Author’s Note: 

I’m putting my heart and soul into this story. It won’t be like any Pokemon fanfic you ever read, but at the same time, I’m gonna play it incredibly straight. If you want to read a story about two trainers, trying to get eight badges, while growing closer to their Pokemon and to each other, this is it. The gold standard. I hope you fall in love with them, as much as I have, and let the story unravel in its natural, clumsy way;

Please leave reviews and share this story if you enjoy; it would mean the world to me to be able to build a community off this

-.-.-

He was almost killed by a Pikachu. 

For two years, he laid in a hospital bed, consciousness fading in and out, in a coma, only vague dreams and feelings sustaining him. He knew he was alive, but couldn’t prove it. He knew that the world was fading, time was passing, but couldn’t hold on, slipping and slipping, the darkness and the silence becoming so smooth, so imminent. 

And then he sat up. There was no one to witness it. 

Two years worth of memories came flowing into him, all the bullshit and the whispers, the feelings and hope. As soon as it came, it was gone. Leaving him with only one question… What day was it? 

Peeling himself off the hospital bed and tearing off strange tubes, he realized that it was around the afternoon. Outside an elevated window, he could see the sun sinking, the first he’d seen of it for two years. He thought at least. Why did he think that only two years passed again? 

Ah. It’s because he was still dreaming. 

Heart pumping, he crept to the hallway and glanced it up and down. There was no one in sight, only identical doors, numbers counting. He was in room 1087, it appeared. Despite not seeing anyone, he could faintly hear the bustle and voices of a hospital staff hard at work, the monotonous sounds of humans.

Closing the door, he glanced around and found a mirror. And a weirdo was staring back. He was wearing a hospital gown. It made him look ghastly, a nauseating light blue that was associated with old death and fat ladies. 

In terms of age though, it appears that his body went on to grow without him. He rubbed his face, then his chin, feeling the freshly shaved rustle of a beard. He was taller than before, he thought. It was hard to tell. He was probably still short overall. His nose was still squarish and eyes still small and his hair still oily. Same person, I guess. He took a sigh of relief. It didn’t look like he aged more than two years. Hopefully. 

And then he noticed some numbers on this computer-like stand, where the tubes were once held. 

And then, he almost fainted again. 

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

It was the thirteenth of february, 20XX. 

He had woken up just in time, like it was fate. Or perhaps, he had woken up, just too late. 

He glanced outside again, at the sinking sun. His heart sunk. He was on a fucking timer. 

He scratched his hair and screamed silently, two years worth of hopelessness sinking in, yet again. It was this feeling, that he was on the verge, but couldn’t do anything. That everything he ever wanted was right in front of him and he couldn’t move to take it… That fate was taunting him, cursed child, cursed existence. 

He stormed out of the hospital, but of course, was stopped on the way. They didn’t know exactly who he was, but he was a kid in a gown and that was reason enough. He screamed, or at least, spoke at intense volume, demanding that someone get his parents. But it was too late, they said. The sun was going down. It was too dangerous outside. The sun was going down. The sun was almost down. 

They soon found a nurse who apparently was his main caretaker. Ah. She would be the one that shaved his shitty beard. He thought haphazardly. She had dyed black hair, dead eye bags, and smelt of cigarettes.

“Here. Your parents told him to give you this when you woke up.”

He jolted, like from a dream, as a bag weighted upon his hands. 

“Sorry?” he mumbled, opening and peering down the bag. Snacks, water, and… A Pokeball! 

 “Wow,” the nurse said. She was looking down the bag too. “How irresponsible. Hey, kid, there’s no way you’ll be okay with this, right? That Pikachu almost killed you? Are you feeling okay?”

And he ran, practically pushing her out of the way, reaching for the Pokeball and dropping the bag, running for the forest where he had almost died, those two years ago. 

Thanks Mom… Thanks Dad… For believing in me.

He cried as he ran for the forest, wiping the tears away with his loose gown, the night air already chilling across his burning body. The sun fluttered down his back.

He had to catch a Pokemon. Fast.

-.-.-

Anything would do at this point, he thought as he trailed down the path to get into the forest.

If only it was that simple, he scolded his internal monologue. 

Not only did he have to catch a Pokemon, but it had to be strong. Strong enough to make up for 2 years of lost work. 

Yet, at this point he would take anything. 

He could not lie. 

His feet flew down the scenery, taking flight against the path, downwards and deeper. It was the first time that it was all beaten so loud. From his heart, to his skull, the very depths of his gushing blood, he ran, searching for all those spots he had scouted prior, all the years he spent noting down all the habits and behaviors of his desired pokemon. 

The riverside where the bellowing rushes slid across the gray flat rocks…

The hollowed trees filled with nuts and straws and the faintest scent…

The mellow barrows smothered under tall grass and crumpled with dirt…

The nests hovered over the branching paths so high…

The rocks and stony hill with the jagged and smoothed edges…

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Beyond his control, suddenly, his feet began to drag and then stop entirely. He was standing still. And he was staring at the sun.

How long has it been? Breathless, he watched as all he saw was a line, a fainting line of just the bareness of colorless light, fading over the horizon. And all the sudden, he was sobbing, crying, screaming that no one could hear. 

He could hear the beat fading away. His frenzied mind, hanging only but a threat, flattened and he could feel the accumulated pain creeping throughout his beaten body. And this… if he wasn’t crying, he would scream. If he wasn’t screaming, he would be cry. If he was anything at all, he would fucking kill himself. It was all gone. Killed before it could even be started. 

He fell on his ass, staring upwards, his entire body drooping like it was all going to fall off his body, leaving him only as a hollow, dustied skeleton. 

And that’s how he sat on his first pokemon. 

“Dwebble!”