Pokémon- the infernal glitch (Part 4)

As Yellow left the Pokémon center, his C-gear rang.

"Hello, this is Yellow."

"Hello, son! As you know, I've been holding onto your money for you while you were gone..."

"What? Again, mother? I thought I told you to deposit it in the bank!"

"Anyway, I just thought I would let you know, I went on a shopping spree, but I kinda did it with your money..."

"Aww, man! Not AGAIN!"

"But while I was at the store, I saw eight raffle booths..."

"Wait, you went all the way to Join Avenue just to shop!?" Yellow said, astonished by the expense of such a trip.

"And I won a prize! Well, actually, I won more than one prize. But I thought I'd let you have one."

"Mom! You know I can't afford to have you jaunting off to wherever you want to go shopping..."

"So, I've sent it to you. There should be a courier arriving there soon with your Master Ball."

"Wait. What? They were giving away Master Balls?"

"I love you son, remember to play nice!"

"Wait, mom! Promise me you're not going to just" Yellow started, but his mother had already disconnected.

A very fat man riding a very small bike suddenly turned a corner, and came to a stop in front of Yellow. He was soaked in sweat, and wearing a yellow shirt... that was obviously meant to be white (but wasn't anymore).

"Excuse me, sir? Are you Yellow?" The man asked, in a voice that was tiny and squeaky. It was the saddest sight Yellow had ever seen.

"Uh... yeah, that's me." Yellow replied, feeling really awkward about the whole interaction, and desperately wanting to run away at full speed.

"This package is for you, then." The man said as he rummaged around the inside of his pants in the back. The mental imagery Yellow conjured at that time nearly made him want to reject the package on principle alone. The courier then produced a fanny pack in the most garish of pink, green, and yellow, from which he then produced a nicely wrapped white box with a dark blue ribbon.

"Thanks, now get lost." Yellow said, accepting the package. The courier frowned, but nodded his head as if he had been told the same thing by everybody he had ever delivered to before. Then, with the silent dignity of a circus clown, he pedaled his tiny bike away.

Yellow would have laughed at the strangeness of the sight he has just beheld if it weren't so incredibly eerie and sad.

"It's funny because it's sad. And... it's sad because it's true." Yellow cringed, "I swear, mom, sometimes, I wonder what goes on in that head of yours."

Opening the box, Yellow found a well-polished Master Ball, and a note which read:

"Elite Four Training! Have all the badges you need to face the Elite Four, but uncertain that you can make it? Worried that Victory Road is too dark for you to train inside? Then come to our training center! Many top-tier trainers with badges from ALL REGIONS! Test your mettle, and train to your heart's content!"

On the back of the note was a map. This "training center" was pretty far from Yellow's location. Knowing that there was only one option, Yellow went to a nearby tree and threw a Nest Ball at a sleeping Pidgey. It looked newborn, but was asleep. It was an easy capture, and as the last wiggle settled the ball, it fell from the tree, allowing Yellow to retrieve it easily.

Throwing the ball, Yellow immediately called upon Pidgey.

"Wake up, you lazy bird!" He said loudly, scaring the Pidgey rather thoroughly. "It's time to learn how to fly!" Yellow pulled out the FLY HM, and attempted to shove the CD down the baby Pidgey's throat. It looked uncomfortable. Then, Yellow remembered he had to use it to hypnotize the Pidgey into knowing it... so he tried that instead. It worked! The Pidgey suddenly knew how to lift off the ground and fly around.

"TO NARNIA!" Yellow yelled, as he callously jumped upon the back of the Pidgey, and insisted that it fly him and all his equipment several hundred miles by itself to the destination city he had chosen.

Arriving a few minutes later, Pidgey died. Yellow didn't care. To him, Pidgeys were "one-shot Pokémon" anyway. It had served its purpose. It flew. Yellow kicked in the door and announced his arrival at the Elite Four Training center.

His initial reaction was one of confusion. Sitting in front of him were about 20 people all drinking tea and playing Mahjong. His second reaction was one of embarassment, realizing that he had kicked in the door to the retirement home that was on the first floor. Apparently the battle area was upstairs.

Yellow thought about the situation, and came to a clear plan. He waited for the next person to come down the stairs outside from their training. He was curious why it was taking so long, but as the sun began to set, a young boy came out the door and rushed down the stairs. Yellow tripped him as he passed. Then he helped the boy up, stealing all the badges he had in the process.

