:: Moitié Moi-même :: (PG-13)
She stared ahead of her into the damp, dull weather of the outside world. Wisps of fog curled around the lush cedar and oak trees underneath a grey sky, creating what seemed to be a symbolic view of how she felt on the inside. An aura of a developed self-hatred loomed about her presence; her once cheerful and bright disposition had turned dark and depressive in a matter of a series of events that have consumed her past months of life. All contentment was to her now was a mere distant memory of what life was like before she lost her innocence to the matters of the real world. Abuse, death, and betrayal were not commonplace in her vocabulary, but it seemed to appear more often in her mind as her feeling of loneliness developed; those three words were what much of her life had been related to. A sigh escaped her lips quietly, tears welling in her hate-filled eyes; this hatred was not only towards those who were seemingly apposing her, but also her own self. Weeping quietly, she curled herself into a slight ball, resting on the windowsill of her bedroom, the rotunda of the modern dedication to the Victorian lifestyle that was called “home.” After a few lonesome minutes, the door from downstairs opened and closed, causing her head to jerk up as a reaction of fear; who had just come home? Mother or step-father?
“Iris,” the voice of a woman in her late thirties or early forties called out somewhat loudly, a faint run of irritation evident in her tone. “Are you home?” Exhaling with anguish, the girl in her middle-to-late teens unwound herself and propped herself onto her short legs, knees wobbly with pain. Walking with the assistance of the wall, she walked slowly and weakly, only to hear the voice of the woman call out again, this time more angrily. Nearly stumbling down the flight of stairs, the girl dubbed Iris paused on the first step, gazing at her mother with visible fatigue and infirmity. The middle-aged woman, however, responded to this with a glare of anger.
“Iris,” she sighed, closing her eyes and glancing at the floor. “Exactly WHY didn’t you go to practice today?” Because of her illness of a cold and stomachache, as well as a sudden depression, the girl had talked to her band director, who gave her the consent to stay home. Sighing, she answered her mother’s question hoarsely with full honesty. However, the patience in the voice of the adolescent was far from reflected in her mother’s voice.
“So? Couldn’t you have just called me?”
“I was honestly afraid to,” Iris admitted after a brief moment of silence. “Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted to take off time just to get me home.”
“You’re right,” her mother responded angrily. “But why did you get surly with me?”
Iris cringed for a moment at the word “surly.” Apparently providing a contradiction in any of her mother’s statements was being surly. She eased, and then said, “…I wasn’t.”
“And I know you want to say more. Just try me.”
“I don’t want to...” Iris answered, knowing well enough what was to come.
“Excuse me?” Her mother asked before raising a hand in preparations that almost made Iris shrink.
“I don’t want to, because maybe you’re doing this to see me upset.” At that moment, she winced once again as the hand slapped her hard across the face. Hurt, Iris refused to immediately sob, in spite of the tears welling up in her eyes; however, eyes held a glance with a feeling of rage against herself and her mother. She tried to turn around and go towards her room, but her mother grabbed her wrist roughly and jerked back, slinging her towards the floor, which caused her more physical and emotional pain.
“You are NOT going to insult me, and you are definitely NOT going to do anything I don’t say.” The mother screamed at her daughter. “Is that clear?”
In response to the question, all Iris could do was murmur and sob, her back against the carpeted floor. Strands of collarbone-length dark brown hair lay scattered around her, coupled with a horrified pair of forest green eyes. Had she not been properly clothed, one could’ve assumed that she was just raped. A few seconds seemed like forever when her mother’s voice boomed once again, repeating “Is that clear?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, ‘what?!’” Her mother questioned rhetorically, jamming a foot hard against her lower hip.
“Yes…ma’am…” Iris finally whispered quietly, giving her mother the “proper politeness of a Southern girl.” She was never used to this, however, given that she wasn’t raised to say it in the north-central region of the country. Moving to the south, however, provided a culture shock, and was definitely a life-ruining experience for her. A smug smile appeared on her mother’s face, she noticed, as she began to walk away. When all was quiet, she propped herself up and began to hyperventilate due to her excessive crying, and thought to herself over what she had done in her life to possibly deserve any of this treatment. Unable to think and feeling that all hope was lost, she stood and hurried upstairs, back to her room, in which she almost immediately slung herself onto the bed, her crying deepening and becoming worse.
