Tabitha shifted in the quilts with a grunt, groping for the PokéNav sitting on his nightstand. His movements roused Skitty, who had buried herself underneath the sheets sometime during the night to keep warm beside him.
Using the light from the Nav’s screen to guide him, Tabitha rolled out of bed and over to the mini fridge to fetch some leftover rice for breakfast. Whatever he didn’t finish he packed neatly away into his lunchbox along with some shrimp crackers and cold sushi.
5:15 AM.
He dragged himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth and climb into the tight shower stall. The water was just warm enough to keep him from getting goosebumps.
5:30 AM.
Skitty traded spaces when Tabitha crawled out of the shower to lick the leftover droplets of water from the tile floor while her master dressed. He stood at the mirror with a lint brush, wiping every strand of her evidence away, then focused so intensely on his appearance to make sure that not a single hair on his head was out of place.
He approached his desk to retrieve his briefcase, looking out the window over the treetops of Petalburg Woods to the great limestone building in the distance that was his destination.
The sun had yet to rise—it would not today. The skies were filled with ashen clouds.
He was out the door by 5:45.
It was raining.
Tabitha walked the dirt path to the train station, dressed in his black suit, holding his black briefcase in one hand and his black umbrella in the other. One by one, more people began to join him on his journey and the closer he came to the station, the more herd-like they became.
Black suits. Black skirts. A canopy of black umbrellas.
All collectively headed for the same train bound for the same fate.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
6:07 AM.
They reached the station’s entrance and, as if in unison, scanned their passes at the turnstiles. An organized human flood.
Tabitha broke off from the crowd to wander over to the vending machine on the platform, fishing in his wallet for a few spare coins. The usual: a warm can of cheap, watered-down milk coffee. He recalled it tasting better all those sleepless nights in college, but it still did its job of waking him up.
He sipped it carefully as he waited for the train to arrive. No matter how many thousands of hot beverages he had downed in his lifetime, he could never get used to the sting on his lips. As a kid, his mother had compared his sensitivity to the cautious way Skitty lapped up milk.
The previous night’s conversation crept into his mind again. Tabitha’s parents had asked him that same question ever since he left home, asking him when he would return. His response may have used different words, but the answer was always the same.
