Author’s Notes: Yo! Hello to all! This is the first one-shot I had written in almost 3 YEARS and I got back into writing because of it!
Oh, and this got second place in the Tragedy Contest. :P
By the way, the views of my character DO NOT reflect my own. Rated PG-13 for some mature themes.
Pokemon doesn’t belong to me.
Welcome to the Internet
BlueAipomXZ: Heyyyy!!! How r u???
I was sitting in my grease-stained seat reading some generic story featuring an annoying Mary-Sue, when a little window popped up on my computer screen.
I clicked on the inconspicuous window, feeling bored and apathetic as I usually did. It was another average day in my dull life and surfing the web was just part of my mind-numbing, monotonous day-to-day routine. However, I was too busy chugging a nice, cold beer to pay much attention to it. After I finished, I wiped my mouth and with small, watery eyes, read what my friend had written. Soon, my eyes opened wide with terror.
It was the question again.
How are you?
The beer I was holding clattered to the floor, spilling amber liquid all over the discolored rug.
No matter how many times people asked me this, the wave of self-pity and revulsion still washed over me with more intensity each and every time. I tried to calm down my frantic and agitated breathing, my three chins bobbing up and down disgustingly with each quick intake of air.
Day in and day out, this was the one question that haunted me the most. After all, it was this more than anything else that opened my eyes to my pathetic reality.
I picked up a framed photograph that was hidden behind a moldy, half-eaten pizza, and countless of my favorite DVDs featuring prepubescent girls doing lewd acts with men old enough to be their fathers.
I had to hold back a howl of despair at the shameful contrast between my past and present self; the kid who smiled behind the cracked, smudged glass seemed honestly happy, healthy and completely comfortable in his own skin. I chuckled humorlessly at this, wiping my eyes with one pudgy hand. I would have never imagined that I would end up being a morbidly obese, unwashed loser who was wearing nothing more than a pair of yellow-stained boxers and living in his parent’s basement.
I remember when it all began.
My dream was to become a Pokemon Master, just like so many naďve aspiring people before me. I could still vividly remember my practice sessions with my friends. We would take turns giving orders to a stubborn Bulbasaur that belonged to my friend, Charlie. Of course, it never even so much as complied to do a simple tackle for us, but it was fun to pretend being Pokemon trainers and having Pokemon of our own before we would live out the real thing.
I always imagined myself being a famous and accomplished Pokemon Master. I would’ve had a supreme team of invincible, powerful Pokemon that adored me and followed my orders without the slightest bit of hesitation. I would’ve had thrashed the Elite Four all into the ground with my shiny Lugia. The praise…the adoration…the envy of millions…all of that would’ve had been mine. Unfortunately, I had been stupid enough to exchange all that possible glory and prestige for countless hours on the computer, dating video games, and lesbian porn.
I closed my eyes, letting the old memories I had tried to block for so long to wash over me in painful waves.
I used to be a bright-eyed kid, full of confidence and vigor, with a steadfast determination to become the best of the best. My parents were proud; they thought I had a wonderful future ahead of me, as like my sister. She became a widely recognized trainer and literally had the world in her hands. I was confident that my future would be just as good, or even better, than my successful sister.
“Danny, you can be anything you want to be,” my sister had said assertively, patting my head with one gloved hand. “Just put your mind to it.”
“But sis, what if I don’t make it?” I had asked, tugging insistently on her violet dress.
“I believe in you,” she simply said, before leaving out the door for a new adventure.
These were her last words before she left, and I had all the intent to follow them through and not let her down. Little did my young self knew at that moment that years down the road his older self would completely sabotage all his dreams for the future due to idleness, procrastination and an all-consuming unwillingness to move forward.
I woke up late the day I had to get my first Pokemon.
The night before, I had stayed awake reading comic books, too excited to go to sleep. When I woke up, I knew something was wrong; I took one good look at my alarm clock before rushing, still in my pajamas, towards the professor’s lab. I had overslept for more than four hours, but I hoped against hope that the professor had an extra Pokemon for me. When I got there, the professor looked at me sadly before telling me that there were no Pokemon left and there was nothing he could do. No matter how much I pleaded, cried, and even blackmailed the professor, he wouldn’t budge on his decision.
“I’m sorry, try again next year,” he stated somberly, pity etched on every single contour of his wrinkled face.
His answer began the downward spiral that was my life.
I decided to try again for the following year. My parents enrolled me in a small school to “study” about Pokemon. Most kids had no need to go to this school since the majority were already trainers by the time they hit the age of ten. There were only two kids, asides from me, who were in my same class; one was a drug junkie who would sneak out whenever possible to snort cocaine in the girls’ bathroom and the other one was a pretty girl that always wore a neat pink dress and matching frilly bow that sat atop her beautiful, curly hair. She looked like the most normal person in the group, until she described in graphic detail, and with a big smile on her face, how she had viciously stabbed her starter Squirtle in the face. Despite the fact that it wasn’t explicitly declared, everyone knew this school was for failures that would never make it into the real world.