She laid there for hours which seemed like forever, constantly shifting her stares across the room as she thought back to the events that had happened in her life to have made her feel this way. Constantly failing in her attempts to think thoroughly of the situation, she rested there, listening to the sounds around her; these included the heavy rain outside, the door reopening and closing once more, her mother’s sobs and loud, angered voice, and eventually, these sobs fading into the loud moans of both mother and stepfather. Iris knew well enough what was happening downstairs, and knew what the entire purpose of it was. Exhaling quietly and heavily, she rolled over onto her back, staring up towards the dullness of the ceiling, thinking.
The dull, dirty white of the ceiling, to Iris, symbolized many things. For example, it could mean the tainting of what was once pure innocence, or even the once blank canvas of a life to be good, ruined by the negatives of the world. Either way, she felt that she was being rather melodramatic in an unnecessary way, and that there was no need for her to be around. The latter part, however, brought the oddest idea to her head; what if she were to run away, never to return in spite of the occasional looking back? She could escape this hell that she was living in and try to feel the “joys” of freedom that are always described in the clichéd narratives of teenagers going out on their own, raising Pokémon, becoming an international hero, and so much as losing their virginity early on in puberty.
The thought suddenly sickened her, yet somehow grotesquely appealed to her at the same time. Chuckling quietly, Iris carefully walked towards her closet, pulling out large, black backpack that slung over the shoulder by means of one large strap, opening it to prepare for packing. Quickly, she delved through her wardrobe, picking out basic clothing that would suit travel, including tees, thermal sweaters, and jeans. Afterwards, she packed in underclothing with it, along with hygienic products from her bathroom, and a CD player, as well as her collection of music. Zipping up the bag, she stared at it for a moment, sliding it over onto her back; it was light, mainly due to the lack of heavy books from harder courses in school.
Iris then finished this “ritual” by staring forth into the mirror, gazing at her reflection for a moment before sighing and nervously tying her hair back into a simple ponytail, only in order to keep her hair out of her eyes. Almost immediately following that step, she straightened her dark jeans and light grey screened shirt featuring black emoticons, icons symbolizing an emotion-filled face, of the faces of cats surrounding a heart; many colons and digits of the number three circled a large, sideways heart formed by a left arrow and another digit of three. Sighing, she then slid her backpack off temporarily to put on a black hooded jacket, before returning quietly to her room for a moment.
The only reason she had returned to her room, of course, was to tidy it before she finally left; a final goodbye of sorts. Straightening what was left of her closet, as well as her desk, bed, and nightstand, she could feel the brewing of warm tears in her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to leave, she knew she had to if she wanted a better life beyond a broken home and emotional abuse. But were she to live in the wild for some time, she would definitely need companionship. With that in mind, Iris gathered a small bundle of paper money with which she thought would last her a week, and two small orbs, similar in structure and their silver lower hemisphere, but the region above their buttons differed; one was of a yellow color with light blue wisps representing wind, and the other had a rich dark blue color with small red stripes along its sides. Inside these “containers” were her two pet-like companions; a cloud-winged robin, or Swablu, named “Huma” held in the yellow, and a weak brown-and-blue fish, Feebas, dubbed “Anahita,” in the other. Both names derived from Persian mythology, and somehow, Iris had a great feeling that these names would symbolize something later on.
The recollection of memories in her mind eventually halted, and she looked around her bedroom one last time, her eyes misted with the onset of tears. She closed her eyes, wept quietly, and began to walk downstairs quietly, feelings of guilt suddenly overcoming her which she tried to ignore, causing her to halt at the doorway for a moment. She calmed down and listened intently for a moment to the silence, making sure that nobody was awake. Minutes passed and she assured herself that neither mother nor stepfather were awake, and with that, she quietly opened the door and crept out into the damp weather, closing it quickly as she dashed towards the street, officially beginning her status as a “runaway child.”
