[Monika Sarajevo opens the door to her three storey house, letting me in after a short moment of consideration. She is the first person so far to agree to an interview for the Wysteria Files.
She makes tea while I sit behind the ornate mahogany table in the living room, clicking my pen frantically on top of my notebook. When she comes back with the silver platter I finally get a good look at her: Tall and proud, with a firm posture not common to someone as old as her. After placing it on the middle of the table she sits gracefully across me, taking a sip of her lemon scented tea.
She begins the interview before I even get a chance to ask her a question.]
Have you ever had trouble recalling your own past? They say it's quite uncommon; most people have the ability to remember key moments of their life from after they're four or five years old.
For me… well, everything before I turned nine is a blur. I never had a chance to discover why, considering what happened, but I have my theories and suspicions. None of them are happy, in fact I'd say each one is more depressing than the next, but I doubt someone like you would have a problem with that, considering your line of work.
"Would you like to expand on these theories?"
I admit they're not as painful now as they once were, and I'd gladly talk to you about them were it not for the fact that they're quite irrelevant. I doubt your readers would be interested in something so mundane; they're here for what happened after, aren't they?
"You mean the Harvest of 76'?"
You know, it's actually been a really long time since I've heard that. After the government gave me a new name and a new family I suppose I didn't have much reason to remember it, so I didn't. But now, with my skin sagging and the reaper practically giving me a shoulder massage, I suppose there can't be much harm in re-opening an old wound, can there?
That's why I agreed to this, after all. I found the e-mail you sent me quite adorable, and said to myself 'Oh, what the hell. It couldn't be so bad,' so here we are. Ah, I'm sorry, I really should get to the point. Alright then…
I guess it all began with an allergy. Okay, it began long after that, but I assume that's not a start many readers are accustomed to, and as a writer myself I always enjoy throwing them for a loop.
I was allergic to eggs, you see. It wasn't as common back then as it is now, so I didn't get a diagnosis until I was ten, when I had a bad case of an anaphylactic shock. Even then neither me nor my parents made a big deal about it; they were just eggs after all.
I was an only child, which might explain the aspects of my personality some of my critics love to harp about. The less we talk about my father the better. My mother… well, she was everything you could ask if you were a kid, even if you didn't knew it back then. She was fierce and strict, yes, but also compassionate and caring. She did her best to straighten me up as a person, for most of her life anyway.
She worked as a nurse for a Pokemon Center. This might not seem prestigious to you or any of your readers, but back then it was quite the honor. Agatha had founded the Indigo League only a year prior, and Professor Oak was only then making a name for himself. Trainers weren't nearly as common as they are now, and there were only three facilities in all of Kanto who exclusively healed Pokemon. My mother was one of the first, and certainly one of the best nurses of her time.
As for the star of this story… I met her a few months before turning eleven. The League Committee had decided that all head nurses needed to have at least one Chansey, due to their recently discovered healing properties and the special attributes of the… eggs, they produced.
You see, Chansey is quite strange as far as mammal-type Pokemon go. They lay eggs like most, only… theirs aren't meant for reproduction, and they are not formed inside their bodies, but in the pouches in their outer stomach. But I digress, we'll come back to this later.
Most nurses chose to buy a Chansey from the safari in Fuchsia, but we didn't have enough money to afford something like that. And considering what a talented trainer mother was… well, it only seemed appropriate that she'd go looking for her own to catch.
"Isn't there only one place in Kanto where one could find them in the wild?"
I see you've done your homework. Indeed, the only place you can find a wild Chansey is inside of Cerulean Cave, however very few are brave enough to attempt such a thing. I suppose you've heard the rumors; that only incredibly powerful Pokemon live inside, and that it would take someone on par with an Elite Four member or a Champion to enter and survive.
[Her lips curve upward, and a powerful gleam of pride appears behind her eyes, making the woman look decades younger]
She came out with a few scratches, one or two fainted members of her team and a shining Pokeball containing her capture. After that… well, it took some time for things to turn strange, and by then I was too distracted by my new fortune to care.
