Author: FTEcho 4 PM
Upon completing "Of Creation and Destruction," a thought occurs: what happened to Brian Edwards in the regular Pokemon universe? I thought this through, and the answer that came to me wasn't pretty... This fic is very dark. You've been warned.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Tragedy - Words: 1,908 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 4 - Published: 08-26-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6274258
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Ever since I wrote the ending of (the reader-acclaimed) Of Creation and Destruction, I've been wondering what would have happened to one of my characters in the regular universe, where Ash (SPOILER!) lives at the end of the first movie. With Misty working with her sisters, she would need no assistant, and so Brian would be left to his own ends… what would happen?
So this came up, and just wouldn't leave me alone. It's kind of Spiritverse-y, but it doesn't actually take place in the Spiritverse.(If that sentence confused you, you obviously haven't read OCAD. The Spiritverse is the universe that houses that story and several others I will write. You don't actually need to read that story to understand this one, but it'll be much clearer if you do.) Confusing, I'm sure. Anyway, I wrote it out so I would forget about it, and because I need to work on my "essence of darkness" writing. It's rather dark…
I don't think it's very good, personally. I didn't know how to end it, but I tried my best. Please review if you like it, or if you don't. Tell me what I did wrong so I can be better.
He had left a note.
The note was extremely well written, no one could deny that. He had poured his heart into it. At least, all of the heart he had left. His signature was a bit shaky, but that was probably the alcohol. Certainly it wasn't his resolve; that was set, written in stone, unshakable. No, it had definitely been the alcohol that had caused his hands to quiver as he wrote his name.
And if the note was nailed to the door with a little less accuracy than one might normally expect from a man with his eye for perfection, well, he could hardly be blamed for being drunk on this occasion. No one would guess that he had been blinded by tears, of course.
The silent man turned to his television, which was playing some nonsense about the end of this year's Sinnoh League conference, highlighting some Pallet Town trainer's past challenges. Some kid named Snagem or Catchem, something like that. Normally, he would have watched this with great interest, but today he switched it off. He had more pressing concerns to think about.
He searched for a little mood music. Something haunting, drawn out, deep yet empty. Ah, yes. Octavarium. The opening chords were as haunting as almost anything he had ever heard. Of course, the next few movements were a bit frantic, but that wouldn't matter: he probably wouldn't hear them anyway. Satisfied with the atmosphere, he sat down and began the game.
Spin, spin, spin.
No loss yet. That was good: the odds were still in his favor, so a couple of victories were to be expected. Of course, he only expected one loss. One more loss, and that would be it.
He didn't know if he could stand any more losses after that.
Spin, spin, spin.
Another victory. Again, he held a slight advantage. The next would be even odds.
The man laughed wryly. Even odds… ha! As if fate hadn't shown him that statistics were pointless in his case. One could hardly expect to lose mother, father, and love, one by one. In many ways, he was a statistical outlier.
He did not enjoy that thought.
Spin, spin, spin.
Hmm. Even at fifty percent likelihood, he remained victorious. Or was he really losing? That was a hard thing to say. He didn't have the willpower to just do it, but by making it a game, he had found the nerve. The question, of course, was whether he wished to reach the endgame or not.
A bit late for doubt at this point, isn't it, Brian? The thought was strange, but not necessarily true. He still had time to change his mind. He wasn't dead yet.
With the next round, the probability finally moved out of his favor. Or into it. Confusing.
Spin, spin, spin…
Nothing. Nothing! Nothing! His hands were trembling now. When was it going to come? Had he not suffered enough? Did he really deserve more anxiety? More pain? More moments of this horrid existence?
The song was changing behind him, finally moving into the hopeful tones of the first verse. Now, that was unexpected. He had thought the mournful part would outlast him. He didn't need hope now… poisoning his mind, making him think thoughts he didn't want. Thoughts of a friend… his last and only friend, to whom he had left the note. What would she think of him now? What would his Pokémon think, knowing the game he was playing? Surely they wouldn't support this… should he?
He pushed those notions away and started the song over.
Spin, spin, spin…
And then the game was over.
Not because he had lost… no, he had won once again. Only a seventeen percent chance of survival, one in six, and he had still avoided the end of the game. But if he moved to the next stage, the final stage, it would no longer be a game, but a choice.
