Dramatic Melody's Nominations

The next day, Ian barely had the will to move. He was too busy staring at the four cacti. They stood just a few dozen yards from where he had awoken. There was still no sight of the plane wreckage, and since he had begun to rest for the night before the sun went down, he knew they weren’t there the previous day. He thought he noticed one of them move slightly, but immediately wrote it off; he had always imagined that desert mirages were just something from childhood cartoons—not unlike quicksand or falling anvils—but the omnipresent cacti had convinced him otherwise. He wanted to shout at them; to let them know that he knew they were just a figment of his imagination trying to defeat his will to live, but he found he didn’t have the strength even for that.

The third day progressed much like the second, only more slowly. The pain in Ian’s right knee assaulted him with every unsteady step he made in the sand, and his dehydrated body had little strength left for another all-day push. Ian’s dry gasps scraped his battered throat. Each passing dune that showed only more outstretched desert beyond was met with less disappointment and despair and more realized expectations.

With hours to go still before the sun was fully set, Ian knew he needed to stop. The travel was taking too much out of him. He fell forward to his knees and began slowly pushing away enough sand to rest in. He promised himself he would get enough sleep that night to be fully rested for the next day so he could journey on for longer. He vowed that after a good night’s sleep, he would refuse to stop until he found signs of life.

Just a few feet behind Ian, the four cactus creatures watched him make his bed for the night. Their heads turned, and with hungry yellow eyes, communicated what they each already knew. This stranger in their home was far too weak by this point to mount any resistance. He would be theirs that night.

Ian Barth’s body was not recovered with the wreckage of Rustboro Air flight eight-thirty-two. He was never heard from again.

"Ash, you got to stop this."

Pikachu and he were at the Pokémon Center, staying in one of the rooms for the night. They had the room all to themselves — they had spare rooms for his companions.

Ash raised his voice. "Pikachu, I don't want to talk about this."

"And you think I do? We need to talk about this. I've let this go for too long, and I can't let it go on any longer."

"Let what go on longer, Pikachu? This journey? Pikachu, you know—"

"What journey, Ash? You keep trying to relive your first journey, but your first journey is over, no matter how much you don't want it to be."

"Shut up, Pikachu, shut up!" The room turned deadly silent. "Pikachu, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

Pikachu closed his eyes. "I know you didn't mean to, Ash. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I've let this go on for so long. You keep replacing our team. Every year you replace us… Squirtle for Totodile… Charizard for Infernape… Pigeot for Fletchling… how long is it going to be before this isn't 'our' team anymore? How much longer before you replace me?"

"Pikachu, I'd never —!"

"But you already have!" Pikachu glared at Ash. "You've replaced them, and soon enough, you're going to replace me, too. You're even replacing your companions!"

Ash lowered his head. "No, I'm not —"

"What ever happened to Misty? Or Brock? How can you stand being around such young kids?"

"They're not—"

"You're not ten anymore, Ash."

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" Tears swarmed Ash's vision. "Tha-that's not true. I-I am ten… stop trying to tell me I'm not. Take it back."

Pikachu walked over towards the door. "I wish I could, Ash, I wish I could — but I can't. I've been a horrible starter to let things get this far. "

Pikachu started opening the door.

"P-Pikachu? Where are you going?"

"I'm going out for some fresh air. I need a quiet place to sit and think. I-I'm so sorry, Ash, but I care for you… I just don't know how much longer I can let you do this…"

Pikachu walked out of the room, leaving Ash to fend a whirlwind of emotions by himself.

I knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home for my birthday. My mom said it was nothing: “Maybe he just forgot what day it is; you know how absent-minded your dad can be”– but I could tell she was only trying to make me feel better. She pretended that everything was fine, that there was nothing wrong with sitting at a table for two at my favorite restaurant, or with putting a third of my cake back in the fridge, or with actually being able to hear the funny parts of my favorite movie because no one was laughing too loud. Did she think I didn’t notice that her smile was too wide, her voice was too high-pitched and bubbly, or that she kept turning her face away so I wouldn’t see her worried expression? I kept glancing at her while we watched the movie– no, not watched– my mom’s eyes were glued to the TV screen, but she was staring straight through it.

But I pretended, too. My mom was trying so hard to make me happy, and I didn’t want to make her worry about me. So I told her that she was right, maybe something came up; maybe he got so busy he lost track of time. I could almost believe it myself– he really was absent-minded, just like my mom said. He’d forgotten her birthday a few years before; boy, she’d really let him have it for that.

“I do know that you wouldn’t bring up stuff about life with anyone else,” the Tympole said.

“Yeah, because I know you aren’t going to snap at me for thinking of such weird stuff,” she said. “I sort of like you for that.”

“Only sort of?” he asked.

“Hey, don’t push it!” She looked off into the swamp rather than at him, usually a sign that she’d embarrassed herself. “But anyhow, even if our life went on so that we ended up with this human and each other, things could have been different. He could have used us in battles with other humans and Pokemon; we could’ve been evolved to more powerful forms already.”

“Well it would be nice if I did evolve,” he said. “Then I could know the swamp better and be a more accurate scout.”

The Dragalge sighed. “If you were evolved, we wouldn’t have to be making this swamp trek nearly every day. We could be earning a lot of money and respect as a battle team.”

The Tympole curled his tail’s edges some. “I dunno. I like this. We get to talk to each other a lot and Trainer makes us good meals, then we go back to a nice home every night and sleep out of the weather. If we were a battle team, we’d be in a lot of battles and be resting to heal a lot. We couldn’t talk much then. And Trainer would have to be traveling around so we couldn’t always come back home. And he couldn’t always make us good meals because he wouldn’t have his kitchen. Maybe if it was another life, I wouldn’t mind that, but as this is this life, I would mind it. I’m happy with how things are, being here with you and Trainer every day. Wouldn’t trade this life or you for anything.”