She came to live with us after that. My mother said it was because she liked the extra company and she'd grown to care for her, but I suppose she simply didn't want to tell me the truth, either as to not hurt my pride or her own.
I don't think I need to explain it now, but back then most people didn't know that Chansey's eggs not only were full of nutrients but they were, according to most, the most incredible thing they've ever tasted. If you consider that, plus the fact she just kept making them without stopping… well, let's just say my mother added a lot of white and yellow to our diet for the upcoming years.
The change was slow, which is why I never suspected something was wrong until it happened.
At first it was similar to… have you ever gotten out of a rough bout of depression or dedicated yourself to changing your life for the better? Fixing your sleep schedule, learning to eat better, doing a bit of exercise, I suppose it was a bit like that. My parents became more pleasant to talk to; their skin seemed cleared and the bags under their eyes all but banished. My father was still not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he didn't yell at me or my mother so often.
Funny how something so small can snowball in such a way, don't you think? Whatever dark thing ate at my father from the inside slowly mitigated, and two months after Chansey came to live with us he finally got his act together and found a job. After that money started flowing in, for the first time in our lives, and we were able to afford commodities that seemed unattainable before. They bought me two dresses, a small bundle of toys and a pair of bright red shoes that I still have with me. They… they are the only object I was able to recover from the house.
[She pauses for the first time, taking in a deep breath. The green of her eyes seem faded for a moment.]
I was happy. Happy for the first time since I could remember, and it had nothing to do with the gifts. And still…
Can you believe I never suspected the reason for my parents' change in attitude? Perhaps I was too young to connect the dots, or maybe I just believed that as long as I didn't question my fortune then it would never go away. Besides, thanks to my allergies I never was able to see for myself just how powerful and addicting Chansey eggs were. What reason did I have to distrust my mother's dear Pokemon? Absolutely none.
"I'm guessing things took a turn for the worse once she evolved."
Absolutely, though in a way I didn't perceive at first.
You see, back then almost no one knew that Chansey could evolve. I'm sure it must've happened at some point, and the government did have files and pictures of it, but they were unable to discover just what triggered it. After all, most Pokemon evolve once they get strong enough, once they become proficient enough at combat.
But Chansey was different. They weren't made for fighting, at least not in the traditional way. Still, the species must've known that they could achieve yet another form, and did everything in their power to make that happen. Why do you think they developed a way to create those eggs? What evolutionary advantage would they have other than to feed their young?
My mother might've not been the first to discover how Chansey evolved, but she was one of the first to make it public. It happened not long after I turned twelve; I came down from my room for dinner and saw as she stepped in through the door. She'd been gone for about a week or so due to her work, and my father's attitude had slowly changed for the worse. Luckily she came back before things got too bad, and next to her…
«Everyone, say hello to Blissey!» I remember she said, smiling from ear to ear. «You will not believe what happened.»
Turns out she just… evolved out of nowhere. After a long shift of work my mother simply hugged Chansey and thanked her for her hard work and it happened. I'm sure she must've gotten a pretty big scare out of it.
It wasn't treated as much of a big deal, like most events in our lives. We baked a cake, threw a little party and congratulated her. That should've been it, a meaningless event lost to the tides of my memory, something not even worth remembering. Were it not for what happened after, of course.
Things changed once more, only this time it was much more noticeable. I saw the first Blissey egg the next morning when we all sat down for lunch, and I remember being surprised that it wasn't much bigger than the ones she produced as a Chansey. The shell was shinier, I suppose, and back then I liked to think that the odd feeling it exuded was simply my imagination.
What wasn't my imagination was what happened during the next weeks. My parent's change in attitude before was nothing compared to their transformation once they began to eat those new eggs. I remember being scared, actually terrified at my own mother's smile, something I never considered possible. It was so… unnatural, especially for a woman as serious as she was.
Bubbly is the best word I can think of to describe their behavior. Every little thing made them laugh and giggle as if they were kids. They raised their voice constantly, as if they couldn't control it, and mother kept cracking jokes and making strangely positive comments about the horrible things that happened in her work.
