HOW IT FEELS TO DISAPPEAR: DESCENT
You look down as the ghostly man motions to your Eevee, watching the thing trembling horribly. You swear, though it’s impossible through the fur, you see its face pale.
Your gaze rises back to him, and you start to feel yourself shaking for a different reason. The ghost’s words stir something in you. Like a spark onto dry foliage, you feel it ignite, you feel it burn, and you feel it spread. A blazing heat that overwhelms you, running like magma through your veins, forcing tension into every muscle in your body. You grind your teeth, you clench your fists, you start seeing red. The unbridled anger boils so intensely that your head starts to hurt.
It takes every ounce of restraint- and a quiet voice of reason in your racing mind telling that the man may not even be tangible- to stop yourself from throttling him.
Instead, that vicious fire spills from your lips.
“Can’t YOU do better?!” you snarl, stepping forward and tucking Eevee’s bag behind you. Your voice breaks as it raises to a yell, toeing on a scream;
“ANY better, you old JERK, than wasting YOUR time- your MISERABLE LIFE, sitting there- doing NOTHING, but TAUNTING and DEGRADING some helpless, SICK little goddamn POKEMON?! You- You MONSTER, I don’t care who or WHAT you think you are, I SWEAR TO THE GODS, I’LL KI-”
“You’ll what?” he exclaims over you, laughing in your face as the words die in your throat. You can feel your cheeks flush, and you open your mouth again-
He wags a finger, still snickering.
“You haven’t even begun to grasp how powerless you are here.”
Your hands sting from how tightly your fists clench, your nails digging into your palms.
“Yeah, right,” you spit. “I’ll show you. Just like I showed EVERYONE. You don’t know who I am.”
“Ha. You’re funny, girl.” he rasps. “Go on fighting then, you poor little spitfire…”
Your glare burns into him as his form starts to fade, the old man laughing as he vanishes from your sight. With a whisper on the wind, you hear one last taunting remark from his nauseating voice.
“At least you’re somewhat right about one thing… Nobody knows who you are.”
You stare at the empty space where he sat, breathing heavily.
“Coward,” you huff. You grasp tightly to the strap of your bag, turning it so Eevee rests under your arm again. It looks up at you, ears still flat… But it nuzzles up against your side, as if trying to silently soothe you.
Its small gesture of comfort seems to work. You feel the white-hot rage melt away, and you take a few deep, shaky breaths.
You had come to hate getting like that… A sense of guilt starts to fill the hole that the anger left in your chest. You’d made a promise to yourself- to Miss Hazel, to your brother, to the Oaks, but mostly to yourself- that you’d get that temper under control.
Absently, you start to walk as your mind starts to wander, almost forgetting the circumstances you’d been thrust into. Your thoughts leave you feeling like you’re watching yourself in the third person.
Anger hurt; Made your chest sting, your eyes burn, your head throb cause you always clenched your jaw too tight. It hurt other people, too; bitter words that tore people down, and the risk of hard-to-control impulses that you’d regret at best, that’d end in tears and trouble at worst. Through the time you’d lived in Pallet- the only time of your life you really remembered, it had become your least favorite emotion.
Step, step, step. The dirt crunches under your feet. Eevee’s fur grazes your arm as it situates, trying to get comfortable. It all seems so distant.
The part that hurt most was how nobody liked you when you got angry. … You can’t find it in yourself to blame them, though.
The memories come to you dully. You already struggled to make friends; your own otherness in the community had already made things hard enough. But you remember the first time you’d lashed out. Someone had been bullying Red, you recall faintly. The thing you really remember was Hazel telling you that you were lucky you hadn’t broken the kid’s nose.
… After that, suddenly, the other kids in Pallet Town started to avoid you. That bully might have been a jerk, but he never hurt anyone. You ruined your chances for any connections. Even Hazel couldn’t look at you the same for a while.
The memory leaves a lump in your throat.
You watch the movement of the fog in front of you. Try to trace shapes with your eyes, moving forward automatically like a robot.
You’d always wanted friends. You felt… Lonely in Pallet Town. Most of the kids in the small community were little boys, or older teens who wanted nothing to do with someone your age. As far as you knew, you had no childhood, too- nothing to connect with anyone over. The only person you were close to was your brother- you called him your brother, anyways- Red, and he was nice, but a bit of a brick wall sometimes…
The League challenge inspired a new hope in you when you heard about it. A chance to leave- to travel the region and make something new of yourself. Nobody beyond this tiny community knew who you were.
All you had to do was swallow your impulsiveness and be… better, you had thought with a sparkle in your eyes.
Nobody liked you when you got angry.
But everybody liked a sweet and friendly, strong and independent, darling and cute and charming little girl.
Right?
You could be all of that. You could be the best anyone had ever seen! So you set your mind to it. You could do anything, everything you wanted to if you believed. You pushed all that nasty, ugly, black and oozing stuff in you away.
