heaping mess of muscles that were my legs. I felt more like a newborn deer rather than a recovering patient.
Grasping the side of the bed with white knuckles, I teetered to the open doorway. A few too many close calls met me along the way, as I was already out of breath when I slumped on the wooden door frame.
Peeking my head out rewarded me with an interesting sight. Swathes of Nurse Joys, each a near exact duplicate to the next, bustling about through the halls. It was... very unsettling.
I knew better than to question it.
The hallway was similar architecturally to my room before, but this time the walls were a lighter hue of orange, with a thin white line protruding from the side to cut the walls into a second tan side. Every few meters was a new room, sliding glass doors with a pokeball insignia painted on the surface, marking the rooms. There was a massive set of double doors sitting at the right wing of the hallway, yet another white pokeball symbol dividing the doors. Towards the left wing was a further branch in the halls, one sign on each side signaling directions. Unfortunately, I was too far to actually make out any of the words. My head hammered too hard to think straight.
I was running out of time. The previous Joy from before would return any minute, and I'd be dragged back to my bed. Once my path was clear, I sloughed into the hall, pulling myself with all my might. I tried not to think about how far I was damaging myself.
A nurse noticed me.
Ah.
" What in... how- Sir, sir! You are in no state to be out of your room!"
I began to limp along the wall at a slower pace. Breathing was getting a bit too hard.
"Calm down. I'll be back in a moment. I just need to use the bathroom."
"Bathroom? I'm… what? Sir, the restrooms are in the opposite direction."
You learn something new everyday.
"There are some ahead anyway. I'm fine— It's fine. Besides. Just, I need to leave. Now please— let go! " I demanded, batting away the helper's grasp.
Nurse Joy recoiled and pulled away, instead choosing to beckon her coworkers. By now, I was fairly close to the doors, just enough to discern the hazy figures milling about behind the glass.
"The Pokemon Center has accommodations taken care of in the rooms, but I'll only ask to turn back one more time," she insisted. "Please, don't make me do this."
I stopped listening.
I increased my pace, nearly tripping several times. The Joy who'd left to fetch help had arrived, watching the scene unfold in horror. A small group had been searching for me, one pair wheeling out a stretcher.
It didn't matter though; I was nearly free. I was able to shake off anyone that tried to stop me, although I wasn't sure if that was thanks to my own efforts, or people's reluctance to grab the wrong spot and risk injuring me further. In all honesty, I wouldn't know what to do either if I was in their position. I didn't care to think about it much further.
The sounds of a bustling crowd began to trickle through the walls.
' If I can find the exit, I may slip out. That's- ngh... how am I to think with this ridiculous buzzing in my head?'
The aides were closing the distance, and fast. I was luckily a few feet away, stumbling away from the wall. My legs cried and my organs felt like they would fall out from under me any moment. I needed something to support myself immediately or I'd be on the ground in a heartbeat.
The doors were close. Those may work. I could press through, and then I'd slip away with what little energy I had left.
But, as I fought to stand, I failed to account for one thing.
The pokemon center – being the medical building it was – required routes for quick transfers of patients and staff when emergencies arose. It's an obvious need that clearly anyone can recognize. As such, for ease of use by staff, each hallway was equipped with fully automatic doors. Not just automatic though, but fast .
The moment my body came close, the screens zipped into the walls. My legs immediately began to tremble under the unsupported weight of my battered body.
From the little that I could see, the area was a large two-story lobby, a few counters on one side and a mini lounge behind a thick layer of people going about their days. Before I could see much more, my right leg went numb.
Oh no.
Down I went, tumbling into a man in front of me. His brown trench coat wrapped around my face and sent him spiraling too, along with the large object he had cradled in his hands. The man let out a yelp as he fell, both of us spilling out on the floor unceremoniously.
Each fiber of my being informed me my energy had hit rock bottom. One eyelid drooped and my lungs pleaded for more air to circulate. My limbs were motionless. I could go no further.
I was tired.
Too tired.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to simply rest for a while.
The man beside me began to get back on his feet, dusting himself off. He muttered something I couldn't hear.
I began to feel an odd sensation besides the shackling fatigue latching onto my bones, instead it now was a ticklish feeling flicking my right ear. A small, wet object began nuzzling itself into me. A few yellow specks dangled in front of my narrowing vision, followed by a fuzzy head.