I was… worried, to say the least, but years of being taught not to question my parents left me unable to voice my concerns. I could do nothing but spectate as they became grotesque caricatures of themselves, adults filled with so much happiness and energy that it became apparent it was destroying them from the inside.
I really should've known by them. I was old enough, smart enough to put two and two together, and yet I didn't. I supposed I was still afraid; as much as I abhorred this new life it was still marginally better than before Chansey showed up.
And so I held my tongue and kept on with my life, trying my best to drown out any uneasiness by spending an unreasonably long time wandering around the city and the surrounding forest. I didn't have many friends, unless you count Mary Svek, so I had to find a way to distract myself, I suppose.
"Were your parents not worried about that?"
They weren't worried about anything anymore. There was literally no room in their brains for that.
"There have been many studies about the effect of Blissey's eggs on…"
[She raises her left hand in an authoritative manner, interrupting me.]
Come on now, you agreed to let me tell my story without interruptions. Don't go spoiling our readers just yet.
"I'm sorry, I just thought that since it was something so known…"
I'm afraid that's not up for you to decide, miss Tulip. I believe this is my story to tell, if our previous agreement is anything to go by.
"Y-yes, you're right. I just felt we weren't quite getting to the point…"
I'll stop you right there, if you don't mind.
This story I'm telling is a gift to you and your readers, not something for you to pick apart as you please. These are painful memories, and the least you could do in retribution is humor me and allow me to weave this narrative the way I see fit. It's one of the few pleasures I have left.
I hope you understand.
"I apologize. Please continue."
[She clears her throat, fixing her posture before speaking once more]
So to summarize: my parents killed each other a few days before Harvest.
[She must notice how my pen freezes over the paper and my eyes go wide, because she places her palm over her mouth and giggles softly. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, perhaps waiting for me to complain. I don't.]
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
I apologize for pulling your leg, but I simply couldn't waste such an opportunity. I enjoy leading my readers by the leash and then yanking at it violently once in a while. Keeps them on their toes.
But yes, you are correct, I suppose there's not much point in delaying it any longer.
Two days before the Harvest festival there was a small scuffle in the bays of Vermillion between the forces of Kanto and Sinnoh. A battle fought by mistake they said, which I suppose was apt foreshadowing for the war that would come years later. The battle spread further than it was intended to, and the result was a handful of deaths and a few dozen wounded, civilians and Pokemon alike.
The letter arrived at morning, and it was the first time in weeks I'd seen my mother frown. The League Committee was summoning Blissey for service, and she was to present herself in the city docks in two hours for deployment. To this day I still don't know why they didn't ask for my mother as well; perhaps they already had enough nurses and they desperately needed Blissey's incredible regenerative powers.
Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if my mother had gone with her. I suppose I wouldn't be here speaking with you, though then again neither would she considering her age. It's not… productive, to think about what ifs, and yet…
Ah, I apologize. As I was saying, Blissey departed that day, and all hell broke loose soon after. It wasn't as fast as you're probably imagining, though also not as slow as I would've liked.
The first sign that something was wrong came to me at lunch, when we had to make do with an old pack of noodles and artificial flavorings. I didn't notice the difference in the food since I never ate the eggs anyway, but my parents certainly did. I saw as their smiles slowly curved downwards, and before I knew it a strange shadow set over their eyes. They treated me and each other with the usual respect and levity for a short time, at least while we ate.
A couple hours later my father accidentally let a teacup fall into the ground, and it shattered into small porcelain pieces. He cursed under his breath and next to him my mother shot him a look of disappointment that she tried to hide quickly.
During the afternoon they started a discussion about the armed forces of Kanto and their quarrels with the surrounding regions. It began civilized, but by the end it was clear they were bothering each other immensely just by voicing their own opinions.
The next morning my mother failed to wake up at nine, as she'd done so ever since I remembered. She came down from her room at around twelve with enormous bags under her eyes and went to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of black coffee. Even before she took it to her lips I could see as her fingers twitched and her free hand fidgeted over the faded blue of her nightgown. I tried to tell myself that the sound of her teeth clattering was simply the Spearows outside, pecking at the trees.
