#prosada

❝ ay, would you look at the time, mama ? ❞

The sky was clear, glittering with a blanket of stars, and soft bouts of wind over standing Cacturne broke the silence with white noise.

Tonight Red kept away from his desert camp, finding a low spot between the dunes under a sheer cliff face, and striking a fire to crackle beside him.

When working like this he had Pikachu nearby, but not beside him.The mouse stood atop a rock formation, a shadow against the slowly rotating starscape.

The bones of the late Professor Sada?They’re old bones, but they’re rotten with the smell of stagnant grease that only sodium carbonate and peroxide had a chance at getting out.

Over the fire, he boiled a large, new pot of clean water, and broke the seal on both powdered products, stirring the cleaning solution to life while it began to bubble.

Red’s hands were clammy under the heavy rubber gloves, and careful as they lifted each bone up and into the boiling pot and put them in.

The skull he saved for last, tucking the shredded remnants of her hair back while he set her head atop the rest of her body. It’s slow, considerate, and meticulous.

The pot boiled, and he smelled death. Unclean, stagnant death had a specific smell to it, pungent and sour. What a painful death (so much blood and pain), but a death nonetheless.

Her clothes he wrapped in a bundle of cloth and set at the foot of the wooden base he had started to build.

When there was nothing to do but wait, he shed the rubber gloves, and sat beside the fire, watching the pot boil, and watching each bubble of oil rise to the foam of the surface.

People didn’t like the thought of mortality. It was an abject fear, to end one thing and transition to another. It was an ending to memory, sensation, and existence as this cognizant being.

Red watched the flames lick up the pot. Charizard swung lower in the night, and Red saw his faraway shadow cross the moon.

Are you still here, Sada?

He slowed his breathing, and closed his eyes. He reached outside himself, and crossed his legs.

Each hand of his, he turned, palm up. He breathed, the smell of boiling bone collecting in the back of his throat.

hey, natures mistake.