• Our software update is now concluded. You will need to reset your password to log in. In order to do this, you will have to click "Log in" in the top right corner and then "Forgot your password?".
  • Forum moderator applications are now open! Click here for details.
  • Welcome to PokéCommunity! Register now and join one of the best fan communities on the 'net to talk Pokémon and more! We are not affiliated with The Pokémon Company or Nintendo.

[Pokémon] Flight 2

txteclipse

The Last
2,322
Posts
16
Years
The unanticipated and spur-of-the-moment sequel to Flight! Read that first or this will probably be confusing. Soft rating of T with a strong grief warning.

Flight 2​
"Though telling one forwards might."

***

The big latios hovered in the doorway, red-rimmed eyes crawling their way up to meet William's. "Will," he said, his throaty voice tumbling its way around tears choked down long enough for one social interaction. The absence of his usual hearty laugh echoed in William's ears.

"Hi Gideon," Will began. "I brought food." He held up a plastic bag with a smiley face and the words "Have a Nice Day!" emblazoned across it in red. "It's pot roast and mashed potatoes."

"Oh Arceus," Abigail's dad said. "If it had been more lasagna I might have actually bitten you."

***

William sat on a pile of cushions across the table from Gideon. Naomi, Gideon's wife and Abigail's mom, floated next to Will. As the three of them talked and ate, she absently fidgeted with his hair, as though she could get at some ethereal residue of Abby's through osmosis. They picked at the roast and the potatoes, intermittently laughing and crying and laughing while crying and crying while laughing. It was a very soggy evening of emotions that refused to be compartmentalized.

When expressions began to average sadder and Gideon and Naomi's responses grew more clipped, William took the hint without offense. As he was pulling on his jacket, Naomi came over to him and offered the leftovers: as she was holding out the bag, she burst into fresh tears. "Sorry," she said around her sobbing. "I just remembered sending her off to school."

***

Night was not a long, hollow dark. It was a blessing of exhausted sleep bookended by intense crying.

The long, hollow dark occurred during the day. William flip-flopped between delivering mail by hand in order distract himself with conversation and scurrying down sidewalks, head bowed and tears hidden, inserting letters into mailboxes with practiced mechanism. Sometimes the modes would intersect, and he would find himself in the kitchen of a total stranger with tears running down his face, being served tea and sympathy he had no stomach for. Or he would be placing a bundle of droplet-spattered letters into a mailbox and he would suddenly remember being there six months before, hanging upside-down from Abby's back and handing a package to a whooping six-year-old. Then he would grin with muscles that hurt from grief and the salty trails on his face would feel tight, as though trying to keep his skin a mask, but he would grin regardless.

***

William didn't buy into the six stages of grief. He had no doubts she was dead, thank you very much, and anger, depression, and cold, empty acceptance took up residence together in his gut like the world's worst sitcom. He once stared into his fridge, filled with lasagna and salad and soup brought by well-wishers, for a full hour. Then he went out and asked around his apartment complex if anyone wanted some food because he definitely wasn't going to eat it and there was no sense wasting it. The resulting interactions were a variation on one of the following:

  1. Statement: "I'm so sorry for your loss."
    Answer: "Thank you."
    Real answer: "Let's see...that's 'I'm sorry for your loss' number three hundred and two."
  2. Question: "How are you holding up?"
    Answer: "Okay."
    Real answer: "Seriously?"
  3. Question: "Do you need anything?"
    Answer: "No, thanks."
    Real answer: "Abby."
Finally William went back to his apartment, slept for three hours in the afternoon, got up, tossed all of the food in the dumpster, then slept until noon the next day.

***

"Hey, small world!"

Will looked up from the mustard bottles he was comparing to find the pilot from That Night. "Oh, hello," he said with a lopsided grin. Then he stood there, a mustard bottle in each hand, silently cursing his beard stubble, oily hair, and wrinkly, unwashed clothes for not saying "go away" loud enough.

The pilot walked over. "I go for this stuff, personally," he said, pointing at a bottle on the shelf. "It costs more for the bottle but the per-ounce value is better. Bit more spicy, too." He grabbed the bottle. "Might as well while I'm here." He grinned, white teeth flashing below a prominent nose and Aviators-shielded eyes.

Who wears sunglasses inside? Will thought. "Um," he said.

"You miss her?"

Long silence.