I hated going to this school with every last bit of my soul; I hated my psychopathic classmates, I hated my rundown classroom, but above all, I hated feeling like a complete loser. I would refuse to go for many days, despite my teacher’s feeble protests to my parents. Though I never had enough time to get on the Internet because of my prior training, I was suddenly entranced by it the more time I spent at home. At first, I just clicked on some pages of interest and left after just a couple of minutes. But as the days rolled by, I realized that those few minutes were turning into longer hours. I convinced myself that I was spending more and more time on the computer because of the large amount of information I found about Pokemon on the net. However, I could not deny it any longer when I would stay inside for weeks at the time, only to spend it all surfing the web in my yellow Pikachu-hoodie pajamas.
I guess I was so allured by it because it proved to be a fantastic excuse to escape from my own problems. It was a safe haven where I could be anything I wanted to be, and be free of the shackles of responsibility. It proved to be so extraordinary and phenomenal that I didn’t even notice when the long-awaited day to try to get a Pokemon again came and went.
At the beginning, my parents didn’t seem to mind or care about the increasing time I spent in front of my computer. My mother believed that as long as I was eating everything was fine in my life, and my dad merely shrugged it off as another silly phase of mine that would soon pass. They would eventually realize about my growing, terrible obsession, but my mom just piled on more food on my plate to assuage her own feelings of guilt, and my dad looked at me sadly, thinking I was a lost case.
I knew nothing of the real world nor did I want to. I pretended that I was much happier within the dirty realm that was my dark, gloomy room; the soothing hum of my computer comforted me, my delicious bags of fattening corn chips gave me strength and my ever-reliable collection of dirty magazines helped me ease my moments of solitude. That was all I ever needed.
Or so I thought.
I was imprisoned in my own repulsive skin. I looked down at myself, and whispered to my body how very sorry I was that I got it into such a sad, lamentable state. My huge, prominent gut was completely covered in red stretch marks. Large amounts of filth were accumulating in my rolls of fat, because I was unable to clean myself thoroughly due to my great size. Getting out of bed every single morning was a momentous, painful, and mortifying task; I needed my mother’s help when I wanted to get up because I simply didn’t have enough strength to do it on my own.
This is what my life had become.
I replied with the same old lie.
MasterClefairy67: Im great!!! =)
“You have no life.”
The first time anyone said this to me was also the first time I went outside after my life took a turn for the worse. That day, I had run out of cigarettes and booze and my parents had long since gotten bored of my leeching ways to give me any money. The sun felt harsh on my sick, pale skin, but I still determinedly trekked toward the store. However, I was soon shaking like a leaf from the exertion, even though I had barely taken a few steps out my front door.
I turned around and recognized the woman immediately. She had been that evil classmate of mine back when I still went to those pointless Pokemon classes.
“You have no life,” she repeated coldly.
These words cut me deep. After I gave up my lifelong dream, I still wanted to believe that my life had some worth left to it. Of course, it was a stupid illusion; my life had been completely bereft of meaning the moment the professor told me I was too late to get a Pokemon. I had no direction to guide me, no special talent I could polish, and no goal to pursue. Those callous words hurt so much because in my heart I knew that they were undeniably true.
“You’re gonna deny it, fatass?” she sneered, tossing her long, blonde hair casually.
“N-no, but you see…” I stuttered for a few moments, before my mind went completely blank. I had no idea what to say; her lips were twisted into an ugly mocking smile and her piercing, green eyes were merciless. I was a nobody next to her.
Human interaction was something I despised. I didn’t understand how exactly other people talked so casually to each other nor how they could act so freely without feeling that their every move was being closely scrutinized, and harshly criticized, by their peers. But despite my loathing, I secretly longed for close human contact. It was an impossible dream for such a socially awkward person like me, but one which I so avidly desired.
I had no problem communicating with other people through a computer screen. As much as I hated to admit it, these anonymous, faceless people were the only friends I had. Part of me didn’t regret this fact: they made me smile, they made me laugh, and they even made me delude myself into thinking I was worthy of their kindness. But in the very back of my mind, a doubt was slowly nibbling away my fantasy world and corrupting it with reason. Though I desperately tried to convince myself about the hidden beauty of my online relationships, a dissenting voice slowly poisoned my foolish way of thinking until I had to face the harsh reality head on.
These friendships were doomed to fail. No matter how much I tried to fool myself into believing the contrary, the truth was I would never truly know the people behind the screen names. The closer the bonds I formed with them, the harder it would be to part at the inevitable hour of separation. There was just no way to avoid this. And yet, I still continued talking to these friends despite knowing that the final farewell loomed ever closer, because they had become an inexorable, irreplaceable part of my life. I just accepted this as one of the many sad ironies that destiny placed before me.
But what I most deeply wanted, even more than real friends, was a girlfriend. I tried to create a setting in my mind where I was in a stable, romantic relationship with a woman who was actually interested in me. I would walk hand-in-hand with her, mutually enjoying each other’s company as we talked about this and that. Maybe I would take her out to eat in one of those fancy restaurants. After dinner, I would bring her back home, and she would then thank me with a small, light kiss for the lovely evening. Of course, I would deepen the kiss, fully aware what this would lead to next. She would respond eagerly in kind, undressing and leading me into her room. Maybe under the covers, she would scream out my name…
I laughed out loud, my humongous belly rippling alarmingly with the force of my uninhibited laughter.
