Chapter 26: Admittance

I went back to my room, slamming the door, locking it. Wishing I could lock out all the nightmares just as easily.

But I couldn't. I'd succeeded pretty easily for years, all the time, with few slip ups. And here I was, every day seeming to get worse and worse. I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it. Not when I was all alone in this room, such a wreck that I couldn't even open up to people.

"I'll get through this myself." I muttered venomously, crossing my arms and gripping my skin of my biceps as if to keep from lashing out. My anger flared and I went over to my bag, unzipping it and grabbing a slim folder I'd always kept, taking out a drawing and holding it with a shaking hand. I stared at my uncle's smiling, drawn face, "I'm done with pretending. I'm screwed up, and it's all because you're dead."

I rushed through the front door, slipping off my shoes, "I'm home."

With quick precision, I headed to my bedroom, grabbing my sketchpad that Uncle Ben had given me, my heart beating a bit faster as I remembered his promises, even more eager as I knew that he really did take me to the top of the mountains and we got to camp there. I'd watched the Pokemon League lights until I'd fallen asleep, hoping one day I'd get to visit them as a challenger.

I flipped to the first page of my sketchpad to a drawing of myself. It was drawn by him. My eyes softened as I stared at the pencil markings, which formed me. The hand in the drawing, my hand, reached out, fingers outstretched, to touch Electivire. I remembered how it'd felt to be so connected to him, how we'd actually battled together. It hadn't been anything like I thought, that bond. Though instead of wanting to battle, I mostly wanted to see Electivire again.

I didn't know it was so easy to be best friends with a Pokemon.

Ghastly came to mind as I thought about how easy it was to form a friendship with him. I walked over to where I kept the drawings Uncle Ben had given me, in a special folder, and pulled out the one with me and Ghastly playing together. I realized he was a good friend too, and maybe one day I could battle with him, that I could be his Trainer. I could go and see Ghastly this weekend with uncle and tell him. I could request it easily. I bet Ghastly would enjoy it, especially if we took him with us somewhere. Even Ghosts liked to leave their houses sometimes, I thought. Maybe he'd even leave his old home to be with me.

There was a knock at my bedroom door. I didn't bother to say anything. My mom knew I came straight to my room when I got home and only came out to get dinner. She seemed to like it better that way when she didn't have me near her anyway.

I heard the door open and frowned, turning from my bed to see my mother standing in the doorway, her eyes puffy and her face streaked with tears. I sat up slowly, cold seeping into the room.

I didn't even ask what was wrong. I didn't really want to know. I didn't like when my mother cried. She usually yelled when she was sad and usually made it my fault. But this was different, the way she looked. Not upset, but defeated. Like there was nothing she could do and nothing to be done.

"I need to talk to you, Paul." Her voice sounded broken. She walked over and sat on my bed right next to me, her breathing choked.

I just stared.

"There was... a problem with your uncle."

"He said I could go over whenever I wanted." I said defensively. She was upset sometimes when I spent more time over there, but I didn't really care. When I was around, she acted like she didn't want me there. She couldn't make up her mind.

"It's not that kind of problem. Something happened to him."

"I just saw him two days ago. He was fine." I retorted.

"This isn't something that doctors saw coming."

"What do you mean?" I heard my voice get a little higher.

My mom put her hand over mine, something I could never remember her doing, "This morning, he had a heart attack."

Time seemed to stop. My head swam, "Is he ok?"

She squeezed my hand so hard it hurt, "He's gone."

"Gone to the hospital?" I blurted out quickly, like if I did it would be true. He could get helped there. He'd be ok.

"No, Paul. He's gone." Her hand gripped mine again before slackening.

Gone? I tried to remember what that word meant, because it couldn't mean that my uncle wasn't here. It couldn't mean that he had left, that he had disappeared, that there was nothing left, "That can't be true."

"I'm so sorry, Paul." She cried, leaning towards me for a hug.

"No. You're lying!" I pushed her away, grabbed my sketchbook, and jumped off my bed. I ran to the door, only stopping for a few seconds to force my shoes onto my feet. I jogged, sweat pouring off of me. It was a hot day. The humidity was suffocating. Or maybe it was because I felt like my lungs weren't working. I felt like I was running through water. My thoughts were numb. All I heard was the pounding of my feet, pounding that made an echoing, faraway noise as I kept going.

He's not gone, he's not gone, he's not gone. I chanted to myself.