"Yeah." The pilot dropped the mustard into the hand basket he was carrying. Then he fumbled with a fine silver chain that disappeared down the front of his collar, fished out a collapsed pokéball dangling from the end. "I lost Marie ten years, four months, and sixteen days ago," he said. "Didn't tell you at the time because I thought it might be too close. I've been kicking myself ever since." He let the pokéball drop back into his shirt. "It never really stops hurting, does it?"

William gave a tiny shake of his head.

"Hmm." The pilot rubbed his jaw. "That was a beautiful thing you did. I was up in the cockpit bawling my eyes out." He laughed as William's eyes went wide. "Good autopilot, heh. Anyway, I'm glad I found you. Me and a couple of the other guys started a little fund to take people and pokémon up when it's their time. And, well, it got pretty popular." The pilot's eyes twinkled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times and then held it out for William to see.

There was a small plane on the screen, sleek profile gleaming red and white. "The airfield found out what was going on," the pilot was saying as Will took the phone in his hands. "They gave us the plane and free fueling privileges." William looked up with blurred vision into the pilot's grinning features. "You wouldn't believe how much it means to them. How much it meant to her."

William sat down in the middle of the grocery aisle.

"You were a good friend, kid. I hope you realize that." The pilot clutched at the pokéball beneath his shirt. Then he leaned down and extended a hand. "Now. How about we go up there and say hi?"
 
Last edited:

POKEMON_MASTER_0

caffeine 1mg/mL, 240 mL po q4h prn fatigue
88
Posts
15
Years
I'm not sure how I missed the first part, as it looks like it was published back in 2010. Anyways, when I started reading I was confused. This wasn't due to the story going in reverse (though that definitely didn't help). It was because it was told as a collection of fragments with a minimal amount of description. I had to reread it two or three times before I felt like I understood the whole story. And once I did understand I was amazed by how much information I could get out of a small number of words.

At the end of the first part I cried just a little bit. Part of the emotion is from the simple fact that Abby died, leaving Will to fend for himself. I think a larger part, though, comes from personal experience. The infection that takes Abby's life reminds me of the stories patients – particularly those on antibiotics - have told me at the pharmacy where I work. On one level, it's extremely frustrating to be partway through recovery from a life-threatening injury (or lifesaving surgery) and discover that you have an infection. On another level, it's terrifying when such an infection has the potential to take one's life. Overall, I really enjoyed the story. It was one of those that I didn't completely get in the beginning but the more I read over it, the more sense it made, and the more it made me think. I really enjoyed the interaction between Abby and Will, and I wonder what their life would be like if the accident didn't happen.
 

txteclipse

The Last
2,322
Posts
16
Years
Yeah, it is somewhat disjointed, so confusion is definitely understandable. XD I think these are called vignettes? Basically little fragment-stories within a story, so to speak. Or perhaps the whole thing is a vignette...can't really find a solid definition. Either way I really enjoy writing like this: it's a bit like drawing a sketch. There's some mess and roughness around the edges but it's got a spark that longer fiction seems to sanitize away.

To be honest I'm not entirely sure if I should have written part 2. Part 1 stands pretty well on its own and has a sort of symmetry that I risked unbalancing by adding more. That said, I feel like part 2 works almost the same way? They're both part of the same story and entirely different stories in their own right. Kind of a weird thing. I'm not entirely happy with how this one turned out (it seems too short, for one) but I'm not entirely unhappy with it either so that's probably a good sign.

I feel you on the personal experience thing. There's a lot of ~*life happening*~ that served as motivation and...not really inspiration for Flight 2 so much as "things which occurred that could most readily be processed by writing." For starters, my brother died two years ago in August. That's a major mood killer thing to say which is appropriate because it sucked/sucks and was/is terrible, but there's also been a lot of complicated, uncompartmentalizeable, not-sucky things and all of it's really hard to wrangle. Writing is good for that: it very patiently listens to you.

Needless to say, Flight acquired a different tone for me since then. I wrote Flight 2 as something of a braindump for what my grieving process was like: a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of frustration and depression, lots of unexpected laughter and joy and connecting with people, and so, so much crying. I don't even know if this is particularly good, but it's where I was and what I felt. To a degree I'm still there and still feeling those things. But there were also takeaways that moved me beyond what I would have been today had it not happened. I'm undoubtedly a better person in some ways. Probably a worse person in others, but there's still the good and that's weird and kind of amazing and worth thinking and talking and writing about.
 
Back
Top