[Narration]
It was so hard to tell what was real.
A few weeks ago, Nyx knew nothing of herself. She knew, in passing, what she had been in another life, but the knowledge seemed like it belonged to someone else. That Spearow who had picked a fight she couldn’t win, that dumb little bird that was ripped to shreds over territory, that couldn’t be her. She was Nyx. Nyx with her own life and memory and friends and sure, she was dead, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone else, so why should she let it get to her? As far as she was concerned, she was just another young idiot. One without a pulse, and one that would stay one for as long as she stuck around, but after that nightmare last year, she'd decided to put that out of her mind.
Now, though. Now she had seen what might have happened if she hadn’t died. She’d lived that possibility for the better part of two weeks, and unlike so many others, remembered every second of it. Just like it had been another week.
That wasn’t what bothered her, though. That wasn’t what was keeping her up in the morning. Now she had memories. Some part of her knew that they didn’t belong to her, that they were a part of that Fearow’s life, not hers. Still, she found herself going over them. Remembering in detail the childhood she knew she never had, a life with a happy young human boy who might not even have existed, fights and scars that left no mark other than the sting of defeat against a nonexistant enemy. Always being nursed back to health by that same young boy, no matter how many times she ran off, disobeyed, even fought him in hopes that he would give up.
The memories blurred together. Sometimes, what happened to her as a Spearow felt like a dream, sometimes it was as clear to her as day. She had been a rebellious housepet, picked a fight with the wrong voltorb and was ripped to shreds by the resulting explosion. This, she thought, she could settle with. After that, it became fuzzy. She remembered coming to, a scared, lonely ghost with nothing to go off of but the oddly comforting feeling of her grave. But she also remembered being revived. Being taken care of until her wings could support shaky flight, and released back into the wild. She remembered being caught by an uncertain, timid Green, and she remembered abandoning the young boy in Lavender Town. She remembered, just as clearly, coming to the school a mischievous Gastly. All of her friends and experiences, the war and fighting and winning, and agreeing to join Green, now overconfident and cocky. It was confusing, and if she stopped and let the memories run the course they wanted, she wouldn’t know where reality started or ended. All of it felt real, and none of it did, and it was only her own logic and reasoning that told her which had really belonged to her. Neither had ever been much of a strong point.
A few weeks ago, Nyx knew nothing of herself. She knew, in passing, what she had been in another life, but the knowledge seemed like it belonged to someone else. That Spearow who had picked a fight she couldn’t win, that dumb little bird that was ripped to shreds over territory, that couldn’t be her. She was Nyx. Nyx with her own life and memory and friends and sure, she was dead, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone else, so why should she let it get to her? As far as she was concerned, she was just another young idiot. One without a pulse, and one that would stay one for as long as she stuck around, but after that nightmare last year, she'd decided to put that out of her mind.
Now, though. Now she had seen what might have happened if she hadn’t died. She’d lived that possibility for the better part of two weeks, and unlike so many others, remembered every second of it. Just like it had been another week.
That wasn’t what bothered her, though. That wasn’t what was keeping her up in the morning. Now she had memories. Some part of her knew that they didn’t belong to her, that they were a part of that Fearow’s life, not hers. Still, she found herself going over them. Remembering in detail the childhood she knew she never had, a life with a happy young human boy who might not even have existed, fights and scars that left no mark other than the sting of defeat against a nonexistant enemy. Always being nursed back to health by that same young boy, no matter how many times she ran off, disobeyed, even fought him in hopes that he would give up.
The memories blurred together. Sometimes, what happened to her as a Spearow felt like a dream, sometimes it was as clear to her as day. She had been a rebellious housepet, picked a fight with the wrong voltorb and was ripped to shreds by the resulting explosion. This, she thought, she could settle with. After that, it became fuzzy. She remembered coming to, a scared, lonely ghost with nothing to go off of but the oddly comforting feeling of her grave. But she also remembered being revived. Being taken care of until her wings could support shaky flight, and released back into the wild. She remembered being caught by an uncertain, timid Green, and she remembered abandoning the young boy in Lavender Town. She remembered, just as clearly, coming to the school a mischievous Gastly. All of her friends and experiences, the war and fighting and winning, and agreeing to join Green, now overconfident and cocky. It was confusing, and if she stopped and let the memories run the course they wanted, she wouldn’t know where reality started or ended. All of it felt real, and none of it did, and it was only her own logic and reasoning that told her which had really belonged to her. Neither had ever been much of a strong point.