Opening Theme「Wiggle Wiggle」by Raon Lee

The white phone lit the room just a while more before it slid off Mindy's hand and tumbled onto the red rug. Whimpers rose from beneath a beige blanket. The phone's incessant vibrations tossed her head into a blender, and her facial features grew disoriented, her skull deformed, her brain a mushy pulp splattered all over the blender's insides. Her eyes blocked her ears; her tongue stoppered her nose. The only thing unchanged was the nagging feeling everything had been and will always be her fault. Tonight would be no different from last night, and the night before, and all other nights. Why did she even think otherwise? Ah, because someone had plucked up the courage to livestream her apology to the world.

And what was an apology, if not a diplomacy tactic?

In the public eye, that was the case, whether she liked it or not. If she'd flip her phone, she would see this was more fact than fiction. Her 'live' video half an hour ago took the world by storm, sending a blizzard of barbed comments at her, alongside a torrential downpour of downvotes.

Anonihilate: how's she still alive? surprised she hasn't gone to distortion world!!! worked for cyrus, should work for her too.

xyzzzygarde: @Anonihilate there's a difference between nihilism and narcissism

1920suej762: @Anonihilate @xyzzzygarde GIRATINA IS GHOST BEAST WILK NOT ADOPT HER. I MAID VIDEO GIRATINA FORCE FUCKMIND SWALLOW EVERSTONE. CLICK LINK

DaRkRaIdEn: Darkrai makes nightmares to protect himself, but will never claim the walking nightmare Mindy. She is her own creation, because she smears Darkrai's reputation with her existence and she is too selfish to protect our cinnamon roll.

User1027373029171: @DaRkRaIdEn stop copypasta get a life

DaRkRaIdEn: @User1027373029171 gtfo cresselia simp bot acc

If she'd flip her phone, Mindy would laugh till she cried and cry till she laughed. The comments were gold. She felt less lonely when the same few users and the same few words never failed to be there for her whenever she showed her face to the world. It was the least the universe could compensate her with after making an outcast out of her.

A year ago, she saw how petty everyone truly was. She traded a Haunter with an Everstone for a Medicham. Bye-bye, Gaspar! Hello, Mindycham! Gaspar, hope you like your new trainer Kōki too! He became Champion of Sinnoh seventeen days later! Too bad he went missing together with his Pokémon four days after his promotion to Champion. Only an Everstone remained in his chamber.

She wasn't at fault, to be sure. Journalists simply loved extrapolating facts for sentimentalism. She did say it was a Haunter she traded away, so it was only right the Champion received a Haunter. After all, what if said trainer got a Gengar, freaked out and later gave her a one-star rating on the Trade System? The last part happened anyway. Then Mindycham, horrified by her nickname, ran away from home once the news made rounds in every household. And there's the innocent roommate, the one Mindy trusted so much who left to "search for Mindycham" and never came back.

Back then, it would've been better if she didn't have laughed till her belly ached once the trade was complete. Maybe she shouldn't have played along with Gaspar, that dastardly Haunter, shouldn't have spat in Kōki's face, "Haha! Did my Haunter turn into something else? Just kidding! I made it hold something that prevents it from evolving!", shouldn't have adopted that Ghost-type from the Old Chateau.

Her mind wandered back to the cursed comment section, no more cursed than her life. Besides the usual comments, there were, of course, others, but those were bland or regurgitations of other top comments, sometimes rephrased to give the impression of originality. She wondered if Giratina and Darkrai would hunt those keyboard warriors down and award them plaques for their courageous display. She'd like to see it happen one day. She would the television on, she would be convinced about the need for keyboard warriors in the progressive technological era, and pour a cup of matcha to celebrate. Everything would run swimmingly in the right direction — anything was right if it didn't involve her, and anything could swim like gaseous Haunter Tongues stored in jars of translucent purple liquid. Those jars her haters sent her she shoved under her bed to collect dust. She sometimes wondered if they were ex-Rocket grunts who decided to venture out of their comfort zone of Slowpoke Tails. It must be nice to be lionised.

Mindy let out a sigh and picked up her phone. She scrolled through the comments till she found a strange link with many likes and shares, a link that took her to a website shrouded with smoke, where the text in typewritten font, floating without shadows above a galactic background, shone where her gaze landed. The glitchy words "Sinnoh: Deep and Mysterious" signalled to her they were the title of the blog for local myths, legends and news (more like tabloids and conspiracy theories). She skimmed through the headlines.

CHARON ON HUNGER STRIKE, DEMANDS ROYAL TREATMENT

CHAMPION KŌKI STILL MISSING, WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN

PATH OF REDEMPTION: SATURN LEADS TEAM GALACTIC TO DO GOOD

MINDY'S APOLOGY — UNCOVERING INTENT AND SUBTEXT

Scoffing at the headline featuring herself, she clicked on another section. At once, various myths and legends filled her screen, complete with paintings and sketches and descriptions, a mix of vibrant and gritty tales from all around the world. At this moment, her throat itched. Mindy waddled over to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of water, reading the texts as she walked.