"Problem solved!" Yellow claimed. He laughed to himself about how he hadn't thought of it earlier. The easiest way to get the badges back was to just take them from other trainers. The young boy didn't even notice his badges were gone. He just left in a hurry.

Things were looking easier and easier for Yellow. Sure, it was a bit rude, but he wasn't concerned. After all, this was all that Blue's fault. He had done something, and Yellow was determined to make Blue pay for cheating!

The wretch

Timothy was not a man of wealth, but he was a man of conscience.
He knew the difference between what was right and what was wrong.

Most of the time, life had dealt Timothy an average hand. He won some,
and he lost some, but he always had enough.

Now, it so happened that one day, Timothy needed to travel for business reasons.
As was his usual fate, life had dealt him a meager but modest hand in this too.
His boss, sending him to pick up the new equipment, had arranged for a coach
to take him out to the countryside (about half the distance). He would then
have to take a ferry (also paid round trip) to obtain what the business needed.

Timothy didn't really know the details about what he was supposed to retrieve, but
he knew enough to know it was a fairly large bit of machinery. He was going to have
an escort back, though, so he wasn't terribly concerned.

Packing with him a handful of homemade biscuits, a summer sausage, and a wedge of
hard cheese, he prepared for his trip. Timothy figured he wouldn't need to worry about
much in the way of provisions. He was sure that by being an honest and upright person,
he would have no difficulty making such a simple trip.

The coach arrived in the small town with Timothy, and came to a stop.
"Have yerself a safe trip, mate." The middle-aged gentleman stated with a tip
of his hat as he departed. Timothy gave a brief smile and wave.

The first half of the journey had been harmless. A nice coach, not decadent,
but certainly not some bargain box-on-wheels. The ride had been so quick, it was
still morning when Timothy arrived. Deciding he could still make it to the port if he
were to hurry, Timothy ate his lunch while making the walk to the shore.

"NO! Please! Why me? I have caused you no harm!" came a frightened yell from over
a hill. As the sound reached Timothy's ears, he felt propelled into action to save the
innocent man from whatever was assailing him.

Upon reaching the apex of the hill, he saw two gentlemen using their canes to beat a
poor fellow who lay at their feet. Timothy, rushing to the defense of the bystander
brashly pulled them away.

"You, sirs, are quite the terrible bunch! How dare you attack an innocent man!"

The men, regaining their posture, scowled at the insolence of this traveler. At once,
Timothy began to second guess his decision to stop them. One man was dressed in
fine linens, and wore an opulent cross around his neck. The attire suggested that he
was a man of high standing in the church, and Timothy wondered if perhaps the
man who lay silently on the ground were truly innocent.

The feeling of being in the wrong sank in even more deeply when he realized that
the other man was none other than one of the patrols whose duties included that of
guarding the roads from suspect individuals who sought to be unscrupulous.

"I say, there, chap! What are you doing? Have you never heard of minding your
own business? What has you out here at this time of day, interfering in matters that
are not your own?" The patrol asked.

Timothy confessed that he was simply traveling to the port where he was to do his
assignment.

"Ah, yes. I was told that there would be a man in need of an escort sometime
tomorrow or the day after. I will not be that escort, but I did let my comrade know
that on his duty as a patrol, he was to guard the man and the cargo with his life.
Seeing you now, however, I wonder if perhaps you would merely endanger him!" The
patrolman responded. With a large huff, the patrolman walked off with the minister
following closely.

"Thank you, so greatly, you good, good sir. I owe you a debt of great gratitude.
Surely you have saved my life this very day." The wretch at Timothy's feet cried,
tears streaming down his dirty, bloodied face.

Timothy swiftly turned upon the man.

"What terrible business did you have that caused them to attack you so?" he asked
audaciously.

At these words, the wretch on the ground looked as if he had been visibly stricken.
His face glowed red, and the tears streaming from his eyes began to flow even more.

