Wherever I May Find Her
Title: Wherever I May Find Her
Author: crystalpool
Series: Pokémon (mangaverse)
Rating/Genre: T; Romance/Tragedy
Word Count: 1107
Characters: Red / Yellow
Summary: A tragic SpecialShipping songfic, using the song "For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her".
Disclaimer: I don't own either the song or the characters.
…
…
What a dream I had
Pressed in organdy
Clothed in crinoline
of smoky burgundy
Softer than the rain
…
…
It was quiet. It was always so quiet.
The only sounds he ever heard were the television downstairs, or sometimes, the stormy winds from the sea. He never turned on the radio, however, and he never played his video games. They were ancient, relics even before his life had changed.
His favorite pastime during the summer was lying on his bed, Pika resting on his stomach and the window left open for the occasional breeze. When it did arrive, it tossed his black hair up like confetti and made him blink and smile gently.
Week after week, the boy stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, waiting for something to change.
Nothing ever did.
When his friends called him, he simply said he was busy. Busy doing what, they wondered. He lied every time, telling them that he was training. The lies became more elaborate, as he described fictional Pokemon, his new friends. Training required quite a bit of traveling, which served nicely as a reason for his absence on the days he didn't feel like answering the phone at all.
Yes, it was quiet around his house, as his real friends called less and less frequently. He liked the quiet, now. Before, it had been all noise and movement. Perhaps his new state of mind meant that he had grown up? Moved on, even?
Except, he still refused to listen to music. And he still refused to go outside, where he might hear the sound of birds singing.
They reminded him of her.
…
…
I wandered empty streets down
Past the shop displays
I heard cathedral bells
Dripping down the alleyways
As I walked on
…
…
He didn't enjoy sleeping, either. He always resisted the feeling until he was so exhausted that he literally had to pry his eyelids open and hold them that way. Even then, artificial insomnia didn't last very long, and he ended up snoring within minutes.
It wasn't nightmares that he feared, though. Nightmares suited his taste, since they reminded him what a bad world it was out there, and why he should continue avoiding it. Nightmares just expressed the world in more interesting terms and unusual color schemes. Nothing for a brave boy like him to worry about.
But the good dreams, the ones where he was surrounded by fields of sweet-smelling lavender and the ethereal glow of small candles; those were the ones he feared.
Oftentimes, he found himself falling into a deserted place, an empty landscape that seemed like a city - or perhaps a forest - or perhaps it was both at the same time. The landscape, no matter where it was that he ended up, always filled with a fog, as though something dangerous and large and oddly familiar haunted him. He couldn't see down the straightest street, or around the nearest bend in the river. He could only see the whites of his eyes in the deserted windowpanes.
Furthermore, he had no Pokemon, which disturbed him more than anything else.
But there was something, or someone, wandering these empty streets. That he knew every time.
…
…
And when you ran to me, your
Cheeks flushed with the night
We walked on frosted fields
Of juniper and lamplight
I held your hand
…
…
On the rarest of dreams, he would find her.
He always searched, whenever he remembered. But chance didn't bring them together. She never let him find her first; she always met his eyes on the first glimpse. She would walk up from behind and wrap those slender, pale arms around his waist, or approach from the front, running frantically to jump into his arms.
He never could take it upon himself to actually greet her himself, and since it was a dream for sure, he wasn't even sure he could speak at all. No matter, anyway. In this world, she could easily take the lead. After all, she understood many things that he could not.
She wore a white gown, which floated around her skinny figure, immaterial in the street lights. He was never sure whether it was actually a dress, or if it was the essence of her soul or something equally corny (but it suited her, since she was pure white and pure innocence).
The only accessories she wore were the emerald irises of her eyes, which glowed with happiness every single time.
When he woke up, he could never be sure whether these particular dreams were happy or sad, or a bizarre, twisted mixture. He wondered a lot of things, including whether she was a figment of his imagination, or if she searched for him as much as he searched for her.
…
…
And when I awoke
And felt you warm and near
I kissed your honey hair
With my grateful tears
…
…
He almost gave in to temptation so many times, to go on a long journey and search for her some more. Most days, he resisted, feeling as though there was still something he needed to do in this town of his, some important phone call he needed desperately to answer. But the town was empty, and the phone never rang any more. So in the middle of fall, just a month after he turned nineteen, he made his decision.
He scribbled a simple note before he left. His handwriting had never been good, but he tried his best. After all, he was calm about this. This could be the best thing he had ever done. Something for his own happiness for once. And for her happiness, presuming that her longing for him wasn't just a recurring nightmare.
And, he left his Pokemon at home. He wouldn't need them.
As he left Pallet Town and Kanto, the world fading like so many dreams, he sighed, a fragile smile on his face. He would finally be with her, forever. He would see her again, so very soon. Finding her wouldn't be difficult at all. And then they would finally share the words on which they had missed out too many times. They would kiss, and he would know whether her hair smelled like apples, like he had always imagined, or more like the sea. He would tell her everything, and she would make him feel better.
As he closed his eyes, taking care to draw in the familiar surroundings one last time, he mouthed nine syllables, and the music started playing again beneath silent eyelids.
…
…
Oh, I love you girl
Oh, I love you