The little creature had a mixture of worry and surprise on their expression, staring at me without blinking. Without warning, it bowed its head and sat it down on my cheek. It didn't move after then, seemingly content with its current position.
As the world began to fade again, the incessant trill trailed in my ear under a sea of commotion. I caught something being discussed above, but it was too muddled.
Soon, I was left with the ringing.
"... w... ….nu…"
"...i…w…..er…."
"...t…..h..w….wi…?"
"..."
"I….l…ely…..t…pe….."
"...e….do…'t….p….te…..d..r….—"
"...d.r…..oo…s…e…y…..t…he….e…l…. …po… …."
"..att…s….ca..no….be…c…s..d…nl….at..t….is…..e…"
"Th..'s….der..an….e….V…y….ell."
...
"Ah, ….'am,...ou m…y w…..t….ee…"
"...h, …n.e…om..nt….I..ne…d…t"
"E..cuse m.., m..'am. Th… you...g man has awoken." A gruff voice rang through my head. The overburdening noise had cleared enough for speech to be comprehensible.
"Oh? That's a week ahead of schedule… well, make sure to be careful; we aren't able to confirm how mentally sound he may be."
Flecks of sleep cleared from my eyes as I opened them. I was in the same room as before, now with the addition of the man I'd collided with in the lobby. He wore a long brown trench coat and a reserved yet demanding expression. The man's sunken eyes were stern, as if expecting something. He scratched the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.
"So, you are awake. Phenomenal," he noted without a moment's hesitation. The man stuck his arm into the coat, fishing through a pocket before revealing a shiny, golden badge.
"My name is— ah, pardon me. I can't provide that." The man shook his head. "Allow me to start again. I am Looker. If possible, I would like to have a brief discussion with you today," he stated as our eyes met, his abrupt demeanor making me flinch.
"I advise that you give the truth, and the full truth . Are you, by any means , connected to Team Flare?"
Looker's stern tone seemed to drill into my head. Despite appearing calm and somewhat casual, there was a layer of determination behind the middle-aged man. I, on the other hand, was stuck at a crossroads.
Considering how Looker wasn't even supposed to be in Kalos until quite late in the main game series, and for a lack of better terms, my plans had gone all to hell.
I sensed a headache brewing.
'Fleeing the center is pointless now. Should I just feign ignorance? I mean, I could try faking amnesia… someone else of importance will likely ask how this happened eventually, which...even…'
I began massaging the bridge of my nose.
'Even I don't know how this happened.'
I blinked.
'...How much have I forgotten?'
A buzzing sensation began to flare in the back of my mind, forcing a small wince. I prayed that neither of the two noticed.
'Lying would be too risky should he see through them. It's not as though I'll suddenly be good at it. '
The sound of snapping fingers pulled me back to reality. A breath passed through my lips, one I didn't know I was holding.
The police officer tried to mask an annoyed huff. "Please, answer the question."
"Detective, I have to ask that you refrain from pressuring our patient much. While his condition may appear stable, we are unsure as to what exactly the cause of his injuries are. There may be underlying damage we are unaware of."
Looker and I turned to Nurse Joy standing astutely at the door. I had almost forgotten about her.
The International policeman huffed, but straightened himself out.
"Of course, ma'am. I apologize. I assure you, my visit won't be host to any adverse effects for my acquaintance here or his recovery," came his courteous – if long-winded – response.
Looker turned back to me. "Now then, I believe I've gotten ahead of myself. Please forgive me. If you could, enlighten me as to what caused the reason for your visit."
A partially-stifled snort escaped me. The detective glanced inquisitively, but the irony was quickly drowned by the sinking weight in my gut.
As I sat, fatigue crushing my bones and squeezing my mind, I thought of what to say. I thought for a while, truth be told. Yet, I still didn't know how to put everything together. I wanted to be able to speak my truth, and explain everything. I hoped that the man before me would alleviate something, should I feed him what he desires.
But I couldn't do that. If there was anything that had been set in stone in the time I'd spent in this wretched world, it was that no matter how gravely you desire something, no matter how deeply you wish or pray or beg, you cannot alter the truth.
And I didn't know what my own real truth was.
"No."
