Death All Over Again?

     My home – I recognized every inch of it. It has been a long time, and I knew the Pokémon Tower from top to bottom. No one notices me. I am simply a departed soul, resting among the other spirits that had safely come to the tower.
     
     I watch the ghost Pokémon causing mischief among frightened and saddened Trainers. However, I cannot help but feel a pit of amusement for the Pokémon and anger for the Trainers. These Trainers cause these poor Pokémon's' death. They battle and fight to the death until one is the victor. Vicious teams of poachers force legendary Pokémon to battle for them. They capture and torture other Pokémon, and though Trainers are distraught and enraged by the others' ruthless actions, they don't have to feel it.
    
     We feel the pain of being shocked continuously and mindlessly, of being squeezed and smacked and blown to ashes or crushed. They feel nothing like we do. I've yet to see a compassionate Trainer walk in, crippled and broken and torn, with their Pokémon trotting beside them, happy, healthy, and hardly bruised. I've yet to glimpse at the beaten and collapsed Trainer that had risked its life for its Pokémon.
    
     But it is simply common sense, I tell myself. Just humanoid common sense. I would gaze at the Trainers laying their Pokémon to rest for hours until the Pokémon's spirit would rise to the ceiling, and I would welcome it to its newfound shelter. It would smile sweetly, or break out into sudden tears as it watched its two-legged companion head off and leave it, abandon it.
     
     It would never see it again, and that's how the Trainer expressed its farewell.
    
     I'd guide the spirit to the upper floors, away from most Trainers and closer to the Psychics. They were friendlier to the spirits, and always told the Trainers to leave if we disagreed with its presence.
     
     The Psychics rarely fought with other Trainers, and we found it at peace with them when they comforted it us, though we were invisible to their naked eyes. We were once like them, flesh and bone, but now we were just swaths of forgotten mist that would drift slowly away, never to be heard or seen again. Trainers deserved to suffer, I thought, for all they do to us.
     
     I thought differently when a young brown-haired Trainer sluggishly headed up the stairs and to the second floor. The Psychics did not stop him. We silently watched him, and when I squinted, I spotted the spindly pink of a tail – the tail of a Raticate.
     
     This poor Trainer was obviously laying his deceased Raticate to rest. It hung limply in his arms, and when he laid it down, we could see its matted pelt and its bruised arms and scarred snout. Though we had experienced it, we didn't enjoy watching a Trainer pat out the Pokémon's fur and quietly leave it. It was far too depressing to watch another weak soul join the dead. But we realized that it would wake up, joyous and healthy, as it watched its former Trainer head off and conquer fears and achieve dreams of their own. It would weep with glee, but then start sobbing with sadness as it realized their Trainer would not hear them or never get a chance to be there with it.
     
     This spirit came quickly and willingly. It rose beside me and the others, and with our eerie black smiles we greeted it to our humble home. The Raticate acknowledged the greeting with a flick of its ghostly tail and shuffled off. It didn't want to look back, I realized. It simply wanted to remember its Trainer without the sadness. It wanted to remember the good times and smile. I watched it head upstairs to the next floor and disappear.
     
     I turned back now to the Trainer. He had fresh tears clearing the dust in his face, making a path along his cheek. Suddenly, another Trainer appeared up to the floor. The two conversed with the brown-haired, taller Trainer that had lain Raticate to rest standing protectively in front of the dead body. I watched them in silence; the other ghosts that had been with me slowly drifted off into the darker parts of the Tower. I simply floated out in the middle of the room, quietly observing the two Trainers.
     
     Almost as soon as I turned back the two Trainers began battling. A Psychic witnessed my presence and glimpsed at my narrowed eyes. At once, she began rushing through the tombstones to warn the boys off, but I yelped at her and caused her to pause mid-step. She turned to me in puzzlement, but I simply lashed my tail. I wanted to see how these Trainers battled. The aura emanating from the brown-haired Trainer's opponent was bright and excited, confident and strong. There was something I fancied about him. Perhaps he would be the Trainer that I would see walking in, crippled and broken because he had risked a healthy body for a puny animal.
     
