Whispers in the Dark「Pokemon Fanfiction」

Tʜɪʀᴛʏ﹣Tʜʀᴇᴇ • Lᴇᴛ Mᴇ Sᴀᴠᴇ Mʏsᴇʟғ

Chapter Thirty-Three: Let Me Save Myself

Before Ryou did make an attempt to break down the door—if he was lucky, he would just need to break the lock—he took a moment to reflect on the mask he'd been wearing.

There were two types of masks, and he wished neither of them existed—a world where no lies or deceit had to be told sounded like an utopia; an escape that could wash away all the ugly black that his life had been dyed in.

If he could pick one of them, however—it would have to be the first mask. The mask that at least still contained some semblance of emotion behind the gaudy accessory—emotions that, at some point or later, would resurface some time in the future.. Emotions that told him that he was still human; that he could at least be saved.

For most of his life, however, he had grown accustomed to belonging in the second category—and he still feared it. It was a guise, so good at hiding emotions—but they were false emotions that weren't quite there. The first mask at least had something to base feelings off. People who were in the second division were just empty.

It wasn't as if he was given a choice—he wanted to at least hold his emotions—he wanted them to be tangible; wanted him to be able to grasp them—but if he could, they had gone too far—he'd lost sight and drowned long ago. He studied how people behaved and tried to mimic their actions.

For a while, it had been different. The awful emptiness and hollow silence that he felt on the inside—the feeling that he'd lost grasp of his feelings, if that even made sense—had been replaced by something far warmer for a while.

He'd acknowledged that that had been a sweet, sweet dream. This reality was his nightmare—the boy that was Shion Stone was his nightmare. Ryou Imizu had nothing more than an artificial projection from his saddened mind. He was waking up now; one couldn't stay in a dream for long.

After all, he'd chased away the person who'd fuelled that very dream—he had no right to it now. He could just hurt. He could do nothing but make mistakes.

Deciding to pay no more mind to the turbulent churning of his maddened mind, he let out his Flygon, no longer quite aware of his surroundings—it was as if his senses had been dimmed, and he wasn't able to comprehend the actions he was taking.

He'd realised something was off, though—his fear didn't run as deep as it should have. The initial terror had subsided; despite being in a place where he despised with all his heart, something at the back of his mind told him that this was some kind of trick.

Instead, the trainer could sense an ominous prescence, one that took the form of a nagging voice in his ear—telling him that this was not OK; that something was very wrong with this picture.

He couldn't let that stop him, though—he couldn't risk it. He couldn't just turn back now and let someone—who had been a jerk to him, but a jerk that took care of him nonetheless—die because of some pathetic feelings and doubts that hindered him.

He was fortunate to have the Pokemon on his side. It did take some effort, but the lock was broken down in the end, and that was all that mattered. A sense of guilt still stung the innermost layer of his heart, however—all it had done was make that fatal argument with Celeana even more pointless.

Even the simple touch of his hand to the doorknob's chilled metal startled him, causing him to almost draw back out of surprise. Ryou shook his head—he was too old to get frightened by mere things like this—and he nudged open the large frame with a cautious timbre.

He had expected to find his father—that was his entire purpose—but he expected to find him in a more defenceless position. Here, Joseph Stone acted like he was living an ordinary day in an ordinary life, sitting behind his desk in the calmest manner possible and typing away at his damned laptop.