The tone of the room shifted with one word. I hadn't intended to come off as defensive, although the deep timbre and croaking edge in my voice likely told otherwise. For a moment, I could've sworn Looker even flinched.
"I understand. I didn't wish to be so curt, but it seems that as of late, my wishes aren't the most pressing matter."
A cynical voice inside tempted me to agree with him.
"Allow me to clarify. I am not here to patronize. If at any point you feel unsafe or are no longer willing to continue, say so and we will stop immediately. Is that clear?"
I managed to muster a shallow nod, staring at the foot of the bed frame.
"I see," he half-sighed. "Your willingness is appreciated. Now then, let us try again."
Looker unclasped a button on his coat pocket, revealing a notepad and pen.
"May I ask for your name?"
"..."
"...sir? Are you alright?"
"Norman ."
"Well then, Norman. I'm glad to meet you. Do you remember how you came into this Pokemon Center?"
"...No ."
"Do you remember arriving in Santalune?"
My voice croaked from the fluid draining down my throat. "Not well."
"I see. If you can share, what is it that you can recall?"
"...mn…"
"What was that?"
A hoarse cough crackled through the air. "A figure."
"What can you remember about this figure?"
"..."
"We can move on if you'd like."
"...hm."
"If speaking causes you discomfort, we do have other means of communication. Would you like to try something else?"
"Detective, sir?" Nurse Joy chimed in, "If I may, the patient's respiratory system is still recovering from smoke inhalation. Although they should be healed to where the worst side effect is mild aches or soreness, he may not be willing to strain his voice on the off chance that it is still causing him pain."
While she wasn't entirely wrong as speaking felt like sandpaper scrubbing on my throat, that wasn't the reason behind my reluctance.
I let a drawn out breath flow through my nose.
"It is fine."
Had my voice always been this course? Did I just fail to notice before?
" The cuts came from the— hrk… forest. I can't remember before then ."
Looker briefly tasted the answer, expression remaining stoic as usual.
"By 'forest', I assume you mean Santalune Forest. A formidable Pokemon attack is unlikely, though possible. Considering that you might not have been fully cognisant at the time...hm. The true question," He paused, readjusting his posture. "Is what, ahem, caused your..."
"Officer, that is enough. Even if Mr. Norman were to remember, it's doubtful he would like to—"
"I want to know, too."
Looker took this opportunity to regain his footing.
"So, you are unaware of this as well?"
Silence.
"Did it happen before you came into Santalune Forest?"
Another shallow nod.
The older policeman jotted down a few lines into his notepad, allowing the room to fall silent, save for the dissonant humming of the machines. Eventually, Looker clicked his pen again.
"Thank you for your cooperation, despite the difficulties. I know this must not be easy for you."
As I stewed on these words, a piece clicked in my mind. Even if I had missed much of what had happened, even if I was uncertain about everything, I had one truth to me. It offered little consolation, but I needed to acknowledge it.
My life was gone.
I was left with a new world— a new life; one that set a precedent. A precedent that wrapped my body and forever stained its message to my flesh to remind me for as long as I lived. Worse yet, although I could never relieve myself of this damning brand, I had no memory of what I had done to earn it. Not one recollection to my name of what lesson I should have learned.
And to top it all, I had nothing to my name.
Just my branded body.
For most, waking in the world of Pokemon would seem like heaven. Heaven had greeted me with hellfire.
Urgh.
...
" ...ha."
"Pardon?"
I cleared my throat. "The forest."
"Yes? What about Santalune forest?"
"I… can't rem- hNk… remember before."
The scribbling of pen tip on paper abruptly paused. "You...what?"
My gaze peeled away from the foot of the bed frame, locking with the brown of Looker's eyes.
I was beginning to feel tired again.
"Remem...ber anything."
...
"I, erm... hm. Understood."
Silence filled the room again.
It permeated the air, thickening with each passing second. The pit in my stomach felt like a blackhole.
"You've been through a lot my friend, haven't you?"
I lowered my head.
Looker took a deep breath. "I believe we're done here for now. Thank you for your time, Norman."
Boots squeaked on wax tile from the foot of the bed, joined by the rustling of thick fabric.
"Nurse Joy, if you will."
"Of course, sir. Thank you both for visiting. The lobby will be down the hall to your right."