She paced quickly and quietly out of her neighborhood and onto the major street it connected to, hoping that in the stillness of the night, that nobody would find her; or if anybody did, that they wouldn’t bother to turn her in to the city’s police department, mainly due to the fact they would most likely turn her back towards her mother, or even into foster care. As a result of this, she felt like nobody truly cared for her, and as a result, she grew heavily depressed due to her loneliness. However, she adjusted to it, and no longer minded it, even if it did hurt every now and then.
Miles passed by with the hours, and Iris didn’t concentrate much on the backdrop of the forested, almost natural town simply named Summerdale. She understood exactly where she was going on foot even without full concentration; photographic memory was a blessing in this sense. But what made her aware of her surroundings was when she looked up towards the darkened sky; a single, “growing” star was the only glinting object. She stopped, wondering if this was the “end of the world” much talked about as an Internet fad, as the “star” grew larger. The object, which glowed with a bright, water-like blue color, fell quickly, and landed a few yards away from her, causing the aura to dim slightly. Anxious, the teen-aged girl quickened her speed and dashed towards the sight of the crash, kneeling down towards the moving form right when she arrived.
“Oh, dear…” a familiar tenor voice exclaimed quietly from within the aura. This puzzled Iris…was this the ghost of her long-lost friend? As she thought of this, her hands motioned forwards the dimming light, which revealed the form of a human boy around her age, possibly even older. Aghast, she helped the young “boy” up, a hand brushing against something soft, much like a feather; it turned out this boy was an angel above anything, which amazed her. But why would such an angel, so handsome and probably so kind, have fallen? Baffled, she rested the unconscious seraph against her lap, only hoping that he hadn’t died or anything.
“Where…am I?” The weakened voice sighed once more after a few silent moments. He sat up almost immediately and turned towards Iris. By now, the aura shimmered once more, yet with a rather dull radiance. Because of this, she now saw his softly waved hair, dark much like hers, and his eyes, brown and wide, stared into hers for a moment with weakness. This caused the mortal girl to pull back for a moment, until she realized that the eyes were not filled with hate. They were, in fact, familiar; even the rather modern clothing of a charcoal-colored shirt and khaki cargo shorts with sandals stood directly in her memory. Noticing his slender build and short height, Iris definitely knew who this was.
“Tim…?” She asked quietly. Tim was her best friend and “brother” for years before he committed suicide over the loss of his girlfriend.
“I was Tim, yes,” he spoke. This confused Iris; wouldn’t have he remembered exactly who she was? “But now, I’m the Archangel over Death. My name is Gabriel…”
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Author's Notes:
§ Yes. For those who have seen Full Moon wo Sagashite, Gabriel is a Western equivalent to a Shinigami, which will still come into detail as the story progresses.
§ Don't worry; a lot of Iris' history has yet to be revealed. I'm not going to unload right after the start of the story.
§ And yes, the ending is a bit of cliffhanger. What will the Archangel have to say to Iris, and what force has brought them together? That and more will be revealed in the next chapter.
Feel free to post any comments, and criticism so long as it is constructive. But if not, until next time!
I somewhat understand what the first thing that comes to mind is when you first see the title; that is, if it begins with "Oh, dear lord." Yes, the title means "Half Myself" in French, and yes, the Gothic and Lolita brand of Moi-même-Moitié inspired the title; the only changes were the placement of each word so that it would actually make sense.
If you're wondering exactly what the future has in mind for the story, and what exact genre this is, I'd personally consider it a Dark Fantasy, yet the general term for it would be Angstfic, with currently no sign of hurt/comfort in sight. As a result, this is rated PG-13 for safety precautions, as it contains a lot of darker content such as violence in physical, verbal, and emotional forms; mild, coarse language; dark romance; "black comedy;" twists on Internet phenomena; religious issues...it's basically a free-for-all in the drama world, much of which will start up after the first few chapters. And yes, before you question, this is a trainer fic...sort of.
"Mandatory" Disclaimer: As obvious, I do not own Pokémon or anything similar to that; the main character and her guardian, to be revealed, are of my creation, based off of myself and a close friend of mine, as well as the land this story takes place in, are the only things I "own." Anything else bearing resemblence to actual people, places, or things, unless otherwise noted, are purely coincidental and were unintended.
