My name was once Phoebe. I was once an ordinary human girl.
Those are the only details regarding my life as a human, which pass through my mind on a daily basis. I don't care to recall much about my life, much less my death, though many of the yamask living in these ruins want to know. I say that I'll tell them, someday, when I have the strength to confront my past. But, it has been years since I ended up like this, and it seems that that day won't be coming for a long, long time.
I must admit, I feel a little selfish, keeping the details of my past life from the other yamasks, since they have all told me theirs, but perhaps, they simply have more strength than I do. Either that, or they have finally reached the point where they are ready to tell the rest of us. Either way, I envy their strength.
No two stories are the same, in these ruins. We have yamasks who died old, and yamasks who died young. We have yamasks who were loved, and yamasks who weren't. We have yamasks who sinned while they were human, and yamasks who died innocent. Whenever they tell their stories, they get these looks in their eyes, be they wistful, or sorrowful, and we all share in what they've been through.
I remember the first death story I heard. It was from a yamask who once was named Bernie, an office worker, who had a little boy, whom he loved with all his heart. He was working extra hours, so that he could take his little boy and his wife on holiday to Alola, but just when he thought that he'd saved up enough money, a lorry spun out of control and hit him on his way home.
I didn't like that story.
A little later, I heard the story of another, who was once named Erika. She was a talented young pokemon trainer, when she was human, and she was all set to challenge Unova's champion, and take the title for herself, but on the night before the match, she suffered a severe asthma attack.
I didn't like that story either.
And then, one day, I met Betsy. She had died very old, and peacefully, I must add. Not a thing was wrong with her life. She'd died peacefully in her husband's arms, surrounded by her children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren, without a single regret in the world.
I liked that story. I liked it far more than I care to admit. Truth be told, I was actually a little jealous. Maybe, if I hadn't done what I had done, I would have gone on to have a wife. Maybe, I would have died old and surrounded by loved ones, and not alone in a dirty room...
But it's too late for me to be thinking about that.
I go through my days peacefully, as a yamask. I hide away from the hungry eyes of trainers during the day, and at night, I go hunting for berries with the others. Then we eat, and the newer ones tell us their stories. I don't mind living, or rather, not living, like this.
But if I could go back, I would. If I could tell my past self to not do it, I would.
My death...
My death was horrible.
I went back to school after I finished my pokemon journey, because I wanted to be a Nurse Joy. The other kids didn't like me very much; I was bullied near constantly, for being spotty, and having frizzy hair. And then they found out that I was a lesbian. And then I was being assaulted on a damn near daily basis.
My home life wasn't so good, either. I never saw my dad. My mum was always yelling at me. I was truly, and utterly convinced that she didn't love me, and that she was just finding faults in me...
So I ended it all.
Believing that death was my only escape, I hung myself in my room one afternoon. I was convinced that I was free now. Once my soul crossed the Sanzu river, I would be at peace.
But it didn't quite go to plan. Somehow, I became a yamask the instant that I died.
I'll never forget it. My mum coming into my room, seeing my human body hanging from that crudely tied noose, and screaming, as she held me. She begged Arceus to just please give me another chance, as she sobbed into my nightie. She said sorry, and that she loved me, over and over and over again. And then she got on the phone and called dad, and then he started screaming down the phone at her, begging for this all to be some sick joke. It was like I'd killed them, as well as myself.
And I, with my new yamask body, floated away, leaving them to grieve over the old me.
I promise my fellow yamask that I'll tell them this story, one day. But not now. I can't face it now.
Those are the only details regarding my life as a human, which pass through my mind on a daily basis. I don't care to recall much about my life, much less my death, though many of the yamask living in these ruins want to know. I say that I'll tell them, someday, when I have the strength to confront my past. But, it has been years since I ended up like this, and it seems that that day won't be coming for a long, long time.
I must admit, I feel a little selfish, keeping the details of my past life from the other yamasks, since they have all told me theirs, but perhaps, they simply have more strength than I do. Either that, or they have finally reached the point where they are ready to tell the rest of us. Either way, I envy their strength.
No two stories are the same, in these ruins. We have yamasks who died old, and yamasks who died young. We have yamasks who were loved, and yamasks who weren't. We have yamasks who sinned while they were human, and yamasks who died innocent. Whenever they tell their stories, they get these looks in their eyes, be they wistful, or sorrowful, and we all share in what they've been through.
I remember the first death story I heard. It was from a yamask who once was named Bernie, an office worker, who had a little boy, whom he loved with all his heart. He was working extra hours, so that he could take his little boy and his wife on holiday to Alola, but just when he thought that he'd saved up enough money, a lorry spun out of control and hit him on his way home.
I didn't like that story.
A little later, I heard the story of another, who was once named Erika. She was a talented young pokemon trainer, when she was human, and she was all set to challenge Unova's champion, and take the title for herself, but on the night before the match, she suffered a severe asthma attack.
I didn't like that story either.
And then, one day, I met Betsy. She had died very old, and peacefully, I must add. Not a thing was wrong with her life. She'd died peacefully in her husband's arms, surrounded by her children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren, without a single regret in the world.
I liked that story. I liked it far more than I care to admit. Truth be told, I was actually a little jealous. Maybe, if I hadn't done what I had done, I would have gone on to have a wife. Maybe, I would have died old and surrounded by loved ones, and not alone in a dirty room...
But it's too late for me to be thinking about that.
I go through my days peacefully, as a yamask. I hide away from the hungry eyes of trainers during the day, and at night, I go hunting for berries with the others. Then we eat, and the newer ones tell us their stories. I don't mind living, or rather, not living, like this.
But if I could go back, I would. If I could tell my past self to not do it, I would.
My death...
My death was horrible.
I went back to school after I finished my pokemon journey, because I wanted to be a Nurse Joy. The other kids didn't like me very much; I was bullied near constantly, for being spotty, and having frizzy hair. And then they found out that I was a lesbian. And then I was being assaulted on a damn near daily basis.
My home life wasn't so good, either. I never saw my dad. My mum was always yelling at me. I was truly, and utterly convinced that she didn't love me, and that she was just finding faults in me...
So I ended it all.
Believing that death was my only escape, I hung myself in my room one afternoon. I was convinced that I was free now. Once my soul crossed the Sanzu river, I would be at peace.
But it didn't quite go to plan. Somehow, I became a yamask the instant that I died.
I'll never forget it. My mum coming into my room, seeing my human body hanging from that crudely tied noose, and screaming, as she held me. She begged Arceus to just please give me another chance, as she sobbed into my nightie. She said sorry, and that she loved me, over and over and over again. And then she got on the phone and called dad, and then he started screaming down the phone at her, begging for this all to be some sick joke. It was like I'd killed them, as well as myself.
And I, with my new yamask body, floated away, leaving them to grieve over the old me.
I promise my fellow yamask that I'll tell them this story, one day. But not now. I can't face it now.