Metal latches clicked into place as the door slid along its track. A faint set of tapping scuffed along the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of yellow swayed before being obscured by a brown coat tail.
" Stop."
The squeaking stopped. My heart hung in the air amidst the quiet.
A muted scamper on tile, then calm once again.
"...very well. Go."
Then, the squeaking boots returned, along with the faint tapping.
The boots halted at the door. The taps crept closer.
A cluster of shallow scratches scrambled along the side of the bed. After a brief respite, the scratches continued.
A pointed black nose rose over the edge, followed by a white muzzle and long, fuzzy cheeks.
' ...how?'
A pair of yellow ears perked up finally over the bed frame, presenting the large orange tufts flowing out of the interior of the ear. Brilliant red eyes met mine with a curious yet blank expression.
The sinking pit in my stomach wavered.
I craned my form over the bars, wrapping both hands under the forelegs. They squirmed uncomfortably with a whimper but allowed me to place them on the sheets. Bright curiosity sniffed along my left arm and studied my every move— skittish, yet subtly excited.
I felt the bean-shaped indents their paws left in the fabric as they tested for stable support. I quivered from the ticklish inquisitive sniffs flowing through my arm hair. I watched as ruby and topaz hairs fluttered to the ground from the scruffy pelt.
And I felt a weak warmth spark in the cavity of my chest.
The muted click of the door shutting was nearly lost amidst my surprise.
"A rebellious one, this pokemon. From what I've heard, she's caused quite the headache around town. Pray tell, what became of her pokeball?"
I took a moment to mull over the comment. My brows furrowed.
"I am no trainer ."
Even without looking, the searing, inquisitive stares that bore into my skull spoke volumes. The Fennekin's ear twitched and she let out an odd whine.
"You're saying it's not even your Pokemon?"
The only response she received was a dreary blink.
"Hm. Nurse Joy, could you please regale Norman of Fennekin's activities?" Looker motioned to the caregiver.
She nodded. "Of course. It first appeared in front of the center two weeks ago and stationed itself in front of the doors every day. When it arrived, it was covered in many unchecked wounds. Despite the poor pokemon's state, it adamantly refused all means of treatment or aid. No one knew why it had posted itself outside the center, or where it came from, only that it ignored everything around unless provoked. Though, some saw this as an opportunity..."
A glimmer of curiosity crept along my features.
"Many visitors tried to claim her as their own, but this Fennekin rarely noticed or responded with, er… violence ," Joy recounted bitterly, Fennekin dipping her head but nonetheless staring blankly. "It wouldn't leave, even for food. It would remain in one spot, expecting something. Perhaps you... don't remember capturing her?"
I made to speak, but a coughing fit wracked my lungs. "No."
The other two shared an unreadable look.
"What do you mean, "no"?" The attendant frowned.
"He means," Looker interjected, "the Fennekin's wild."
An affirmative hum rumbled in my throat.
Nurse Joy flipped between the detective and I, seemingly missing a piece of the conversation. My intentions weren't to be cryptic, but with what little I had to offer, it seemed that I achieved it regardless.
"Have you known each other long?"
"No. Briefly."
"Interesting. You say you've hardly known one another, and yet it clings to you without hesitation." He illustrated, gesturing to the vixen perched on my legs. "Such minor behaviors are monumentous, especially considering the temperament of this little one."
I knew this. He was stating the obvious, and the coming response sat patiently in the recesses of my jaw. It wasn't the fault of Looker– no, he was unaware of his sew.
"Considering further Fennekin are seldom seen in the wild, one might see this as a gift."
It was dreadful.
"Norman, you have a beautiful gift, sitting in your lap, as we speak. Fennekin are brilliant pokemon, capable of plenty, and this one in particular is already exceptionally loyal."
He had done nothing wrong. His intentions were well-meaning. He only committed the grave offense of virtuous ignorance.
"Tight knit loyalty is only drawn from shared bonds. Why not make it your own? It very well has a story of its own, possibly like one of your own. Forgive me if this comes off as intrusive, but you two are much more alike than at first glance. Perhaps it may be fa—"
"Stop."
"—te. Pardon?"
"Do not finish that."
"But this Fennekin, you–"
"You imply, detective, that I was meant to be put through this. It implies I deserve this."