Table of Contents
Chapter One {The Opener}
With that in my, ownward towards the story.
Moitié Moi-même
Half Myself – All That Remains
:: A New Age Trainer Fic ::
Chapter One – The Opener
If you're wondering exactly what the future has in mind for the story, and what exact genre this is, I'd personally consider it a Dark Fantasy, yet the general term for it would be Angstfic, with currently no sign of hurt/comfort in sight. As a result, this is rated PG-13 for safety precautions, as it contains a lot of darker content such as violence in physical, verbal, and emotional forms; mild, coarse language; dark romance; "black comedy;" twists on Internet phenomena; religious issues...it's basically a free-for-all in the drama world, much of which will start up after the first few chapters. And yes, before you question, this is a trainer fic...sort of.
"Mandatory" Disclaimer: As obvious, I do not own Pokémon or anything similar to that; the main character and her guardian, to be revealed, are of my creation, based off of myself and a close friend of mine, as well as the land this story takes place in, are the only things I "own." Anything else bearing resemblence to actual people, places, or things, unless otherwise noted, are purely coincidental and were unintended.
Table of Contents
Chapter One {The Opener}
With that in my, ownward towards the story.
Moitié Moi-même
Half Myself – All That Remains
:: A New Age Trainer Fic ::
Chapter One – The Opener
She stared ahead of her into the damp, dull weather of the outside world. Wisps of fog curled around the lush cedar and oak trees underneath a grey sky, creating what seemed to be a symbolic view of how she felt on the inside. An aura of a developed self-hatred loomed about her presence; her once cheerful and bright disposition had turned dark and depressive in a matter of a series of events that have consumed her past months of life. All contentment was to her now was a mere distant memory of what life was like before she lost her innocence to the matters of the real world. Abuse, death, and betrayal were not commonplace in her vocabulary, but it seemed to appear more often in her mind as her feeling of loneliness developed; those three words were what much of her life had been related to. A sigh escaped her lips quietly, tears welling in her hate-filled eyes; this hatred was not only towards those who were seemingly apposing her, but also her own self. Weeping quietly, she curled herself into a slight ball, resting on the windowsill of her bedroom, the rotunda of the modern dedication to the Victorian lifestyle that was called “home.” After a few lonesome minutes, the door from downstairs opened and closed, causing her head to jerk up as a reaction of fear; who had just come home? Mother or step-father?
“Iris,” the voice of a woman in her late thirties or early forties called out somewhat loudly, a faint run of irritation evident in her tone. “Are you home?” Exhaling with anguish, the girl in her middle-to-late teens unwound herself and propped herself onto her short legs, knees wobbly with pain. Walking with the assistance of the wall, she walked slowly and weakly, only to hear the voice of the woman call out again, this time more angrily. Nearly stumbling down the flight of stairs, the girl dubbed Iris paused on the first step, gazing at her mother with visible fatigue and infirmity. The middle-aged woman, however, responded to this with a glare of anger.
“Iris,” she sighed, closing her eyes and glancing at the floor. “Exactly WHY didn’t you go to practice today?” Because of her illness of a cold and stomachache, as well as a sudden depression, the girl had talked to her band director, who gave her the consent to stay home. Sighing, she answered her mother’s question hoarsely with full honesty. However, the patience in the voice of the adolescent was far from reflected in her mother’s voice.
“So? Couldn’t you have just called me?”
“I was honestly afraid to,” Iris admitted after a brief moment of silence. “Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted to take off time just to get me home.”
“You’re right,” her mother responded angrily. “But why did you get surly with me?”
Iris cringed for a moment at the word “surly.” Apparently providing a contradiction in any of her mother’s statements was being surly. She eased, and then said, “…I wasn’t.”
“And I know you want to say more. Just try me.”
“I don’t want to...” Iris answered, knowing well enough what was to come.
“Excuse me?” Her mother asked before raising a hand in preparations that almost made Iris shrink.
“I don’t want to, because maybe you’re doing this to see me upset.” At that moment, she winced once again as the hand slapped her hard across the face. Hurt, Iris refused to immediately sob, in spite of the tears welling up in her eyes; however, eyes held a glance with a feeling of rage against herself and her mother. She tried to turn around and go towards her room, but her mother grabbed her wrist roughly and jerked back, slinging her towards the floor, which caused her more physical and emotional pain.