     The brown-haired Trainer had meekly thrown a Pokéball. Out popped a Pidgeot, the final evolution of Pidgey and Pidgeotto. I blinked at its health. It was strong, a feather barely touched. Something told me that the Trainer enjoyed having his Raticate alongside him, and that his other Pokémon are rarely touched. His rival sent out a Pikachu. Good choice for a Flying-type Pokémon. I blinked as the battle began. Pikachu used a shocking Thunderbolt attack, and in almost one hit the Pidgeot fainted. But it slowly recovered, crowed at the other Pokémon, and rose into the air in the beginnings of an Aerial Ace. I felt myself rooting for the brown-haired Trainer, the poor Trainer that had lost its friend. Foolish Pidgeot. You should have used a better move. I couldn't stand to see it faint. I hadn't watched a Pokémon battle in a very long time, and how disrespectful it was to battle in the midst of our home.
     
     Aerial Ace struck the Pikachu, and it wheeled backward in surprise. But it recovered swiftly. The brown-haired Trainer gasped and withdrew the Pidgeot. In anticipation, I felt myself falling to the floor so I could walk and observe the battle close-up. The Trainer sent out Growlithe, which should be more effective against a Pikachu. I could see a flash of surprise cross against the opposing Trainer's face. I slowly backed up, watching the battle through narrowed eyes. It passed on quietly, save for the Pokémon's cries. In no time, the brown-haired Trainer was defeated.
     
     I had turned away halfway through the battle. I couldn't take it anymore. As the brown-haired Trainer fought harder and harder with his Pokémon, I could see tears streaming down his face; he looked much like a little boy, alone and scared.
     
     He must have felt that way.
     
     His opponent stood still for a moment and withdrew his Pokémon. He turned and headed upstairs, moving past the Psychics and obliviously traveling through me. I knew what to do next. This Trainer was full of spirit and determination, but he didn't need to go through watching his Pokémon die. The brown-haired Trainer across the room was a quick-witted and intelligent Trainer, but his spirits were heavily wrecked when the heart of his team passed on.
    
     I knew what it felt like. I was the mother of a young Cubone, healthy and strong. It was like a small brown rat. I trained it for as long as I lived, but when that sickness took over my body, I began to tremble and couldn't stop. My poor child would try to take care of me, but he was far too young.
   
     When I left him he browsed over my skeleton and snatched my skull right out of place. He's worn it atop his head and has gotten stronger ever since. I sucked in a breath at the memory, but shook my head and looked to the stairs.
    
     Yes, I knew what I was to do.
     
     I will wait for the opponent of the brown-haired boy and battle him myself.
     
     I need to know if he's worthy enough to have set foot in this tower, the tower where Trainers should stop coming to. Pokémon shouldn't die this much because of battles and poachers. If he wasn't worthy, and he came for no reason and disturbed our rest… Well, then he'll be trapped up here forever, with us. He'll feel us. He'll understand our reasoning for hating Trainers and their lust for victory and battle.
     
     There comes that thought again: Perhaps it's just a humanoid thing to train and battle with Pokémon. But I doubted it.
     
     A while of traveling had passed, and I was growing tired. By the looks on the Trainer, I could tell he was, too, growing tired. He finally approached the staircase I stood in front of. He was exhausted, as was I, but I was ready to fight, to show him my true form, to prove that I wasn't just forgotten vapor in a haunted dark tower – to prove I was more than that, and to test If he is more than he may feel.
     
     He approached the staircase, but a flash of black caught his eye. I was slowly becoming visible, and to his eyes, I looked much like a ghastly swath of glistening purple mist. But I am much more. I am so much more than transparent vapor making the room darker.
     
     Instantly he knew he was to battle, so he sent out his Pikachu. He had a deep connection with it,  I knew – he hardly ever withdrew it from his Pokéball. I revealed myself after a few rounds of Thunderbolts and dodging. The Trainer was stunned to find the ghost of a Marowak standing before him, bone in hand and tail whipping challengingly back and forth. A switch turned on inside the Trainer's mind – it was trying to weaken me so it could capture me in a Pokéball. Silly Trainer! Didn't it understand that I could simply shoot the Pokéball back?
     
     It was a very simple battle, and I had been wrong when I thought the Trainer was skillful, compassionate, and witty. He was a complete idiot through my black eyes. He was persistent; continuously tossing Pokéballs at me and having them fly back at his arm. I marveled at his strength, but    I didn't give in. I kept battling until the Pikachu landed a powerful Thunderbolt. Even though it wasn't at all effective, it sent me backward, and I fell to the ground, weakened and tired. I began to rise; preparing a Bone Club attack, I shifted to my side, but Pikachu reached me first and shocked me until I felt my legs tremble and my arms go numb. Pikachu saw that it had weakened me, and backed up beside its Trainer. Whilst the Pokémon pulled at its Trainer's pants, the Trainer crouched down to level with me and smiled. I lay at his shoes, breathing softly and smiling back at him.
     