"That is not what I meant, I'm sorry. I had no intention to make the accusation you deserved to be where you are today. I was careless with my words. What I did mean, however, was that your experiences — that which you share — are uniquely intertwined."
And on he went once again, entrenching himself.
"Why not share that with another?"
I almost felt like laughing, had the bottomless chasm not overtaken my being with apathetic exhaustion. "Share what?"
"Your present, your past, your effort, you . Possessions are only a small portion of the picture."
"I have nothing to give."
"Then what of your other pokemon? Have you not shared time, or effort, or even a passing moment with another in your life?"
"No. I haven't."
"... This mindset, it's unbecoming. It does nothing for anyone, including you, Norman."
"I'm trying."
"What about this Fennekin? It gives you access to a boundary it allows no other through. Never once did allow for another human to come close, let alone touch it. Yet it shares this opportunity with you. Can you not share one with it?"
"There is nothing I can give, or have given, to this Fennekin."
The determined officer's features hardened. Fennekin bristled beneath her fur.
"Surely, you must have shared something in Santalune Forest then."
In any other circumstance, Looker would have been correct. My circumstance was far from possible.
"..."
"Nothing? Nothing whatsoever?"
"..."
"Then what inspirited you to wander through Santalune Forest alone? "
"It was not by choice."
"I'm baffled you were able to make it far without encountering a single pokemon to impede the trek." He half-scoffed, frustration cracking through his rocky demeanor. Although the scolding hardly fazed me, the knowledge that all of what he said was true began to seep under my skin.
"Or by my own action."
Looker simply pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before continuing.
"Hm. I... see. I apologize for the callous tone. You see, this – precisely – is what I am attempting to figure out. I am appreciative of your answers. But they leave me with little to go off of."
"I understand."
"Then why do you refuse to accept this Fennekin?"
"...I don't want to."
Cracks in Looker's tough exterior were beginning to spread. "Then what is it that binds you? Arceus above , Norman– you have the ability in front of you. You've already admitted that she is important to you. It's as though it hurts to even remember befriending it."
"..."
"What is it that prevents you? Has someone close to you forbade such actions? Certainly you couldn't have been forbidden from interacting with Fennekin, you've already met with them. If it's an action that you regret, I assure you it isn't something that can't be mitigated."
"..."
"This can't work if you don't respond to me, Norman. You've done well so far working with me, but I ask that you don't stop now, not when I am almost able to understand."
He was still so far from understanding, and I wished he had been correct instead.
"Young man. That pokemon in your lap looks to you like no other being on this planet. It sees your pain, and it doesn't understand. It wants to, though; it wants to more than anyone else."
The Fennekin's tail began to swish slowly with the end pointed in the air, rolling in deep waves. Her ears were pulled back, hair on pinpoint.
"I can see your pain, Norman. Why leave what little you have? You have already suffered and endured for reasons only you might come to understand. But what did it take for you to befriend this pokemon? "
"It cost me everything."
…
I was confused, drained, and lost.
But most of all, I was tired.
Oh, so tired.
In some ways, it was like tar.
I could feel it, the black ooze dripping into my arteries, an unsettling and cold sensation spreading throughout my body. The flood of sludge pooled around my brain.
Before I knew it, those words had fallen from my lips.
I sat silently for a while, mind and body paused in time.
No one made a sound for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. I could only stare at the sheet tucked over me, the static gray cloak obscuring my world.
The black ooze felt suffocating. I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't see the reactions to the deep, rumbling sentence that had dropped from my cracked lips. My eyes had glazed over with their lids hanging open like broken shudders, peering endlessly into the white sheets of the bed.
I couldn't breathe.
Sounds pattered against my head like distant raindrops on the roof of a bedroom.
I wanted to breathe.
I wanted to breathe the calming air of my living room again. I wanted to breathe in to the scent of Charlie's day-old red velvet cake that coated the kitchen and lingered on the countertops. I wanted to breathe in the sight of the rolling yellow hills and orange sky mixing together in the summer behind Grandad's porch.
I wanted to breathe in, knowing I would wake up the next day in the life I had built for myself.
I wanted to breathe in life again.
…
But I had only my one truth to breathe in.
That life was gone.
...
...
…
…
. . .
Two long, narrow objects pierced my leg, followed by another set soon after.
When I witnessed the tiny Fennekin with her jaws sunken into my thigh, I didn't even flinch.