“You are NOT going to insult me, and you are definitely NOT going to do anything I don’t say.” The mother screamed at her daughter. “Is that clear?”
In response to the question, all Iris could do was murmur and sob, her back against the carpeted floor. Strands of collarbone-length dark brown hair lay scattered around her, coupled with a horrified pair of forest green eyes. Had she not been properly clothed, one could’ve assumed that she was just raped. A few seconds seemed like forever when her mother’s voice boomed once again, repeating “Is that clear?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, ‘what?!’” Her mother questioned rhetorically, jamming a foot hard against her lower hip.
“Yes…ma’am…” Iris finally whispered quietly, giving her mother the “proper politeness of a Southern girl.” She was never used to this, however, given that she wasn’t raised to say it in the north-central region of the country. Moving to the south, however, provided a culture shock, and was definitely a life-ruining experience for her. A smug smile appeared on her mother’s face, she noticed, as she began to walk away. When all was quiet, she propped herself up and began to hyperventilate due to her excessive crying, and thought to herself over what she had done in her life to possibly deserve any of this treatment. Unable to think and feeling that all hope was lost, she stood and hurried upstairs, back to her room, in which she almost immediately slung herself onto the bed, her crying deepening and becoming worse.
She laid there for hours which seemed like forever, constantly shifting her stares across the room as she thought back to the events that had happened in her life to have made her feel this way. Constantly failing in her attempts to think thoroughly of the situation, she rested there, listening to the sounds around her; these included the heavy rain outside, the door reopening and closing once more, her mother’s sobs and loud, angered voice, and eventually, these sobs fading into the loud moans of both mother and stepfather. Iris knew well enough what was happening downstairs, and knew what the entire purpose of it was. Exhaling quietly and heavily, she rolled over onto her back, staring up towards the dullness of the ceiling, thinking.
The dull, dirty white of the ceiling, to Iris, symbolized many things. For example, it could mean the tainting of what was once pure innocence, or even the once blank canvas of a life to be good, ruined by the negatives of the world. Either way, she felt that she was being rather melodramatic in an unnecessary way, and that there was no need for her to be around. The latter part, however, brought the oddest idea to her head; what if she were to run away, never to return in spite of the occasional looking back? She could escape this hell that she was living in and try to feel the “joys” of freedom that are always described in the clichéd narratives of teenagers going out on their own, raising Pokémon, becoming an international hero, and so much as losing their virginity early on in puberty.
The thought suddenly sickened her, yet somehow grotesquely appealed to her at the same time. Chuckling quietly, Iris carefully walked towards her closet, pulling out large, black backpack that slung over the shoulder by means of one large strap, opening it to prepare for packing. Quickly, she delved through her wardrobe, picking out basic clothing that would suit travel, including tees, thermal sweaters, and jeans. Afterwards, she packed in underclothing with it, along with hygienic products from her bathroom, and a CD player, as well as her collection of music. Zipping up the bag, she stared at it for a moment, sliding it over onto her back; it was light, mainly due to the lack of heavy books from harder courses in school.
Iris then finished this “ritual” by staring forth into the mirror, gazing at her reflection for a moment before sighing and nervously tying her hair back into a simple ponytail, only in order to keep her hair out of her eyes. Almost immediately following that step, she straightened her dark jeans and light grey screened shirt featuring black emoticons, icons symbolizing an emotion-filled face, of the faces of cats surrounding a heart; many colons and digits of the number three circled a large, sideways heart formed by a left arrow and another digit of three. Sighing, she then slid her backpack off temporarily to put on a black hooded jacket, before returning quietly to her room for a moment.