Their first big fight happened at night. My father complained that the food wasn't as good as he was used to, and my mother did not let that comment pass. They kept shouting at each other for the entirety of dinner while I tried my best to dissolve into my own chair.
"It must've been terrifying to see them go back to that."
Oh, you have no idea. I wanted to believe I was in some sort of warped nightmare, I couldn't accept the fact that our lives would go back to what they were before. But there was nothing I could do, so I looked down at the table, ate my food and prayed that this would pass.
It did not. As the days went by the disputes got even worse and they turned into… well, I hesitate to insult addicts by comparing them to my parents, but that's what they reminded me of. I would find them with their heads against the wall, faintly whispering to themselves for minutes. They would crash against everything as if they couldn't see what was in front of them. Wall scratching, vomiting, spouts of fury and violence, it simply got worse as time went by.
What woke me up that night was the sound of my father's hammer hitting my mother's nose. I didn't know that at the time, of course, but I realized it as soon as I came down, still rubbing the sleepy out of my eyes. I saw as her body was thrown backwards into the wall, I heard the animalistic screams of wrath they threw at each other, and I noticed how my mother's hand went to the compartment of the furniture behind her, fingers closing around the handle of the kitchen knife.
[Her hands noticeably shake around her cup of tea, and she tries to hide it by taking it to her lips.]
My father bled to death from eight stab wounds to the chest and my mother fell to the internal bleeding of multiple hammer hits to the head. I would rather not go into more detail than that, if it's no trouble for you and your readers.
"I understand. What happened after that?"
Can you believe I didn't call the police or the neighbors? I didn't come out of the house either, I just sat in those stairs looking directly at the corpses of my parents. I must've stayed there for at least five hours until the sun came up. With every muscle of my body as sore as it could be I got up, walked down the stairs and made breakfast for myself.
Shock is a strange thing. There I was, eating toast with butter while my toes curled on the bloodstained floor beneath my feet. I don't think my mind was able to react at all, so my body picked up the slack and turned me into something like a machine.
"No one came to knock on your door?"
Who would have? Our house was far away from the main street and my parents had taken a few days off their jobs. I wasn't exactly the most popular girl in school either, so I doubt anyone cared that I skipped class a few times.
The day after I heard as the door opened, and the sunlight hit Blissey in the back as her shadowy figure entered the house. She chirped happily as she was used to and approached me, staring at me with those small, black eyes and her ever present smile. She must've realized there was something wrong with me, because she approached and put both hands on top of my head, humming as she released a strange energy into my body. I hadn't realized just how tight the knot in my throat was until it was dissolved.
I fell to my knees and broke into tears, my entire body shaking. Through the edge of my vision I saw as Blissey walked past me and into the living room, where the dead bodies of my parents still were.
The scream I was expecting never came. I just kept wailing into the floor for what felt like an eternity, and once I was all out of tears to cry Blissey came back through the sill of the door.
Her smile was still there, though for the first time it didn't extend to her eyes. I noticed the egg in her pouch shimmer with a strange, dark glow, but I was still in shock and didn't pick up on what that could mean. She grabbed me by the arms and legs and carried me towards my room gently. As we passed through the living room I saw that my parent's bodies weren't there anymore.
"She got rid of them?"
As if taking out the trash. A few days after the police found them buried a few miles from our house, in front of a big tree in the forest. But I digress.
Blissey took care of me as best she could. I still don't know whether she felt guilty about what had happened, though I suspect she literally wasn't able to, at least at first.
She woke me up, cooked for me three times a day and helped me every time I would break down and start crying. She would urge me to read or watch television with her, and every night she took me into her arms and tucked me into bed.
"She didn't alert anyone else of your parent's deaths?"
I don't think she thought it necessary, and I wasn't in the right mental place to consider that strange. We just kept living like that for a few days. Trying to survive, trying to forget.