I was just...surprised.
Once she saw my eyelids rise, the Fennekin released her grip. She strut onto my lap, planting herself directly in front of my face.
"Fenne fen ne kin! Fe fe ki fe nekin! Fennekin fenne kin FEN!" she yowled. Her lips were curled back and fur stood on end, tail whipping to and fro.
She merely sat, waiting.
Her actions came slamming into my head. All of them.
Fennekin wasn't biting into my leg because she felt threatened. She hadn't waited outside of the pokemon center because she wanted treatment. She didn't challenge the horde because I was her "precious trainer" that cared for her. It wasn't even that she had some "innate attraction to a pure of heart", whatever that was to mean. No, none of that.
Instead, it had been staring me in the face, just like she did. And I, the fool.
Suddenly, I felt a wet sensation drip down onto my hands. It was thin and clear, leaving a salty trail as it rolled down my skin.
Then, another fell.
And another.
The odd feeling managed to drag my attention from the epiphany down to the tiny fox pokemon, her posture ramrod straight. She had kept herself at attention although dipping her head down to the side, as if averting her eyes from an exceedingly bright light. The same bristling hairs stood sewn into her pelt, now with the new addition of a stream of tears gliding down her muzzle.
Ah.
This was a new world, one where not a single soul knew I existed. By technicality, I was an alien; a being that didn't belong. A planetary foreigner. Invasive.
If anything, I never should have been present in the first place. I had no real reason to be on the planet; no purpose and completely alone in my ventures. No family, no friends, no connections...
...
And yet,
The pokemon wept.
I couldn't comprehend why, or any semblance of reason behind her actions for the longest time. At the first chance she was offered, the pokemon quivered in fear at my presence. At the second chance, she ran for the hills, away from her literal dying savior. The little fox cared about me enough to form an attachment, however minute, deep in her heart that she refused to accept. She was fighting valiantly against an internal onslaught to keep the tough facade, and losing.
And after all that time, I had turned a blind eye to her struggles which she put aside to try and be with me. It wasn't much, but it was all that she could offer, despite having nothing. Camaraderie was all she could give to the one person that she felt could be trusted.
A swirling emotion had filled my chest, one I couldn't identify. It was strange and questionable, seemingly plugging the chasm that had consumed all stimuli I once felt.
In the moment though, there were many things I felt inclined to do.
I wanted to say thank you.
I wanted to tell her that I cared back – to say something – but my lips forbade it.
It was not my place to speak.
What came next, well, I suppose, in truth, I cannot take much credit for. I hadn't the foggiest clue what to do for what seemed like a milenia, so I found the next best course of action.
Let my body move itself.
My hand reached out to the fennec, her glassy eyes zipping over on high alert. I paused for a moment, presented an empty palm, and nestled it between her ears.
Silent tears welled even further, trickling in a staggered rhythm as they dripped onto my gown. An ache in my chest began to build, constricting my lungs as every tiny whimper racked my body in chills.
The Fennekin remained frozen, a strained whine caught in the back of her throat. I was able to see all the miniature scars and ripples within her fur as it began to mat once again, mangled lines peeping through the barrier of hair.
Then, an impulse crept into my mind. I heeded it without hesitation.
My thumb brushed away a lone tear from her muzzle.
...
And, with
just
one
touch,
the
dam
b r o k e .
Mighty sobs erupted from the pokemon, startling me as her trembling form sunk down until her head was nestled in the crook of my arm. A steady stream of tears trickled from her cheek tufts, falling or mingling with dirty, matted fur. My arm wrapped around Fennekin's curled, fluffy body, the fennec responding by retreating deep into my embrace.
The constricting feeling within me burst when I felt a strong hand plant itself on my shoulder. I didn't need to look to know it was Looker's, standing in silence. A strong exhale through my nose chimed in time with another suppressed sob from the tiny fox pokemon.
I wasn't sure how to react other than to wrap myself around her. It was what I would've wanted too.
My gaze began to shift away from the Fennekin, unsure where to focus. It sat longingly, no intentions or thoughts to direct it so. It merely drifted, far, far off.
Much farther than I could comprehend.
I hadn't been in this world for long, but one fact had been set in stone:
I would come home.
And I could care less what it took to accomplish that.