The run felt like no time at all, and also like a century at the same time. I was torn between eagerly wanting to get to their house and prove my mom wrong and never getting there, putting off finding out just in case.

He told me to have faith. I reminded myself, If I actually believe, it'll be true. He's here. He's here. He's here.

But then I reached his front yard. There were a few cars out front, something that never happened. I could see movement in the house. A man I didn't know walked outside, onto the front porch, and leaned up against the banister, tiredly rubbing his face. I could tell he'd been crying too.

I knew this man from pictures, but I'd never seen him in person. He didn't live close by and I knew that the only reason he'd be visiting, and looking like an absolute mess, was because his best friend had died.

The man looked up and found me right as I made the connection. He opened his mouth to call out to me, but I was already running in the opposite direction, into the woods. I blindly ran, tripping over tree roots, scraping my knees and arms, not caring.

Everything told me he was gone, but I couldn't accept it. I just kept running. I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. Without realizing it, I'd been wandering in the direction of Ghastly's abandoned shack. I made a Beedrill line for it, swinging the old door open and staring at the empty space.

"Uncle?" I called, too out of my mind to care that I sounded crazy, "Uncle, are you here?"

No answer.

"Ghastly?"

Not even a breeze, or a chill, to mark his presence. Not even he was here. No one was home. Everyone was...

Gone.

I took a shaky breath before leaving the shack behind, continuing further into the forest. I fell into a river, soaked through, shivering as I continued on. The sun was close to setting. I was drained. My emotions had numbed me, and I couldn't feel anything but tiredness.

Before I could decide to collapse, I stumbled over something the size of a soccer ball. I fell, scrambling up to see what I'd tripped over. A lone Turtwig.

"What are you doing here all alone?" I whispered.

He gave a little yelp of fear and hurried into my arms, getting close. I hugged him tightly trying to distract him, "You're the same Turtwig from before, aren't you? You've grown."

Turtwig shuddered in my arms uncontrollably.

"You've grown a lot." I whispered, "You're heavier. And probably tough too, right?"

He let out a fearful moan.

"You're really strong. You can't be afraid." I urged, "You can't. You can't."

I was trying to hard not to cry. I'd never tried harder in my life for anything. But then tears fell down, landing on Turtwig, who was crying just as much as I was.

"They're not gone." I said to him, my voice scared and full of cracks, "They'll come back. They can't be gone."

I stayed in the dark that night, with that Turtwig, the both of us shaking in fear and desperation. His parents found him in the morning, but no one came to find me.

When I got home the next morning, I took out the note Uncle Ben had written, staring at his writing, Never forget that I love you and won't abandon you. Maybe other people will leave you, but I won't and neither will God.

But you did abandon me. You died. I'd thought, my eyes prickling uncomfortably at the hurt of losing the only person I truly cared about, that truly loved me as I was.

I almost hated him for giving me hope that life wasn't all fighting, that people could get along, that there was good in the world that didn't give up on you even when everyone else did. I had hoped for more love, I'd thought about opening up myself just to be shot down. Destroyed.

I threw the paper on the ground, wanting to smash it, crumble it, tear it. Instead I walked over to my bed and punched it repeatedly, wondering how my uncle could leave me when he said he wouldn't abandon me.

My footing slipped as I punched again and collapsed onto the bed, my arm at a painful, awkward angle that didn't hurt nearly as much as my heart. I sat up, staring at my hands. I'd seen people clasp them before, imagining my uncle doing it, his hands old, but not yet wrinkly like my grandparents'. Not old enough to die. To be gone forever.

I put my hands together, only knowing I was supposed to talk to God now, not knowing what people usually said, so I just talked.

"Why, God, did you take my uncle?" I asked, "Why would you do that?"

No answer.

"How could you?" I blinked back tears, my anger growing, "You were supposed to be good. I'm told how much you love people, but how could you let him die? How could you leave me all alone?"

It was all too much to handle. And I didn't hear anyone replying back. Not a sound.

"He lied to me! He lied to me about never leaving me, he lied to me about you! You don't love me either if you'd take him from me. Neither of you loved me."

I curled up into a ball, done praying, not hearing anything but my own, uncontrollable breathing as I cried. Because he was gone, and nothing could change that, no matter what he'd told me.

My hand trembled as I looked at the drawing of my uncle, my eyes prickling, my lungs just as weighed down as they'd been as I ran to his house just to find out I would never see him again, despite his promise of being together every weekend.

