A grape by any other day is just as sweet...

Wednesday

A.N. Trash bag self is nowhere near finishing my two KH chapters, or starting any of my three assignments due next freakin' week. (￣Д￣)ﾉ But I just finished a quiz and that in itself's achievement enough. Tomorrow though; I hope to be more productive so come September I'll be less hassled by homework （−＿−；）

Here we go with Wednesday! I've a ton of plot bunnies in my head, so I really hope to get those assignments done before I lose my writing power. Bahumbug xD

********************************************************************************************

"Well, well, well. You still don't have any grapes. Shameful, I tell you. Shameful."

Five year old Gary was back again the following day to taunt four year old Ash Ketchum for his grapes or lack thereof. Ashy had been smart this time though: last night, he gathered all his crayons and the tiny sketchbook his mother gave to him to make doodles in. He'd been at his tiny drawing corner, staring at the blank page for a while, Delia noticed, until finally the boy traced a bunch of violet circles stacked on top of each other. He shaded them as best as a four year old could and finished the masterpiece with what he hoped could pass as a green stalk.

That warm morning, the black-haired boy patiently waited for Gary to come over whilst he listened to Grandma Diana tell him stories of her past. She gave him a really, really warm hug in exchange for the citrusy drink, and it wasn't until she left that his five year old neighbour chose to arrive, alone. Ash steeled himself, ready for any Gary's jeers. Present the drawing... present the drawing. That's all he needed to do. When no open mocks came however, he calmed down a little, serving himself a cuppa as Gary's glaring was getting scary. And then, the brunette began to talk.

Moving aside the two jugs of lemonade and his plastic cup stack to one side, he flipped open the sketchbook, feeling somewhat proud of himself.

"Here. I drew ya some gwapes." Ash's voice was high and happy as he pointed at the kiddie doodle. "It's not da real thing but Mommy's shopping day isn't till Fwiday. I pwomise she'll get gwapes then!" He tore off the page from his sketchbook, inwardly cringing as he liked his sketchbook a lot.

Gary shrugged, seeming to inspect the drawing's intricacies. "Daisy got mad at me yesterday." He said, clenching small fists tightly. "She said I wasn't nice, but it's not my fault you don't have grapes. Heh." He ran a hand through his chocolate hair before grabbing the drawing from Ash, scoffing. "You draw terribly. I bet even a Caterpie can sketch better than you." As if that wasn't harsh enough, the green-eyed boy carelessly let go of the paper, two pairs of eyes watching the breeze momentarily catch it before it fell on the ground, ignored.

.

.

.

That, Ash thought at the moment, was the line.

Little Ashy was really nice, because his mommy taught him well. She taught him not to say mean things to anyone and to be mannerful when he was interacting with others: younger or older, Pokémon or not. There was one day in particular where he asked his mother what he should do should someone ever be mean to him, and Delia, being the doting mother she was, knew she couldn't always be around to protect him. She humbly replied with, "Well, honey, if they're really, really mean to you, then don't hesitate to defend yourself. Hesitate means, "to stop and think" and defend means, "don't let them push you". You'll tell Mommy when this happens, won't you?"

"Ya!" He giggled in response. "I hope that no one will ever be mean to me. I don't wike it when people are mean."

.

.

.

HMPH! Ash didn't want to be friends with Gary anymore. Gary was mean to him, even when he tried to be nice. He didn't have any grapes, and he didn't like being mocked about his drawings, even if they weren't that awesome. He picked up the sketch on the road and tucked it into his sketchbook, seething. "I don't wike you! You're so mean! I don't have any gwapes and I wouldn't want to give ya any even if I did!" He packed everything up into his basket, careful not to spill anything before sprinting back inside his home, slamming the door hard.

The five year old stood outside the Ketchums' home that early afternoon, alone and hurt for being outright rejected. Ash didn't bother to check on him then; he was too busy helping out his mother and asking her if he really was a terrible artist or when he'd take her to town for that Charmander plushie.