Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Rocks, Rags, and Everything Sweet ❯ One-Shot

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Rocks, Rags, and Everything Sweet

First of all, though I wrote this story, it is not technically mine. It belongs
to my bestest-friend actual-chan, since it is his birthday present. So, for
instance, if he finds it painfully bad, then at his request I will delete all
remnants of it from the internet and my hard drive to save any remaining sanity
in the world. So, sorry it's pointless, sorry it's lame, but happy birthday
anyways. Many many hugs, and, again, I must say; thanks for finding me.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Something is not quite right. I can tell.

Perhaps it was the strong, stinging smell of disinfectant, or maybe it was the
way subtle spots of foam would form when I swished the prickly brush back and
forth...? Honestly, I couldn't say exactly what it was that triggered this bout
of apprehension, but it hit me pretty hard.

Kneeling on the cold bathroom floor (yes, odd how bathroom floors are constantly
cold), lazily working my way through the task of 'cleaning the toilets', I
couldn't help but wonder how I got in this fix; especially since I barely remember
waking up...



I was prodded repeatedly in the arm with something blunt; an appendage, I think;
an elbow, a finger.

"Wake up...come on...it's your birthday..." Someone hissed in my ear. It sounded
like it was coming from some major distance of a couple miles, but I'm reasoning
that it must've been only a few inches. But, one way or another, at the two words
'your birthday' everything came rushing back: the excitement, the anticipation,
presents, cake, and everything sweet. I had actually wanted this day to come, and,
finally, it was here.

Without any more delay my eyes snapped open, and I suddenly felt quite awake.
Misty's blue eyes stared back, an amused grin forming on her face before she
yanked me -- and everything else on top of my bed in the process -- onto the
floor. It took a while to untangle the massive morass of sheets, blankets,
pillows, and twisted clothing that made up my cocoon, but I eventually managed to
sit up. She was still grinning, so I smiled back; a very stupid-looking, awkward
smile, I'd imagine. However, it didn't seem to matter to her, and she just stood
up and moved towards the door.

"Hurry up and get ready...you get to clean the toilets!"

Misty left after that, letting the shock of it all sink in. I get to clean the
toilets? What, is it now a privilege? I promptly reinserted myself into the
'massive tangle' and rolled under the bed.



The at-least-slightly-amusing foam was dying down with each of my lazy swishes.
So, reluctantly, I took the prickly brush out and flushed the toilet, deciding to
consider it clean. Hey, at least is smelled clean. Though, technically, the
disinfectant just disabled all noses within a 2-mile radius.

There were only two toilets in my house, and I was now done with both...an hour
after I started. But, you see, I did this on purpose; the longer I take to do a
menial task like cleaning the toilets, the less time there will be for Misty to
make me do harder stuff.

"Pikapi?"

My longtime yellow-haired companion ambled casually into the bathroom.
"Shh...don't make any noise...I don't want Misty to find me..."

With extreme stealth, I slithered into my bedroom -- a mere four yards away -- on
my stomach. Pikachu followed, though I don't know why. I'd have taken advantage
of that small size and wedged myself between the washer and dryer. Actually,
anything but tagging along behind its rubber-gloved trainer would've been smart.

Under the sink had always been one of my most favorite places to hide, but,
unfortunately, that was not an option for two reasons: #1) Misty was down there
and #2) I'd outgrown it. So, yet again, I rolled under the bed, stuffing my
comforter and other assorted bed-items in front of me.

"Chaa!" My little rodent-friend cried, in a mix of sadness and confusion. Not
that I could blame it, though. I too was utterly confused.

"What're you looking at Pikachu?"

Oh no. It was Misty.

Quickly, I closed my eyes and curled up into a tiny ball. Hopefully she wouldn't
see me...

I heard a shuffling of fabric, felt a bit of fresh air, and-

"Ash! Cut that out...we have more cleaning to do."

"But...but..." I protested, pouting and trying to look as pathetic as possible,
"It's my birthday. I should be sitting around eating junk food and watching TV..."

Misty scowled, "Who said it was your birthday?"

"You did, this morning. Plus, I know when my own birthday is, Misty."

"Uhh...I didn't say anything. You must've dreamt it."

This made me even more confused...especially since this morning's events were
becoming foggier, and foggier. Damn that disinfectant.

But, I quickly figured out a way to solve all this, "Where's my mom? She'll tell
you that it's my birthday today."

