Oh, don't worry. It'll all start to come together. (At least
you're reading it!)
And now, Chapter Three:
Drifting
Chapter Three of
In Our Darkest Hour
Delusions. Hah. That's what Eileen says when she wants the gray parents to think that there's actually something wrong with
me. I almost believed her nonsense for a second, and I might have allowed them to bring me back to the "real world". It's a
good thing I always come to my senses, even if it takes a while. All you have to do is remember the real world, the pokemon,
and everything else.
Right now, I'm just in limbo, that's all. One day, I'll be a full-time trainer, and there'll be nothing in between me and the
real real world. Here's to hoping that that time will come soon...
"Alright, come on, get up! I gotta move you outta the upper floor and into one of the solitaries, and that's a long walk with
a crazy like you, so I don't want no trouble."
Hm. Curtis. They only send him in when they think you've done something real bad. Grays... funny what they do to quash a
little rebellion. Still, I'm in no mood right now, and I don't think I could take big old Curtis in the first place. Heh,
and he is big, or WAS big. Eileen said in one of her (frequent) talks with the secretary that Curtis used to be a circus
strongman. Isn't that ironic. These days, I think he works mainly through intimidation.
It's truly a funny thing, walking through these familiar halls; all the familiar, happy (tormented) faces moaning as I pass by.
At times like these, I can appreciate how lucky I am that they haven't bothered with any of their "cures", other than the
wretched medicine. There is, of course, lobotomy; something that is so quick and easy that I would hardly consider it a bad
thing at all... except for the results. The surgery seems simple, but, oh... in reality they are scooping out a portal to
another world, something that grays see so little value in. So little value, that they merely scrape it out of the head with an ice pick.
"Just don't forget the anesthetic!"
But they do a great many other things, such as... the electro-"therapy". This is perhaps the most despicable of all, for I can
hear the small children as they scream in agony! And this glorified torture is what allows patients to stay in touch with the
civilized world. Now
that's something I can laugh to.
But before I get the chance, I'm shoved by meaty hands into a dark space. I can feel, but I cannot see. And what I feel;
...well, although it may not be prude for me to think of these things in detail, I can feel saliva. It's caking everything in the room,
and on the floor, and in the cracks of the board there is a horrid stench of excrement, which leads me to imagine that the
poor child before was never let out of his cage.
At least--
I am drifting...
off.
Rain? After all this time? Oh, bother. It's coming down in blankets now, pelting me like bullets. "Charmander!" And, as I throw
my pokeball to the ground, a creature no larger than a lizard emerges. Well, it's something for me to call my own.
"Charmander, use Flame Wheel!"
It did just as I said. For my part, the flame wheel had worked just I had expected; no rain on me, no rain on charmander, and
everything else is splendid. I guess I'll just wait out the rain under a tree.
"Come on, let's go over to that tree now. Keep it up, Charmander, you're doing great!"
I sit down, and yet... something's wrong. There's someone else here.
"Hello? Is there anybody out there?"
"Только я, хороший мальчик, Только я..."
What? I don't share worlds. I'm a loner.
"I am alone! You're not here!"
Oops. Slipped out.
"Нет, Вы не."
I wish I... knew what was real.
***
These dreams... such strange dreams ever since I have taken Moschi into my house. He claims it as a curse on my name; how he has
changed since becoming an ascetic. No matter! Perhaps I myself may be able to... convince him to talk.
"Butler! Come, we are going to see Sir Moschi."
"Indeed." And yet there's a crackle of fear that sparkles out of his throat. The butler knows well my... methods.
I can hear it now; a symphony of familiar clamoring as our two pairs of feet move synchronously across the brightly lit atrium. Any
doubt I had escapes me with the touch of the cold, iron handle leading up into the tower.
A funny thing, this tower. The previous owner, now long deceased, claimed the dungeon at the top of this stairwell to be one of the
circles of hell. Even if it is, I do not fear Satan, and I most certainly do
not fear God. Moschi... there is no higher power to save you
if you don't talk. There will be only me, dear boy, only me...
Will NOT be here next week.