Though of course there was something strange about the whole situation. Every time we sat down to eat Blissey would offer me one of her eggs, even though she'd known her whole life I was allergic to them. As I said; I was still very much in shock and didn't realize just how odd this was. I simply refused, and every consequent time I did I noticed the slightest furrow of her brows.
As time passed I noticed that her eggs started to… change. At first they lost the distinctive white glow I was accustomed to, and then the warm, pulsing feeling they gave out. After that I noticed small brown patches begin to appear in the shells, and just before the Harvest day I could swear the one she presented to me smelled… rotten.
I didn't think much of it, and kept living my life as best I could, slowly and carefully putting back together the pieces of myself. They didn't fit very well, but I've never been good at fixing my own mind.
Harvest… that was the first time I somewhat came to my senses. I sat on a wooden chair too big for me, eyes fixated on the tablecloth beneath me, when I heard them. The distant sounds of small explosions, followed by the distinct glow of bright lights. I approached the windows and pressed my thin fingers on the glass, looking out.
Fireworks painted the sky a dozen different colors, bright reds and yellow and green fighting back against the oppressive darkness above. Beneath it I noticed people walking through the streets of the town, most of them children wearing some sort of costume. They travelled in groups, holding round objects shaped like Pumpkaboos and asking their neighbors for candy and treats.
I must've stared for a long time, because when I felt Blissey's hand on my shoulder and I closed my eyes they stung badly, echoes of fireworks turning my vision a bunch of different colors. I looked up at her and saw her smile grow ever so slightly, beneath the heavy bags under her eyes.
As it was customary she grabbed me and took me to my room so I could sleep. For the first time I didn't want to, I wanted to keep watching the festivities through my window, but I was too weak to protest. So, I did what I was told and closed my eyes. The last thing I heard before falling asleep was the sound of the front door closing behind someone.
[She pauses for a few seconds as she drinks the last of her tea. Her sight falls someplace at her side as she hovers one finger over the rim of the teacup.]
This time the screams I woke up to were muffled. That, unfortunately, didn't stop me from getting out of the bed and walking down the stairs.
Can you believe I wasn't afraid? I'd been relieving my parent's deaths in my sleep so often that I simply assumed this was just another nightmare. That changed when I reached the living room.
Six chairs, with six children roped into them. Gagged too, by whatever their kidnapper could find in the house; dishcloths, paper, socks… the look of horror they all had contrasted strangely with the colorful disguises they were wearing.
Their eyes turned towards me with an unspoken plea, and I felt as if someone had dropped a bucket of water on me. They struggled against their ropes and screamed through their gags, trying to tell me something. Perhaps to help them, or to run away. Maybe both.
I barely took one step towards them when I felt something squeeze my heart. It was as if invisible walls had suddenly closed against every part of my body; I struggled to breath as a pink-ish purple glow surrounded me and I saw my feet leave the ground. As I began to float my eyes went to the sill of the door leading towards the kitchen, and that's where she was.
Blissey had her arm raised at me, glowing with the same psychic energy she was using to restrain me. She didn't look angry or hostile, as evidenced by that ever present smile, but I could tell by the slight crinkles between her eyes that she did not wish for me to interfere.
I'm sure she didn't intend to hurt me, and I am aware that her inexperience with combat meant she wasn't used to her own power, but I can't say having someone use their psychic powers on you for so long didn't hurt terribly. Then again, not as much as what she forced me to see.
She came back from the kitchen with a huge silver platter, letting it fall gently on the middle of the table. The smell hit me then, and I struggled immensely not to throw up. It seemed to travel past my skin and settle just below my throat, making it difficult for me to breathe.
Six eggs, one for each kid, and all of them bent and covered in wide brown and black patches. She grabbed one of them and broke the shell, revealing the noxious, rotten stench it held inside. The yolk was a strong maroon, and it was completely dry. I tried to convince myself the things I saw moving inside of it were just a trick of my imagination.
For the sake of your readers I will spare the… grizzly details of what happened for the next hours of the night. I'm merciful that way.
[She laughs knowingly, and I suppress my urge to mention that she has said much worse already.]
