Journey of a Thousand Miles

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Act the way you'd like to be and soon you'll be the way you act."

—Leonard Cohen

It's a little hard to justify yourself as a fourteen-year-old and the main face of a "terroristic incident" in the largest city in Johto, but I give it my best shot anyway.

"This wasn't my fault."

A-1 acting. They've gotta be total blowhards to not buy this.

Suffice it to say, my only saving grace was that Sean had to go to the hospital, and "as his son," I was obligated to tag along. It was hard to stay quiet during the ambulance ride as Grit, Pong, and Stein talked up a storm, but I kept my mouth shut until we pulled up. Then I bolted to the hospital bathroom and locked the door.

"Why would ya do that?" Pong demands, sparking all over the small area. Stein reins him in with a tired exhale.

"I had to else that Jellicent would've killed us."

"And this won't?" Grit protests, floating closer until I can see into the depths of her blue and yellow eyes. "Think a little more, would you, Oswald?"

"I was thinking," I grumble. "What would you three have done, huh? Let him get killed?"

"That blowhard? Yes!" Pong says.

"Yes, but if not for that blowhard, we'd still be 'Red,'" Stein points out dryly.

"We were jus' a side effect of his goal," Pong argues.

"Either way, if he hadn't come, we'd still be there and silent." He had mentioned that while I was "Red," their consciousnesses were in some kind of sleep or stasis like mine. If they weren't already dead, I would've panicked.

"You have a point," Grit agrees hesitantly. "Nonetheless, Oz, I wish you would consider yourself a little more. Your death would mean a lot more than our disappearances."

"No way!" I yell, startling her a little. "If you guys went away, I wouldn't have a purpose left. Please, don't sell yourselves short like that . . ."

"Please don't start this conversation again," Stein complains. "I don't feel like flying in circles today. And . . ." He vanishes for a few seconds, then reappears with his candle lights flickering in distaste. "There's a guy waiting to pee, and he looks desperate. We'll talk later." Stein turns into a purple flame that melts back into my skin. Pong zaps his way back inside of me, but Grit lingers.

"Stein may not want to beat a dead horse, but I'll never stop trying." She rests her small hands on my face. Cold constantly emits from her skin and I shiver a little. "You should've let us go when our time came."

"You're saying you didn't want to stay with me?" My voice cracks when I say it. Grit's eyes widen, then she frowns.

"Don't twist my words around, Oz. That's not what I mean. But this . . . Doing this isn't healthy either. Please. You've gotten your life back—make it worthwhile." She exhales before fading into mist, dying away.

Why do they have to tell me the same thing all the time?

____

Sean still isn't waking up, and his third day is about to finish. He's in a hospital bed with some needles poking into his good arm—ack, needles—and his other arm's in a bright green cast. I poked it a few times to see if it hurt, but he's drugged with so many painkillers he didn't even roll his eyes in his sleep like before. I watched him for a while, then I went down to the hospital's café and got a ham sandwich and orange Kool-Aid in a cheap paper cup. The sandwich is better than the Kool-Aid. I try giving him a piece, but even though his mouth is open enough to let a bucket load of drool through, it can't fit a portion of sandwich.