"If you must know, sir, I did indeed have business with them. I swear it upon the grave
of my late grandmother, that the business I did have was not of ill intent. For many
years, I have been alone. An outcast from my village since the time of my
grandmother's passing. For you see, I have little strength, and so it is difficult for me
to move on my own power, sir. So I have wandered the countryside, attempting to
make even one friendship that would last. But I failed, and I fear that this has been the
last time I shall ever have a chance to do so. Even the holy man of the church, whom
I approached has cast me down as evil. I had heard that the friendless would find
friends, and that the hopeless would find hope because of the one in which the people
of the church believe... and yet, I find this minister has turned me away." The wretch
gestured to his legs.

"As I approached, the minister yelled for help, saying 'alas, a robber is upon me, please
lend me your aid!' to the patrol. And before I even had the opportunity to ask that I be
helped to a place where I could rest, I was set upon by them both... and now I fear that
my legs have been broken."

Timothy saw that the frail and thin legs of the man were indeed contorted in directions
they should not bend, and were covered in bruises. Feeling a pang of his conscience,
Timothy offered the man some assistance in getting to the port town. The wretch smiled,
but it was clear that the smile was done through great anguish.

Timothy spent the night at an inn after taking the ferry to the other side of the river,
leaving behind the wretch he had met on his way. The following day, he retrieved the
machinery from the warehouse district which had produced it, and began wheeling it
with him back to the ferry. After a moderate ride back, he came across the wretch,
left exactly where he had been the previous day.

Timothy was shocked. Surely someone would have helped this man by now!
But when he casually made his way toward the wretch, he noticed that the man now looked
even more hurt than he had the previous day. Timothy, feeling obligated to do the "right" thing
got a doctor nearby to help the poor man, giving up what little he had, and promising more
later to compensate for the treatment.

Shortly before he met up with the patrol which was to escort him back to a nearby station,
the wretch started speaking to him. The words which came from his mouth were shaped
by sadness, and Timothy could feel the longing contained within them.

"Why did you help me? I don't understand. You should have just let me die.
I am clearly of no worth. No, look, I've even been of great cost to you. I just
cannot comprehend why you would ever care."

"I did what needed to be done. All people have value, and I have my morals."
Timothy replied, but as he did, he remembered how quickly he had turned on the
wretch when he had seen the patrolman and the minister. "Why would you say that
I should have let you die?"

"Is it not obvious?" The wretch said in a voice that quivered with the sound of
sobs being held back for years, "Once you are gone, I will be alone again. I have not
a soul who cares for me. The more merciful thing would have been to kill me.
Then, perhaps, I would not have to endure the suffering of this mortal coil."

Timothy, so saddened by the thought that the life of this man was so poor, could not
bring himself to reply. So, he continued down the path. After a while, Timothy saw
the patrol, who was a kind young man. The patrolman helped Timothy transport the
machinery to the station, where it was loaded upon the car to be shipped via train
the remainder of the way to the business.

Timothy left the wretch behind, having no means to care for this man as well.
But the words of the wretch haunted him, and Timothy eventually found himself
back in that same town. He never discovered what happened to the wretch.
He did see the minister, however, preaching about the wonders of the church
and a "God" that loved every person, no matter where they were from...

Timothy let out a mirthless laugh. He had seen the true face of the friends to the
friendless, and the ones who truly suffered. Timothy was never the same again.
He never again felt short changed, even when the hand life dealt was more meager
than usual... and he continued to wonder what happened to the poor wretch.

The truth about trust

"Now I will tell you what I've done for you. 50,000 tears I've cried..."

-Evanescence (Going Under)

So, trust is a difficult topic for me.
When I think about who I trust, and with what, I realize that I don't really
know what to think most of the time.

Most of the time, I play with trust on the safe side. If I don't know with certainty
that I can trust someone with something, I simply won't do it. It's possible that
not trusting people has, in a way, been a defense I've developed.

As I think about the many times I've trusted people, though, I realize that there
is a good reason why I have difficulty trusting people. There are many people
who are unreliable, and many people who are showing a facade to the ones
around them.

I am one of those people, for that matter. I'm not really unreliable, but I hide
who I am under the mask of obscurity many times. I'm not really 'hiding', I tell
myself. I'm just not revealing all there is to show. But isn't that just like hiding?

The thing is, I've been hurt in the past, and many times I would rather deal with
the pain of hiding stuff about myself than deal with the bothersome problems that
occasionally come from the honesty about revealing details about myself.

It's so stupid, and it's so strange. The people that I have been told my whole life
that I should be able to trust have often been the ones I could trust the least.