A legend spoke of a one-way midnight train to an unknown dimension, of a blue Pikachu, of a strange creature called the Kunekune, which was neither Pokémon nor human. Now that one caught her attention. Curse it to be the urban legend above the slot dedicated to herself. Mindy placed her phone by the stove and huffed before rubbing her hands against her grey sweatpants and filling a cup with water. As the slightly murky liquid trickled out of the rusty kettle, Mindy clicked on the image of the Kunekune, or wriggling body, aptly named since its slender, white, paper-like humanoid shape squirmed about in a field in the image, against the summer sun. In her peripheral vision, the water reminded her of blood. With each drip-drop, she scanned a sentence.

The Kunekune was often a cause of confusion given its close resemblance to scarecrows or wick drains, apparently. Its limbs were said to wiggle permanently, as if there was a straight gust of wind, even if it was a windless day. The Kunekune allegedly can only become visible from a distance; witnesses may see field workers or others closer to a Kunekune be unaware of its presence. In some variations, if an individual tried to look at it up close, they will go insane. In other versions, if someone touched it, or simply came too close, the Kunekune will kill them. Even looking at it from a distance for too long was said to be unwise. If someone did not approach or make contact with the Kunekune, it was said that the Kunekune will ignore them.

Wasn't that just a basic description of herself, aka Mindfucky as the twerps online and offline called her? Her eyes grew as dark as the ripples in her cup which rose rapidly towards her, as if hoping to grab her while she was distracted. The ripples did grab her eventually when the water overflowed and spilled onto the tabletop, giving birth to ripples that cut her reflection satisfactorily. Mindy did not care. Instead, she poked her reflection and cut herself further. She cut her hair, cut her brows, cut her lips, and finally, her tongue that inched forward to lick the surface dry. On any other day, she'd mewl just to tease herself for her clumsiness. She had to grow awfully comfortable with solitude till she could transmogrify every part of her that was human into something animalistic. Today, she was a Purrloin. Yesterday, she was a Kecleon. Tomorrow, what will she be? She'd have to wait and see.

For the time being, she imagined herself as a Kunekune. For a moment she could transcend the typical creatures she crossed paths with and the world they lived in, and become unearthly. Not that there was much to unearth within herself anyway. She closed her eyes and wiggled her fingers and toes. She turned herself into a tube man, feeling the rush of cold air pulsate through her being, a sudden lightness a tad too dizzying for her liking, but punishment enough for her to continue playing pretend.

In the distance, something shattered. Her feet hurt. Her feet grew moist, warm even.

Mindy snapped her eyes open.

She extracted herself from the field and returned to her lonely kitchen where her cup, in smithereens, lay down on the uneven tiles, the bloodlike water dominating the space between her feet. Only she was bleeding and her blood mixed with the water the way she mixed with her kind, full of unreciprocated desperation and despair.

Today, she was a Purrloin. She stole herself from the world. She was a thief. She was a thing. She was her own possession.

Because one by one, every other possession will break.

Mindy pursed her lips and pulled out the shard in her foot with a hiss. It felt nice knowing she had some warmth within herself. When outcast, she hardly interacted with anyone else, save for the news anchor whom she met thrice a day. There was no other method of recognising she was human, however much she tried to be anything but.

Last week, her window broke. The week before, her stove ran out of gas. Last month, her house blacked out every alternate day. Two months ago, her toilet was clogged, forcing herself to smell her shit and smell like shit for a week. How great it was that an insignificant thing gave into the melancholy today. She would die if it was her house that crumbled.

She was the first to break anyway.

Mindy meandered to the edge of the kitchen and brought a broom and dustpan over, sweeping the shards up and pouring them into the bin. The sound of a shattered cup once full raining into the bin reminded her of some discordant piano piece that would be played on her funeral. She was scrawny enough to see her bones and could then easily tell when they finally snap. She couldn't wait to turn to ashes.

Was it not Ash who travelled around the world, was popular among boys, girls, men, women, grandmothers, grandfathers, and everyone's ancestors? That must be nice.

If only she could undo everything she's done, she wouldn't be in this sorry state. She could live like a human being, talk like a human being, eat like a human being. Then, it occurred to her it was all because of etiquette. If social etiquette didn't have it that anyone who disagrees with an opinion or social more would be judged, then there would be discord. Then she would have supporters, even if a few.

Sinnoh wouldn't feel this lonely; it would really be a home.

But her life was merely beginning, wasn't it? Life in Sinnoh really began with one's first sin, then one's first noh to sin (denial, be it justice or cowardice). Yet every waking hour Mindy stuffed herself with guilt, thinking if this were Thanksgiving she would be the best meal the world would feast on.

Would anyone thank her? Would Kōki? His parents? Her ex-roommate? Gaspar? Mindycham? Her haters?

No one.

No one except guilt.

Guilt was born of loneliness.

Guilt wanted companions, and guilt found one in Mindy.

She didn't give Gaspar away for a Medicham. She traded a ghost for guilt.

Mindy yawned and lay sprawled on the floor, her hair on the puddle of water, her head where the cup was. She rested on her side. By the stove, her phone flickered, alive with her haters' love gifts. Her eyelids fell. The vibrations ceased after a while. Outside, the diamond snow pelted against the roof of her house, threatening to cover up her existence.

In her dream, she knew no guilt.