Hey readers. Sorry I haven't been putting anything up recently. But this nagging prompt wouldn't leave me alone. I recently read a story by Ibuberu. Its called "Goodbye Stranger". Its a great story, and you guys should check it out. But that nagging prompt went like this:

In Black/White, you have two friends, Cheren and Bianca. They're your neighbours, and if you're like me, I went to visit their homes. I realised that both Cheren and Bianca had a mother and a father, whereas you, the player, only have your mother as your only relative.


Forgotten Love

(papa, where are you?)

Papa, where did you go?

It's lonesome in the house. Mama's being crying nonstop for days, and it frightens me. Her tears slide down her pale cheeks and splashes down onto her pretty blue dress every time I look at her. When we lock gazes, she would pick me up and hold me tight to her chest. I don't like it, because her grip is tight and her sharp fingernails dig into my skin. But whenever I look up to protest, I see silent tears slide down her cheeks, and I remain quiet.

Papa, you have to come home soon, Mama won't stop crying and nothing I say can calm her down. I don't recognize her anymore.

I wish you were here.

Papa, what is happiness?

Cheren says it's an emotion with endless joy, and naturally Bianca agrees with him. But I think happiness is a type of sweet. When we asked Cheren's father for an answer, he laughed and told us that four-year olds shouldn't be using big words. The topic was soon forgotten, and Cheren and Bianca began chasing each other around the neighborhood.

But Papa, I still think happiness is just like the strawberry sweets you used to give me. It's lovely while it lasts, but it turns sour when it expires.

Cheren and Bianca laughed when I told them this, but when I went home and looked at a framed picture of you, there was an empty, sour feeling in my heart that was similar to the time I ate a sweet long past it's expiry date.

I started eating as many sweets as I could after putting your picture away, but the ugly taste in my mouth wouldn't go away.

I don't understand.

Papa, Mama says you have beautiful eyes.

I look at my own pair of eyes in the mirror every morning, then cast a sideway glance at Mama to observe hers.

Mama's eyes are a pretty shade of green, but recently, they look puffy and swollen. There's more red than green now, and I'm beginning to notice the dark circles under her eyes. It's scary, and I can't look at her without cringing.

Mama can't bear to look at me too. She casts long looks at me when she thinks I'm not looking, and she sighs whenever I turn to face her.

Last night, she cupped my face in her hands, and her sharp fingernails dug into my cheeks and tangled my brown hair. I started whimpering and struggling, but Mama held me tight in her grasp and tilted my head up so she could look at me.

I stopped wriggling and screaming when I saw her porcelain smile crack and rivers of tears trickle down her eyes.

"... Sorry..."

Her whisper is so faint that I can hardly hear her. She loosened her grip on me and I try to wipe away the tears that cascade down her cheeks.

She sheds more tears when we lock gazes, so I stop trying to brush away the falling tears. Instead, I lean against her and wrap my tiny arms around her neck, trying my best to ignore the hot tears that splash onto my neck.

I'm scared.

Papa, please answer my calls.

I head out to play with Cheren and Bianca during the weekends. Sometimes, we hang out at Cheren's house and play tag in his backyard, or we head over to Bianca's house to have a swim in her pool. But we never go to my house, because I don't want to upset Mama.

There was one afternoon when Bianca and her family went out to the next town, and Cheren was staying in because of a cold. His mother came over to see Mama, and as Mama opened the door to let her in, I could see Cheren mother's bright coal eyes brimming with sympathy as she caught sight of me.

Mama whisked her off to the kitchen before I could say anything, and shut the door behind her. And since I couldn't head out to play, I munched on a half-eaten biscuit and waited for them to finish their small talk.

I passed the time by looking at your picture again.

Your azure eyes are sparkling next to Mama's forest green ones. I gaze at my own pair of eyes in the mirror.

My own eyes aren't sparkling. They're filled with sadness and pain, and a hint of childish fear. I look at your picture again. Our eye colour match, but why do I feel so unhappy?

We are related, aren't we?

A sob interrupted me when I was about to go get a glass of water.

My hand freezes on the doorknob, and I press my face against the oak door, straining to hear Mama's and Cheren's mother's muffled conversation.

"... He doesn't deserve to be called White's father..."

"I know..."

"... That traitor..."

A sob interrupts them both, and I pulled away from the door. They were talking about Papa.

