Of Sticks and Stones
(Mind you that it is different from the ff.net version if you happen to (sadly) read that version)
New one-shot!
Huzzah!
*shrugs at random word* Read and review if you desire to!
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The first thing she noticed was the sunlight raining down upon her through the thick branches of the bare trees and the endless blue of the heavens with no cloud in sight; and then disdain struck her face like that of an everlasting thunderbolt, her cerulean glower beating down harshly on woodland creatures that dared stand in her presence. Why did the glaring hatred of the sun scowl and defy her, ruining the gloomy atmosphere that she wished for? Clouds . . . She wanted thick, stormy clouds that howled in resentment, that fought against the cheery streams of light.
Of course not though. Of course the sun wanted to smile down cheekily on her; the world loved taunting her now.
No, not today would she fight back those who loved to play barbarically. She had no time for games nor did she have the time to care. The only thing she had time for was already ten feet underground and, unlike her, she had all the time in the world.
For she was dead.
Heart racing, the girl, three different colored roses in hand, fixed her eyes upon engraved words carved into that of a simple, pewter stone tablet sardonically adorned with that of vines and weeds. Treading upon the un-trampled ground with a graceful carriage as if she were flying, the girl read over the words for the second time that day, her ash-white dress floating about her.
Never forget was all the gravestone had embeded into it. Not one person knew what these words meant and how it could sum up this child's life.
In fact, not one person knew that this gravestone was here except for that who buried her underneath the rich soils of the earth and even then, that person did not want a rotting corpse deteriorating in his front yard for the dead body of the girl was mercilessly thrown upon of that unfortunate person's yard.
Dropping to the knees, the girl brushed back a strand of her wispy, ebony hair away from her face and touched these words, her thin fingers feeling the grooves. Still clutching the three roses, the girl dropped them one at a time; the black rose meant of death, the pink, thankfulness, and the yellow that of a new beginning. She felt that these three roses represented the dead girl most perfectly.
Sighing happily, the girl turned around and leaned back on the stone tablet, dead weeds around her, with no regrets, aware of the fact that a rotting body was underneath her. She did not mind this fact though; she loved to smell that of death. How she could surround herself in it, death's arms cradling her in its arms as she drifted off into the gentle and peaceful slumber of eternity. So many took the feeling of death for granted but she did not. To experience its beauty that only a few fortunate encountered a day was a true blessing unlike those fools who thought living through another day was a gift.
What gift makes you suffer? Would you want a gift tied elegantly and magnificently only to discover the evil within? She, for certain, did not. She prayed everyday that her life would be over.
Everyone takes their gifts for granted. Perhaps the owner of that gift, perhaps the giver of that gift. She was different though. Her gift was taken for granted by everyone else. Jealously perhaps was what tore the wrapping off the gift, and bubbling hatred was what came out of it.
A rare and peculiar thinker that girl was yet she used those talents to her benefit. With her altered way of intuition, she could weave magnificent battle strategies in her head in the blink of an eye, create extraordinary movesets that even the wisest of trainers couldn't think up of, and raise Pokmon thought to be weak, which, in return, proved themself to not be judge on the basis of apperance and stature. It helped her achieve her ultimate goal; the greatest Pokmon trainer in the world. Of course, this was solely her own opinion but she did have enough evidence to back it up and plenty of fans and opinions that would help prove her point as well.
Crashing down like that of a shattered glass, the girl's reputation and dignity undermined in one single sweep. It wasn't like her to hesistate in battle but the mischievous glint in her opponent's eye made her heart race rapidly, as if trying to break out of its rib-cagged cell. That moment of reluctancy caused her to lose the fight, her respect, and her fame.
Curse love at first sight.
Never did she see that boy again anyways.
What she saw was that of ridicule and caricature instead. Not because she lost the fight but because of the reason she lost in the first place. They knew of her pause in battle, and they knew that she was not one to fall in love. That's what her "fans" thought was so hilarious in the first place.
It's funny how one's true fans were only with you for the fame and glory. It sickened the girl. Friends? She didn't have any. Family? They refused to acknowledge her.
Idiots. Truly idiots.
Fist by fist, blow by blow the girl took everyday. Beaten and ganged-up on became part of her everyday life, the sun loving to smile on her on those days. That didn't effect her though; the pain blocked out the hurt ironically.
The tainted words of hatred did not.
Though, not one person ever granted her that gift of death for they believed it would spoil her and that she didn't deserve it.
So she awarded herself with it instead.
Taking in the last breath of dawn, the girl's blazing eyes of cobalt turned dull as she sunk into the ground, raven hands pulling her down back into the earth. She did not fight it.
She was the one that loved death after all.
Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me!
Childish fools.
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Eh. Yeah. Crappy huh? WHY CAN'T I WRITE GOOD ONE-SHOTS! ><
LaTeR dAyZ heh.