Parents? Well, my mom I could trust, but for a while I wasn't sure.
My step-dad... HA! I still can't trust him. I've been hurt too many times.
He isn't worth my trust. He doesn't deserve my trust, and I won't apologize
for that position. He lost it, and every time I gave him the benefit of the doubt,
he wasn't on my side when it mattered most.

Friends? Well, I have a few which I trust implicitly. The problem with friends
was always that I couldn't trust that they would stay around. I don't want to be
negative where it isn't really a big deal, but... let's just say that in my personal
experiences, "best friend" was the best title to give to someone if I wanted them
to leave. Even now, my "best friend" isn't around anymore. And I'll admit right
here that I am very sad, and even a bit angry (somewhere) that he left. As my
friend, though, I would like him to be happy... and he is now. It's the kind of
happiness that I couldn't ever give him. No matter how hard I tried. So I try not
to be angry about it. However, it still leaves me alone when sometimes I need
that physical person that I can hold and be honest with. And maybe even cry
as I talk to them.

Christians? See, as a Christian, I've always been told that honesty was the best
idea. That I should be transparent about my good and my bad. That I should
trust the people around me that also claim to be Christian. The sad thing is,
I've had better experiences with many of my non-Christian friends than with
most of the Christian people I have known. How often have I, in the past,
against my better judgment, spoken candidly to my Christian friends? Many
times, when I have, I've received a mixed bag. Everything from the realization
that they're not really interested in what I'm going through, to them actively
hating who I am. Very few times has it resulted in a pleasant exchange of the
truths about each of us.

So, naturally, I should have expected the reactions I have gotten recently.
When I put my guns down, lowered my defenses, and opened my heart to
some Christians who I felt could be friends, in spite of known differences of
opinion.

Yet, the wind was totally knocked out of me with the suggestion that the
life I live is fundamentally messed up in a way that for these 'friends' is not an
issue. Like love is an addiction that should be viewed with contempt if it
doesn't fit into their mold for how it should look.

I lost sight of myself for a while, but eventually got back. (Honestly, it was
thanks to my best friend, physically absent as he was, and my "protector" by
the name of Zack.)

Zack has asked me, "why do you keep letting them do this to you?"
and I realized that I volunteer myself to to be slapped around like this far more
often than is healthy. I felt really bad for Zack when he said he felt that he
had "failed to protect [me] from the pain that [I] went through". He thought
he should have stepped in... but he was trying to give me a chance. I just
wasn't strong enough.

Honesty may be the best policy, but apparently trust is something that I can't
just pass out to the people around me, even if they are the ones I've been
assured I can trust.

Is it any surprise that my relationships tend to be lightweight?
I can't just trust people with things that could be used to hurt me... but it's the
private and painful things I share with others that helps be grow closer to them.

Part of it is that I don't want to get close to people, because people I get closer
to hurt me. Sometimes right away, sometimes down the line. There are people
I'm only acquainted with, too. These people, I don't want to trust with my life.
Sad news is that sometimes, my acquaintances I don't want to trust are the most
trustworthy of them all. Just, not the type of people I want to spend much time
around.

I would love to simplify my life. But I'm not sure what all would be needed.
Should I keep the people I trust? What if I trust them, but don't want to be
around them anymore? Should I get rid of the people that I can't trust, or those
who bring me down or cause me to feel confused?

I just don't see a place where I can clearly cut ties to the people I know.
Likewise, I'm not sure I want to stay in a relationship with people.

So, the truth about trust is that it's a double-edged sword.
I can't get close to someone without it, and I can't risk using it because
it can cause me more pain than if I don't. I feel trapped, and I know why...
but the explanation is so unsatisfying.

"Here in the darkness, I know myself. Can't break free until I let it go. Let me go! Darling I forgive you after all. Anything is better than to be alone. And in the end, I guess I had to fall- always find my place among the ashes. I can't hold on to me, wonder what's wrong with me?"

-Evanescence (Lithium)

So, I'm thinking that perhaps, I'm going to write a short story soon.
Fiction finds itself based upon the truths that cannot be hidden.
Pain, love, and life. Everything is ubiquitous. So I will write, and share in the best
way I know how. Safely wrapped up in the security of the loss of details... while
still bearing for the world to see the feelings I have within me.