49. the endingThere are many things with no perceived ending – time, numbers, space, science, progress, cycles; circles. They are orderly to an extent and intangible to a larger one – but amongst those are paradoxes of unexplained things: memories, a relationship. Situations where it differed for each person on a personal level (this was one of those things that would make-or-break someone.)                                                            Silver is here, sir.The helper leads the way into a dimly-lit room, and the low smell of musk and death hangs in the air. It burns Silver with a sickness when he inhales – mixed in with an unexplainable sense of regret and nonchalance he takes his place next to the dying man in the bed. Whilst the term of address lays on his tongue and lodges in his throat – what do you call someone whom you hated your whole life, someone you swore to destroy – he watches the shallow stir of breathing.What do you call him— someone you had looked up to and witnessed him knocked-off the pedestal. Someone whom had abandoned you out of a selfishly harrowed heart. Someone who took away everything that had been given to you and stripped your self-worth growing up.                        Dad? — is what he attempts, and though his voice cracks in a painful husk, it breaks the dam of the facade he had kept pent-up all those years. 

so i started work recently and haven't been able to get much free-time out between all that; aaaand I am now on a hiatus. july's a p. busy month for me too but I hope to squeeze replies out at least once a week. i ask for your patience and understanding that i will no longer be able to respond as much as i'd like to to gargantuan novella threads with the same amount of quality & speed, and shorter replies / pre-planned plots are likely to be addressed to before the others. threadlist under cut—

                                                              Silver Rocket.

[Heavy steps, brisk walking — he's not going to turn back now; not about to give in to the ache in his chest that had begged him to stop. To slow down; breathe, boy. Breathe.] 

                                               SIlver Rocket!

The accusatory voice comes again and with each repetitive mention of that accursed name, it forces him to break into a desperate run. The constrict in lungs had forced him to the extent that he could barely inhale; each heave painful like daggers that filled him with heaviness like liquid [like drowning in your own tears\] He's just here, returning to Johto after his years of hiding away, and it just happened that he passing by the orphanage he has grown up in — not even to say hi or anything; no, he was just passing by.

It would have been fine too (anxiety, at best) if the children had not began to run out, some staring at the recognizable redhead with their mouths agape while some other brutish imps had prepared to throw their paper toys at him instead. “SIlver Rocket, SIlver Rocket” they chant, and taunt, and holding hands – they form a sinister ring around him while childish voices rose octave after octave.

It was a sight hard to take, regardless – especially seeing the faces of those who had tormented him consistently in the past — pushing, shoving, (you're such a weirdo!)

It was enough.

"Stop," he murmured, pulling his hands to his ears; feeling more like a child than he had ever felt. Small; helpless—

                                                                       "Please stop.. Stop!"

—

He sits up squarely between the instance of jerking awake; and clutching his sweat-soaked shirt, silver hues glance around the vicinity in frantic palpitations. He feels the bench beneath his hands and his sight pans more slowly now in attempt to recalibrate himself—

                                                           Where the fuck am I?

Yet, Home; is what he quickly realizes when he finds that his apartment was just barely a stone's throw away, and while he could see his room mate's Pikachu ambling around in the low-light of the house, it had lent some comfort knowing that it was a nightmare that was suffered prior – but it's been so long since it had even plagued him.

Those dreams had kept recurring during the first week he was back in Johto. Those dreams that had left his head reeling and his skin feverish even though he knew he had already "cleared his debt’. Team Rocket had been wiped by then and Professor Elm allowed him to keep Feraligatr without any issues by then.. but why? Why, was the guilt of his past tripping him now? Years and years after everything had been deemed

                      o k a y?

Back then, even to be accused to be affiliated with Team Rocket caused a bitter taste in his mouth. He remembers the feelings he had during the first three days, and he could still feel the tentative pensiveness that filled him even though the townsfolk didn’t treat him any differently outwardly; the lingering gazes on his back and the distrust of letting a criminal like himself back in their midst—

It wasn't his fault – he knows it now.