He reached with a shaky hand, grasping the last piece, but his hold failed, and the piece clattered to the hardwood floor, rolling away from him.
"Damn." The word pierced the empty air, echoing through the empty study before leaving him. Whether he said it to the fallen object, the room, or life in general, he wasn't sure. But he stood up and picked up the piece anyway.
The game had to be finished.
That was, of course, why he had chosen a game. It was in his very nature to never quit a game halfway. To never give up, in battle, in love, in training.
(But is life not a kind of game too?)
No, of course not. What game could cause this kind of suffering? Life is no game. It is an ordeal, a trial to be passed by any means necessary.
By any means necessary...
As he prepared to place the piece, he stared into the blank hole where he planned to fit it. One more, and it would be full… and his chance of winning, of surviving, would at last fall to nothing.
Sweet, blessed oblivion.
He fit the piece (bullet) into the last slot (chamber) and flipped the revolver closed. An archaic weapon to be sure, but how else could he have played Russian Roulette?
He put it to his temple and played the final round.
Spin. Spin. Spin…
Natty knocked on the door to her friend's house. Silence greeted her. She yelled through the door again.
"Hey… Bry? Um… it's been a while since I've seen you, and you haven't called lately. I'm starting to get worried. Are you still here?"
She tried the doorknob, and the door opened before her. Instantly, she was assaulted by a horrid odor. She didn't recognize it, but it brought up a primal fear in her. Against all her instincts, she walked forward.
Natty's voice was high with fear as she walked in. "Hello? Brian? You're here, right?"
She glanced down at the floor. To her surprise, a bright yellow arrow was sloppily painted there, pointing her through the house. Another one ahead pointed around the corner. She followed them into the house, where they led to the door to his study. Here she stopped. The stench was strongest here, and obviously emanating from the room. But that wasn't why she stopped.
She had noticed a piece of paper nailed to the door. The nail was poorly placed in the center, so that the top folded limply over the bottom and obscured the entirety from view. She pulled at the nail with both hands, struggling to pull it out. Finally it came loose, and she fell backwards in surprise. The paper fluttered down, landing in her lap. Natty picked it up and, with growing horror, read the neatly printed page:
My dearest Natalia,
I leave this to you, because you are my last friend, and my only contact to humanity. If anyone is coming to check on me before the bills start coming due and the power shuts off, it will certainly be you.
By the time you read this, I will almost certainly be dead. If you have taken this note off a door, do not open it. I will be inside, and my death is a sight I never want you to see. Call the police or an ambulance, but I beg you not to go in yourself.
As is surely obvious by this point, this is a suicide note. I suppose, then, I should say why I did this. And so I shall.
I was happy, once. I had a family and a girl I loved. But (I pray you forgive me keeping this from you) my parents died at sea, and my love died in my arms. With nothing left to tie me to this world, I returned here. And I met you.
Natalia, I thank you for every moment you've given me these past few months. You are the only thing that has made my life bearable in any sense lately. But… not enough. I can no longer bear living this way… day to day, rarely leaving, never socializing, only hoping you might visit. But I find myself unwilling to reach out, to become closer to you and risk losing everything again.
I realize this is the "coward's way out." I don't particularly give a damn. If the world wishes to call me a coward, let it do so. If there is an afterlife, I will see my dear Diana and my parents once again. If I am damned to some hell, I will rest easy knowing that it cannot be worse than this life. And if oblivion awaits me, I will accept it gladly.
My Pokémon are on the table in the den. I leave them to you. Do with them what you will: if you wish to train them, they are yours; if you want to release them, do it; if you think they should be on some reserve, let them go. I regret leaving them, but then I regret many things.
I will leave you with this, Natalia: live. Squeeze all the joy from life you can, and live the way I couldn't. No one can know when all they love will be taken away… so live, and love, and be happy while you can.
With all my love,
The note dropped to the floor.
Surely not… not her Brian. He would never…
But she couldn't bring herself to open the door. In her heart, she had seen his suffering. And she knew.
And worst of all, she finally recognized the horrible smell from the study…
The rank stench of rotting meat.
In growing anguish, tears falling from her eyes, Natty ran out of the house, away from the horror of that place, and went home for help.
And Brian was alone once more.