They were talking about me.

I hear murmurs from Cheren's mother as she comforts Mama. I can picture the scene in my head — Cheren's mother patting Mama's back gently as Mama buries her face in her hands.

Another heartbreaking sob interrupts them both, and my fingers curl around the doorknob. Something in Mama's voice makes me want to rush in to hug her, to comfort her, to do anything to stop her from crying again.

I don't.

Instead, I lean against the doorframe and press my ear against the creaking wood. I catch a faint whisper from Mama, and my entire frame crumples to the cold marble floor.

"But I still love him."

I lean against the tall, oak door and hug my knees to my chest, letting the bittersweet sounds of Mama's sobs echo around the empty room.

It takes me a minute to realize I'm crying too.

I miss you.

Papa, when will you come home?

It's nearly Fathers' Day, and our teacher wants us to give the cards we made to our fathers. Even though you're not around, I made one for you. I can still recall the long hours of coloring I spent on the Seperior drawing, shading in every scale and rubbing away all the faint pencil lines. It's perfect, Papa. I can't wait to show it to you.

But then, when our parents come to pick us up from play group, the kids from my class run up to their fathers and present their cards and gifts to them. I can see Bianca's father hoisting Bianca up onto his shoulders, laughing and telling anyone who would listen that she's his "little princess". I can see Cheren shyly handing his card to his dad, and Cheren's father pats him on the back and gives him a quick hug. A stab shoots through my heart, and it hurts. The gnawing, empty feeling I have inside grows larger, especially when I see more and more smiles appear on the faces of every father.

My tiny hands clutch at the crumpled piece of paper, and I glance down at it through tear-filled eyes.

Papa, I know you like to be a perfectionist, but I hope you won't mind my teardrops on the white paper.

I hope you come home soon.

Papa, tears are streaming down my face.

Everywhere I look, the room is in a sea of fire. Orange flames lick the walls and curls of fire flicker across the carpet. The air is thick with smoke and I can barely breathe.

My fingers rest on the blackened frame that protects your picture. Wisps of smoke drifts around me, and the futile attempts my lungs make frightens me.

But still, I cuddle the charred frame to my small body, wiping away all traces of soot and dust from the glass covering your face. Your blue eyes stare out at me, and despite my tears, I smile.

"We'll be alright," my childish voice sings out as I pull my legs closer to my chest. I blow my bangs away from my eyes, and pray that help would come soon.

My weak cries drown in the sea of crackling flames.

We'll be alright.

Papa, I'm afraid.

There's a lot of shouting, Mama's included, and I can hear Bianca crying outside.

Then a rough hand pulls mine, and I drop your picture in shock.

It falls straight into the orange flames.

The fireman is pulling at my arms frantically, trying to lead me out to safety, but I stare, transfixed, as a disaster unfolds.

Flames are consuming the only picture I have of you.

The man gives one last tug, and he pulls me out of the debris and lifts me into his arms.

But over his shoulder, my eyes peer through the grey smoke to stare at your burning picture.

I reach my hands out desperately, and shriek when they only make contact with the burning curls of fire.

Your ocean gaze locks with mine from behind the orange flames that engulf your picture.

My tears don't stop running down my soot-covered cheeks.

I love you.


I actually started writing this after I posted "Leaves", and I didn't finish it until yesterday. I just fell sick (fever, and I lost my voice), so I was feeling really bored and miserable, and decided to finish up this story. I actually planned out a better ending the night before, but when I woke up, I forgot what it was about (don't you hate it when that happens?).

Anyway, I really loved the story, "Goodbye Stranger", by Ibuberu. I especially loved Kotone/Lyra's bit. When I read it, it sounded like an innocent little child wondering why her daddy stepped out of the house and never came back, which was also another prompt which inspired this story.

I guess some of my misery may have rubbed off a little in this story, since I was in a pit of self-misery the whole afternoon. I don't think it turned out the way I hoped it would, but it'll do.

And, please don't compare this story to Ms Ibuberu's "Goodbye Stranger". My stories are considered bland when compared to the amazing masterpieces she does. Honestly, she's a fantastic writer on this site, so do read her stories.

Lastly, I promised a facebook fan page, "Pokemon Special Shippings" that I would put a special mention for them here. I don't think I can put the link here, but the link's on my profile if you would like to take a look.

Thanks for reading!