I shook my head in amusement after my hilarity subsided, though I could feel an overwhelming cloud of depression descending upon me. It was very hard to imagine myself being with someone other than the company of my dependable, sweat-soaked right hand.
But I had to try.
“Um…erm…you are very pretty,” I said shyly, my tongue suddenly feeling too big and heavy for my mouth. Her striking green eyes were too intimidating; I hastily lowered my gaze, pretending to be oddly interested by a pebble near my shoe.
“Oh my god, are you actually hitting on me?” she asked derisively. “Do you honestly believe I’d have any interest dating a loser like you?”
My chubby cheeks flushed with embarrassment and humiliation. It was useless; I didn’t know why I had bothered. I was utterly incapable of having a face-to-face talk with another human being without being overcome with a horrible desire to flee. I failed and will always fail at connecting with people on a personal level.
I ran, or at least, that’s what I tried to do. My short, thick legs were finding it incredibly hard to sustain my humongous, portly body. Sweat poured down my chubby face and I was soon out of breath. I heard the woman’s cruel laughter behind me, but I purposefully went back home.
Once I had closed the door behind me, I wept bitterly for a long time.
I snapped out of my thoughtful reverie, when I noticed that my friend had written a new message. I clicked on it.
BlueAipomXZ: Can I tell you a secret?
I raised an eyebrow, feeling mildly curious. My friend had always been the private sort of guy who would be overly cautious of revealing even the most innocuous bits of information online. He claimed that it would make him feel uncomfortable that other people who he didn’t know all that well had access to his personal details. I never pried forcefully nor disrespected his privacy, but there was a part of me that still longed to know more about him.
The screen immediately went blank. I tapped my keyboard in frustration, when a strange being appeared; it was entirely made out of what looked like pinkish, polygonal shapes. I felt slightly intimidated when it stared at me emotionlessly with its two perfectly round eyes.
I am Porygon. I have been studying human behavior and their link to cyberspace since my creation. Based on the information I have gathered, I can conclude that you have contributed nothing to humanity.
“Huh?” I asked out loud. I idly wondered to myself if my friend had somehow hacked into my computer. I watched in amazement as the message changed and a new one replaced the one before it.
I have been watching you for a long time.
I was getting tired of my friend’s unfunny prank, so I grabbed the power cord and pulled it out.
But the message, and creature, still remained resolutely on the screen.
My cholesterol-laden heart began to beat faster.
You have wasted your life.
“No, no, no…I’m doing something with my life. I’m going to be –” I scrambled desperately for a sensible excuse – any excuse really. But nothing seemed to come to mind.
I had, once again, tried to justify my bland existence with empty promises.
I really did have the opportunity of a lifetime to be everything that I wanted to be – a happy, triumphant person who was at peace with the world, because he had achieved and gotten everything he ever wanted.
You will be forgotten.
“Stop! Stop! STOP!” I screamed in desperation.
But then, the terrible truth dawned upon me in all its horrifying clarity. Once I died, there would be no one at my funeral, no one to mourn me, and no one to shed tears over me because I was gone. Perhaps the only flowers that would be left on my crumbling grave would be from my parents on the off-hand chance that their deceased son passed through their minds.
You are nothing.
“What do you want from me? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” I bellowed, tearing out the last of the hair that had remained on my balding head.
Something inside me snapped. I went into a furious frenzy, as I grabbed everything within my reach and began smashing it; I ripped my cartoon posters from the walls and pieces of rotting food went flying everywhere. I caught sight of my towering DVD collection, and with a furious snarl, I brought it all crashing down. The silver disks soon turned into fine sheet of powder, as I stomped on the broken pieces with all the strength left in my lardaceous, blubbery body.
“Please stop,” I pleaded softly, beating the ground repeatedly with my ham-sized fist. But the fight inside me soon died down, and I lay there alone, curled up among the debris of my own personal rage.
I knew I was condemned to continue this same self-pitying, disgusting cycle that I had followed during the large majority of my sad life. I was too much of a coward to ever break out from it and start living the life which had once been in my grasp. This was the path I had chosen and the only path that I was truly able to follow.
The strange words had long since disappeared from the screen, but the Porygon’s message was as clear as ever in my mind.
I plugged my computer back in and watched vacantly as it hummed and whirred back to life. I had made an important decision.
It was too late for me to turn my life around from the dark abyss that I was now in. The shame had consumed me completely to the point that I felt like I was drowning in my own disgrace. That was why I had no choice but to continue this sedentary lifestyle until the end of my days. I just didn’t have the emotional nor physical fortitude to make a complete change for the better. My computer was the only thing I had left in my lonely and empty existence.
I was ready to repeat this same sickening, foul, addicting cycle again…
Hopefully it wasn't too sucky!
Note: And an interesting tidbit for readers of Maggots of Society...Claire was very loosely based off the girl in this fic. XD