Two of the kids died of food poisoning, and the rest were... changed. The eggs already had a tremendously powerful effect on adults, so you can only imagine what they would do to children. I remember clearly that, less than a minute after they'd taken a bite, they stopped struggling. All signs of pain or distress evaporated from their faces, and were soon replaced with the sounds of forced, uncontrollable laughter and joy. Their addiction was... immediate, as it became clear once the police arrived.
First a small gathering appeared outside our house, followed by the sounds of sirens soon after. They broke down the door and tried to rescue us, but there were some complications. For starters, the moment one of the officers tried to untie a kid and take him away from the egg, the little bugger stabbed him in the face with a fork. They didn't want to leave, you see, and why would they? Nothing, absolutely nothing in the outside world could compare to the bliss they were feeling in that moment. To be separated from it... well, one can understand why they'd react so violently.
They were able to restrain the four that survived, though if my sources are anything to go by, they were never able to make a full mental recovery. But again, I digress.
I was rescued as well, and the Pokemon responsible was immobilized. And yet... all throughout Blissey never complained or fought back, nor did she lose that wide smile of hers. I suppose she'd already gotten what she wanted, because that almost invisible frown had disappeared the moment the kids ate the eggs.
And to think something as natural as evolution would lead a Pokemon towards such a horrifying dead end. It's tragic... but also funny, I suppose. I consider that fact to be a little, personal revenge of mine. It's the only kind of revenge I'll ever get, after all.
[She breathes in deep, closing her eyes for a moment. She's been speaking for a long time, and I don't know whether the sudden roughness in her voice is because of that or something else.]
I'm not used to being indulged this way, nor speaking for so long, so I apologize for the sloppy way in which I've presented my past. Then again, I doubt you or your readers have any right to complain. This is my life, after all.
[Another short silence, though this time her eyes fall on me. They stare knowingly for a few seconds, and I imagine Monika would be smiling if she possessed the energy to do it.]
With that said, I have a feeling you didn't come here just for a story. The way you're looking at me tells me there's something else you want to know.
"I was hoping you'd know that… well, no other Blissey has ever shown tendencies as strong as the one you're describing."
You're right about that.
"And that, considering the rumors about the town you grew up in…"
You want to know about them.
[She places a strong emphasis on the last word, curling her lips into an amused smile. I try my best to hide my nervousness.]
"I would like to know what happened with Blissey after that."
She wasn't put down, though I'm sure you already know that.
A few minutes after the police arrived I heard the sounds of multiple large vehicles around the house. A tall, dark-haired woman wearing a dark purple suit entered, and after a talk with some of the officers she convinced them to exit the house. She then called in some of her… I assume subordinates, and carried Blissey inside their vehicle. That's the last time I ever saw her.
"Did they have some sort of insignia or…"
A badge. On their left chest pcoket; two black wisteria leaf vines, forming a circle, if I'm not mistaken.
[The way she taps her chin with one finger makes it clear that she remembers it perfectly. I try to contain my excitement and frustration, and after a few seconds of writing her words down I look up at her.]
"Is there anything more you can tell me about them?"
Nothing too useful, at least not for you. I hope that's not a disappointment.
"It's… fine. Thanks a lot for your time, and for agreeing to tell this story."
[She doesn't reply, instead looking down at her empty teacup with something akin to sadness. I rise up from my chair and save my notebook and pen inside my purse, eyes going to the door.]
"I'll be going now. And again… thank you."
[I barely make it to the sill of the door before I hear her voice again. It lacks all the energy and mischief characteristic of it, and I see that she doesn't look up as she speaks.]
I would advise you to be careful, miss Tulip. For your own sake, I hope you know what you're getting into.
"…I'll be careful. Goodbye, Monika."
[Disclaimer: Monika Sarajevo died a week after this interview. Forensics say she suffocated in her sleep.
They have already discarded all possibilities of foul play.
I haven't.
I'll be moving out of the hotel I'm in as soon as I can post this entry. I might have to lay low for a while, so I'll only update once I can gather new information.
Tulip Glasslip .]