You learned to smile despite anything you might have thought.
You began to forget what your anger felt like.
Your gaze has dropped to your feet by now, focusing on little things. The slight give of the dirt under every step you took… The way your black slippers flopped and bent with the movement of your feet… The way the fog parted around your movement, as if you were wading through a creek. You’re not really paying attention to where you’re going anymore- haven’t been for a bit. You at least know the fence is still funneling you on a straight path.
You hadn’t expected, out of all of the kids in this town… Especially your brother, someone you knew was far more capable than you… That somehow, Professor Oak would chose you to gift with the essentials for a League newbie. You honestly thought it was a joke, especially after everything you’d done prior- the first outburst wasn’t the last, you recall with a pang of regret- why would anyone in their right mind choose you of all kids?
But… It was all true. A Pokedex and a rare, soon-to-be powerful Pokemon to accompany you on your journey. It seemed like even the Professor’s grandson- given the same gifts by virtue of blood- had expected Red, not you. You recall him waiting in the lab, having snatched up a Squirtle. Later on Blue had told you he chose it, somehow knowing Red would’ve picked Charmander. He had wanted to get an upper hand early.
You, however, had chosen Bulbasaur. It was so cute, and it’s little bulb… Heck, the grass typing in general- it made you nostalgic in a way you couldn’t quite place, evoking the memory and image of the Viridian Forest. Blue had been furious- it put him at a disadvantage compared to you. But, it was too late to take his pick back. (He won the first battle you two had, anyways…)
… Even though you couldn’t begin to fathom why you’d been given such an opportunity, it really had changed your life. Your efforts had been worth it. You made friends and allies, and after taking care of Team Rocket, it seemed everyone loved you.
You had come so, so far. Things were finally looking up.
Eevee starts to chirp at you. You don’t process its noises.
… You can hardly remember the last time you’d gotten so angry, come to think of it. Your journey had taken months, right? And you’d started working on it way before…
A deeper guilt stabs you in the gut as the face that had always made you lash out so horribly comes back to you.
… How had Blue ever become your friend?
How had Professor Oak ever forgiven you enough to entrust you with these things?
It doesn’t seem right, in your mind. You’re struck by a strange pang of self-doubt.
You start to think that it should’ve been impossible for you to have gotten that chance.
You wonder if you ever really-
Bonk.
You walk face first into a wooden door. That’s one way to snap you out of your thoughts… You rub your forehead, which took the brunt of the collision, and blink hard, willing yourself to focus enough to make out what you’re looking at.
… This door and home seem… Odd, in a way you can’t place. You frown, briefly wondering if you’d somehow gotten turned around and wound up back where you started… You distinctly remember leaving the door open behind you, though. This is shut tight- and unlike the image of your own desolate home, there’s lights on inside.
You look left, then right. The fence stands as sturdy as ever. Seems like there’s no other way to go… Eevee tucks itself further down in your bag, at you knock.
No answer. You chew on your lip, and slowly reach for the doorknob. You hesitate briefly- but grab and turn anyways. It’s unlocked. You open it up slowly, peeking inside. … Although the lights are on, it seems empty, so you head in, treading carefully and turning to quietly shut the door behind you.
When you turn back around, the house isn’t empty. Another ghostly figure- white and faintly seethrough, just like the old man down the path- sits at the table in the middle of the room. Their back is turned to you, and it seems like they’re working at something with their hands- you can’t fully make it out, but… They may be sewing some kind of jacket…?
You assume this ghost is some older woman, based on the longer hair, the dress, and what looks to be the bow of a tied apron. Somehow, she doesn’t give you the feeling of unease the older man did… But there’s still something unsettling about this place.
It’s… Familiar.
It’s missing decorations, and in place of the kitchen seems to be a few bookshelves. But the locations of the door, the table with four seats, the television, and the staircase…
It reminds you too much of your home.
Even Eevee is looking around, as if confused. You try to swallow down the unease that this uncanniness gives you, moving forward to look around. As you approach the table, the ghost doesn’t seem to notice you, which a part of you is silently grateful for…
You notice as you approach the table that a book is laying on the corner closest to you… The plain leather cover reminds you of a diary, and while you’re struck with curiosity, you look to the ghost nervously before touching anything.
This time, she looks back. You briefly feel your blood run cold as bloody red eyes meet yours… Before the woman simply sighs, turning back to her craft.
Having met her eyes, even in passing.. You get the same uncanny familiarity from her that you get from the rest of this house.
A part of you wants to explore everything- what else might lay upstairs, what lies in the diary, and who this woman even is… But the other part is screaming at you to hurry and get out.
Just lingering in this place is starting to make you feel weak, as if you don’t belong here, and the very house knows and wants you gone.
You only have it in you to satiate one of your curiosities.