"You lied to me." I breathed, "And I can't stand this anymore. There's no place for a ghost in my life. I can't go through this anymore."

I readjusted my hands on the picture at the top, ready to rip it to shreds. I could feel his eyes on me, even if it was just a drawing. That small affectionate smile he'd give me. The one he never used for anyone else. It was mine.

I hadn't seen it in ten years. This picture was all I had left.

I flung the sketch away and sat down hard on my bunk, shaking. The drawing was face down on the floor.

"I can't do this." I said, as if he was here, "I can't. Not without you here. I thought I could forget. I thought it'd get better, but..."

I hesitantly lifted the sketch off the ground again, staring at his face, "It just keeps getting worse."

And then, it occurred to me that I wanted to pray.

What the hell would I want to do that for? I asked myself, so surprised that I stopped shaking.

Because maybe it'd help, Something said to me. Because I couldn't imagine myself giving me that advice. But then again, I didn't believe anything else but myself could give me advice.

I sat, holding my breath, weighing my options. And then I didn't care anymore, because I needed to vent, and I'd rather vent to the open air than to an actual person who would pity me.

I was so upset, so angry, and so full of not caring, of just wanting all the pain to go away that I found myself on my knees, wanting to hiss at the hard floor for being so unhelpful, yet not finding myself ridiculous enough to stop what I was doing.

I placed my hands together, just like my uncle had taught me, just as I had seen him on his knees as we prayed together at times, and I started talking. I talked out loud like a lunatic. I spoke openly to God, or to whatever was listening, even if it was nothing.

"Whatever you are, I hate you. I hate you so much if you're in charge of taking my uncle away. I hate that someone can feel so undeniably at peace with themselves and torn to bits the next day. I hate that you never helped me, that you never spoke, that everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I hate that things aren't fair. I hate that I'm so out of it, that I'm on my knees and practically begging someone I don't think exists to take away all my hate and for it just to be gone. Because I can't do this anymore."

I placed my head on my hands, still too upset to feel humiliated at what I was doing as I said softly, "And if you are real, God. If you claim to be a father, my real Father, then I need you to fix this. To help me. Because I can't do this by myself. I need you to prove that you're real. I need you to make all this go away. I need your help."

I took a shaky breath, "And if you are God, and if you're who my uncle said you are, then you already know I hate asking for help. And if you made me like that, I have to say it's the stupidest thing you've ever done.

"I'm a failure at asking for help. And I can't even ask forgiveness because I'm so upset at you and I don't even care what I've done wrong. I know I'm not perfect. That's always been easy for me to accept. My mother always telling me I'm not perfect like Reggie." I angrily tightened my hands together, "I know I have faults. But there's so much in my life right now that I want gone before I care about anything else. So help me. Please."

I said the last word regretfully. I didn't like saying please.

I waited in silence for a response. I'd poured out my heart. I'd admitted to not being able to handle it on my own. I'd opened up. All things I struggled with. If anything deserved a response from God, it was that.

I waited for a good five minutes. Minutes of absolute silence. I even kept on my knees, my head down. Waiting.

But there was nothing.

I leaned my head against my hands again, muttering, "Right. Because you're not ever going to help me, are you God? I'll just always get the cold shoulder. Don't bother talking to me."

"Actually, He's pretty set on embracing you with open arms." I heard from behind me.

I stood up with a start, my face feeling pale and red at the same time as my eyes found Roric studying me.

"Why are you here?" I asked, thinking I should have asked how he was here first.

"I'm here to be God's voice for you." Roric gave a light smile, his eyes just as bright as Demi's, "He sent me."

I know this chapter is extremely sad. But hey, no one can heal until they face their fears and all their hurt and try to find peace with it. Which means we all end up hitting a rock bottom before we can see the light of day.

I wanted to share this quote with you guys. It's from a book by C.S. Lewis called The Screwtape Letters. It's about this demon writing to his nephew (who is also a demon) as he tries to teach him how to keep people away from "The Enemy" (God). He calls us humans Vermin, which I think is hilarious. His writing is actually quite silly with the right mindset. But here's the quote:

"[The demon Screwtape writes:] Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."

I love it. Because us humans mess up plenty. And we get mad about the situations we're in. But it shows that even demons still can't do anything about it for those who still go to God with it. They're absolutely powerless. I find that encouraging and I hope you do too, or it at least makes you think.

Pokemon Question of the Day: What moment in Pokemon fills you with hope?

Thanks for reading. God bless.

-Flips