The only reason she had returned to her room, of course, was to tidy it before she finally left; a final goodbye of sorts. Straightening what was left of her closet, as well as her desk, bed, and nightstand, she could feel the brewing of warm tears in her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to leave, she knew she had to if she wanted a better life beyond a broken home and emotional abuse. But were she to live in the wild for some time, she would definitely need companionship. With that in mind, Iris gathered a small bundle of paper money with which she thought would last her a week, and two small orbs, similar in structure and their silver lower hemisphere, but the region above their buttons differed; one was of a yellow color with light blue wisps representing wind, and the other had a rich dark blue color with small red stripes along its sides. Inside these “containers” were her two pet-like companions; a cloud-winged robin, or Swablu, named “Huma” held in the yellow, and a weak brown-and-blue fish, Feebas, dubbed “Anahita,” in the other. Both names derived from Persian mythology, and somehow, Iris had a great feeling that these names would symbolize something later on.
The recollection of memories in her mind eventually halted, and she looked around her bedroom one last time, her eyes misted with the onset of tears. She closed her eyes, wept quietly, and began to walk downstairs quietly, feelings of guilt suddenly overcoming her which she tried to ignore, causing her to halt at the doorway for a moment. She calmed down and listened intently for a moment to the silence, making sure that nobody was awake. Minutes passed and she assured herself that neither mother nor stepfather were awake, and with that, she quietly opened the door and crept out into the damp weather, closing it quickly as she dashed towards the street, officially beginning her status as a “runaway child.”
She paced quickly and quietly out of her neighborhood and onto the major street it connected to, hoping that in the stillness of the night, that nobody would find her; or if anybody did, that they wouldn’t bother to turn her in to the city’s police department, mainly due to the fact they would most likely turn her back towards her mother, or even into foster care. As a result of this, she felt like nobody truly cared for her, and as a result, she grew heavily depressed due to her loneliness. However, she adjusted to it, and no longer minded it, even if it did hurt every now and then.
Miles passed by with the hours, and Iris didn’t concentrate much on the backdrop of the forested, almost natural town simply named Summerdale. She understood exactly where she was going on foot even without full concentration; photographic memory was a blessing in this sense. But what made her aware of her surroundings was when she looked up towards the darkened sky; a single, “growing” star was the only glinting object. She stopped, wondering if this was the “end of the world” much talked about as an Internet fad, as the “star” grew larger. The object, which glowed with a bright, water-like blue color, fell quickly, and landed a few yards away from her, causing the aura to dim slightly. Anxious, the teen-aged girl quickened her speed and dashed towards the sight of the crash, kneeling down towards the moving form right when she arrived.
“Oh, dear…” a familiar tenor voice exclaimed quietly from within the aura. This puzzled Iris…was this the ghost of her long-lost friend? As she thought of this, her hands motioned forwards the dimming light, which revealed the form of a human boy around her age, possibly even older. Aghast, she helped the young “boy” up, a hand brushing against something soft, much like a feather; it turned out this boy was an angel above anything, which amazed her. But why would such an angel, so handsome and probably so kind, have fallen? Baffled, she rested the unconscious seraph against her lap, only hoping that he hadn’t died or anything.
“Where…am I?” The weakened voice sighed once more after a few silent moments. He sat up almost immediately and turned towards Iris. By now, the aura shimmered once more, yet with a rather dull radiance. Because of this, she now saw his softly waved hair, dark much like hers, and his eyes, brown and wide, stared into hers for a moment with weakness. This caused the mortal girl to pull back for a moment, until she realized that the eyes were not filled with hate. They were, in fact, familiar; even the rather modern clothing of a charcoal-colored shirt and khaki cargo shorts with sandals stood directly in her memory. Noticing his slender build and short height, Iris definitely knew who this was.
“Tim…?” She asked quietly. Tim was her best friend and “brother” for years before he committed suicide over the loss of his girlfriend.
“I was Tim, yes,” he spoke. This confused Iris; wouldn’t have he remembered exactly who she was? “But now, I’m the Archangel over Death. My name is Gabriel…”
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Author's Notes:
§ Yes. For those who have seen Full Moon wo Sagashite, Gabriel is a Western equivalent to a Shinigami, which will still come into detail as the story progresses.
§ Don't worry; a lot of Iris' history has yet to be revealed. I'm not going to unload right after the start of the story.
§ And yes, the ending is a bit of cliffhanger. What will the Archangel have to say to Iris, and what force has brought them together? That and more will be revealed in the next chapter.
Feel free to post any comments, and criticism so long as it is constructive. But if not, until next time!