     Since that day I have been at peace with the other deceased Pokémon in the tower. Trainers were allowed upstairs as long as they were silent and kept peace with us as well. The Psychics left the Tower one-by-one, and soon, the Tower began to decay. Trainers stopped coming. The spirits were all confused, especially Raticate and I. We were puzzled and wanted to know why the Trainers had left the Tower to rot and tumble down.
     
     Suddenly, it happened. The building was actually torn down by human hands and machinery, by cruel humans that had disobeyed the law of the dead and completely ignored the fact that beloved Pokémon lay to sleep in that Tower. The wild Pokémon eventually fled, and the spirits were left alone.
     
     I became enraged when our home had turned to complete rubble. The humans transformed it into a Radio Tower, and the remains of the Pokémon Tower had been used for a building called Pokémon House. We didn't like it there. It was far too small, and hardly any Trainer visited to reassure the spirits.
     
     Feeling forgotten and betrayed, we, the afterlife, went to find a new place, somewhere far from where I had met that Trainer with the Pikachu, the Trainer with the dead Raticate, and the Psychics.
     
     We've housed in a new resting place now. Over time, the Kanto region changed greatly, so I'd heard. Cinnabar Island had been destroyed due to a volcano eruption, and Team Rocket had completely overrun the region. We didn't wish to go there. We enjoyed it here in the silent, spiraled building called Celestial Tower, where a bell rests at the top, awaiting a Trainer's bare hand, awaiting its ring, so that we, the spirits, may be at peace.
     
     Some Pokémon poachers arrived one evening. They ran hurriedly upstairs, devices clasped in their arms.
     
     'Marowak…' I turned as I heard Raticate's frightened squeak behind me. 'Marowak, get those people out of here. I sense evilness within them. They are not welcome.'
     
     Silently, I nodded, drifting carefully over their heads until they reached the last staircase. They didn't stop at all. They trampled over graves and shoved through tombstones like they were nothing, and I could not stand to have my sight on them any longer. I made my body visible, and floated directly in their way. To my relief, they all paused in front of me, exchanging words of confusion at this unknown, ghostly Pokémon.
     
     "Move it, you dumb ghost," one of them sneered, attempting to pass me. Bam, Bone Club. They reeled back in shock.
     
     "Don't you dare try to damage a high-ranking Team Plasma member," he hissed. Bone Club again, and this time, he toppled down the staircase in pain, holding his head with his hand with a moan. Another stepped forward, some type of dark Pokéball in his hand. In seconds they had all crowded  around me.
     
     'Don't get close to me,' I warned in a deep, threatening tone. I retracted the club and held in threateningly between my claws. 'Don't you dare get close to me.'
     
     "So you talk and throw powerful moves," a woman chuckled. "What makes you think we won't try and catch you." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement, a demand. I prepared my Bone Club.
     
     "Oh, that won't be necessary dear," she grinned, swiping the bone I'd found out of my hand. I growled at her, attempting to reach for it again, but she ducked and managed to toss the bone at me, which smacked my head. I was stunned. They were powerful poachers.
     
     "Going to give up yet, dear?"
     
     'Of course not. This is our tower. Get out, before you're trapped here.'
     
     "We're not going to get trapped in this stupid Pokémon tower. We have our own ways out, dumb spirit."
     
     'Don't call a deceased Pokémon dumb. You know very well that we are the exact opposite of that.'
    
     "So you're dumber."
     
     'Don't get smart with me, Trainer.'
    
      "I'll get as smart as I want, Pokémon filth."
     
     And with that, she ducked to the side and a man tossed the dark Pokéball I'd seen earlier at me. In no time dark engulfed me and I felt my breath dying down, my body curling up.
     
     Death all over again? To be truthful, I don't know, and still don't know what went on. This wasn't a Pokéball. This wasn't home. I heard nothing except my own thoughts, my own burning rage and terror.
     
     Then all I remembered was pitch blackness, and I didn't see anything. Not my own body, not Raticate, not those poachers, and not even the darkness. I heard nothing, not my thoughts any longer, or my slightly breathing or voices outside whatever I was in.
     
     Death all over again? I'm sure.