@lookerisms
she’s drowning, it seems like, water in her lungs and pressure against her chest, limbs so heavy she can’t move. it’s strange because she’s on land, because she can see the sky above through a hole that should not be there and she can feel the cool air but she’s
f a l l i n g
or diving or maybe she’s swimming in the air/water/wind/current.
there’s destruction everywhere and there’s a reason she knows there’s a reason but why can’t she remem—
she has a job to do, a job,
do your job, ANABEL
and then she’s
awake, but not really, head aching eyes burning heart pumping blood so fast the rest of her can’t keep up.
so this is what it’s like at the end of the world
she thinks, and the thought is the only clear thing in her head, the only thing she can hear above the sound of her pulse rattling her breath.
she stumbles up the stairs, two at a time, up and up and up until she’s dizzy from it. she’s running on adrenaline and desperation because it’s all she’s got. this is her—
one job, ANABEL
this is all there is for her, all there will ever be, and now it’s gone so much of it is gone. she’s afraid to look down from where she’s come, afraid she’ll see something that will
b r e a k
her will or her breath or maybe all of her into itty bitty pieces dust on the wind nothing and no one and no talent and no skill and
no, no no. she’s the best, she has talent, she wouldn’t be here without it, wouldn’t have anything at all in the world otherwise. she’s the best and this is all hers above everyone else’s and she’s earned this so it’s her job—
ANABEL
to protect it. from what? the sun is bright on her skin and all she knows is this is the end of the world and it’s going to be the end of her, too, soon.
and then she’s pitching forward, toe of her ruined shoe caught in the crumbling remains of her home/tower/life and she scrapes her palms scrabbling at the wall.
she can’t
f
a
l
l
not again not again she can’t make the climb another time why can’t she do anything right when it actually counts what is she even trying to do what is happening what is going on what is the point of any of this when everything and everyone is dead and this is the
E N D
of the world?
her face catches a crossbeam and she sees stars, tens of millions of them like a galaxy overhead except she’s looking down into the yawning opening of what remains of her tower and this is her job she’s looking at, her job and she knows she’s
failed.
she’s supposed to protect the tower because she resides at the top. she’s the best of the best of the best, everyone says so, everyone who has lost to her.
and it’s lonely up there with nobody to talk to and no friends because nobody wants to be friends with a person so cutthroat but what choice did she ever have? she was either the best or she was nothing worth keeping and she’d rather be worth something than nothing. she needs that, needs it more than anything, she’s never known a need so strong but to be worthwhile.
maybe she should have done it differently but it’s too late to go back now, too late to try again. they’re gone, they’re all gone. she knows it. she can’t see their bodies among all of the stars but they’re there below her in broken little pieces and she doesn’t know why she’s climbing the tower there’s no way out from the top, there’s nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide.
it’s the end of the world and she retreats to her tower like a coward, but
the fight is over, it’s over, it’s over
she can’t win none of them could. not even her, the best they had to offer.
she feels the weight of her pokémon safe in their balls at her waist and it’s a small comfort, a terrifying feeling. what if she dies here and her pokémon remain trapped there forever with no one and nothing and
she’s all they have just like they’re all she has
them and the tower, her little room with nothing in it that looks like a nursery even though she’s not been a child for a very long time. she wants it, though, the familiarity of it, the stuffed pokémon next to her pillow and the faded curtains at the window and the comfort of a favorite book—
they’ll get rid of her soon. she’s too old and the attraction is young talent. she’s wearing out her welcome and she knows it’s not a real fear because who will replace her when everyone else is dead but it burrows inside of her and stings like terror.
her raw palms find purchase and she hauls herself up, across the beam, and to the other side where the stairs continue. up and up and up. she’s not even sure she’s doing more than crawling, but she imagines she’s taking them two by two by two.
eventually she makes it to the top except
there is no top just open sky and scorching sunlight that burns into her sleepless eyes.
there is nothing and no one and this is the end of the world and she is the last one left, isn’t she, the only one stupid enough to put off the inevitable by calling back her pokémon and running toward the only safe place she’s ever known
but it’s long gone, now, brick and mortar, timber and plaster, glass and curtains and her too-small bed on the courtyard below.
she stands there in shock, in something like fear, and can’t make herself move.
and then she’s floating away too fast, hurtling toward something or maybe away from it, underwater but able to breathe if she struggles to just—
and then she really is drowning, lungs burning fiercer than her limbs as she tries to break the surface, unsure which way is up or down, if she’s moving toward or away from land, if she’s dooming herself and if this is just a dream and she doesn’t remember anything about water there’s too much water she can’t swim
she’s never needed to know how to
she’s only had her tower and
she protects the tower
one job, ANABEL
not the water never the water and the world is closing in on her when she hears something in her ears that’s not the rushing of waves but she’s too weak to...
even when she’s the strongest and the best, the most powerful trainer, it seems
she’s still
so
weak.
She woke slowly, breath coming too fast and the back of her throat aching with something that might have been sorrow.
Everything around her was unfamiliar.
Do. Not. Cry. Don’t you dare cry! she ordered herself, made it a mantra she repeated in her head until she could get her bearings, could banish the crushing loneliness the dream had left her with.
It was always like this.