"Shopping. Brock went with her too." A subtle cringe could be seen on her face,
"You know he's into that 'cooking' stuff."

Well, there went my solution. However, I still had a pretty good idea that today,
was, indeed, the day of my birth. But, before I could begin to argue my point,
Misty snatched my still-rubber-gloved-hand and started dragging me downstairs.
This was one instance where those nasty gloves actually came in handy, since I
was able to slip all my fingers out, and zip off towards the door. All she had
was an empty glove.

Without delay, I rolled under my bed again, clinging to the bottom. And, as I
suspected, Misty was right on my heels. I didn't really expect her to literally
grab my heels though. But, she did, and started yanking in a series of sharp tugs,
which were accentuated with,
"I. Will. Not. Clean. This. Whole. House. By. My. Self."

My whole bunk bed swayed, squeaking, creaking. I could feel my ribs drifting
further, and further apart, my shoulders on the brink of popping out of their
sockets. Particles of dust from the bottom of my bed started to move; I sneezed.
I sneezed again. Then, without warning, I blinked. But...it was a little too late.

"Ah! Dammit! My eye!"

The tugging and recitation stopped.

"Your...eye?"

Apparently Misty had never had something fall randomly into her eye before, and
could not comprehend the annoying, gritting pain.

"Grr...yes! My eye! There is something in my eye!"

My half-rubber-gloved-grip dissolved, and, slowly this time, Misty pulled me out.

"Which one is it?"

Though I couldn't actually see with both eyes clenched shut, it sounded like she
was at least a little concerned. You never can tell with her though. She could
just be faking innocence.

"Oh...I don't really know...perhaps it's the one that's watering profusely!"

I'm pretty sure Misty rolled her eyes at my comment. Just the way she inhaled,
then sighed slowly. That sound always seemed to go in tandem with that whole 'eye
rolling' bit.

"Well, open it. Let me see."

It just so happened to be my left eye that was reacting in the ever-so-lovely
'watering profusely' manner. I could feel the flood of tears overflowing my eye
socket, dripping down the left side of my face, into my hair. Also -- I had to
admit -- my eye was feeling better. Perhaps nothing really was in there...maybe I
was just imagining it...

Slowly, I raised both eyelids. My right one felt fine, since it was perfectly
normal. But, the whole 'let's open the left eye' idea was a bad one...a very bad
one. Not only did it hurt, it stung, itched, scraped, tore, and chemically burned.
Well...maybe not that bad, but it still hurt.

Thank you for the birthday present, oh bunk bed of mine. I've always wanted a
nice piece of gravel imbedded into my eye.

"Ash...you have to keep it open."

She was hovering above me. I could tell now, since I kept my right eye open.

"No. It hurts."

"Fine then. If you want to spend all day with only one eye open, that's fine with
me. I really don't care. Come on then and dry the dishes."

Again, she started to yank me up off the floor, and out the door.

"No, no..." I paused, trying to make up my mind, "Okay...I'll let you look at it."



Turns out I wasn't exaggerating when I thought there was a piece of gravel in my
eye. Sure enough, there was. Though, technically, it was more like an oversized
grain of sand. After many eye drop doses -- which involved Misty pinning me down,
holding my eye open, and instructing me repeatedly not to blink -- the hellish
rock-thing finally decided to come out.

My eye still watered though, and I tried to use it as an excuse to render me
disabled for dish-drying duty. I know mom would've given in...at least for 15
minutes or so. But not with Misty...oh no; she is, was, and always will be an
entirely different breed...



I really don't know how I manage it. But, no matter what, whenever I wash
-- or dry -- dishes I always end up soaking wet. Add that on to the fact that I
hadn't eaten a thing all day and you get one thing: misery.

"But Misty, I'm starving...can't I just make myself a sandwich...?"

Drool seeped out of the corner of my mouth for added effect and sympathy.

"No. We just got the kitchen all clean and I don't want it messed up. There are
some granola bars in the cupboard and some celery in the fridge. Eat that."

"But those are my mom's icky, all-natural, organic granola bars. They taste like
sawdust and sour milk. And I don't like celery...it gets stuck in my teeth."

I hunched over, pouting, whining; I was sure she'd have to give in.

"Starve then. It's not going to kill you."

It wasn't any use. Though it was my house, though it was my birthday, somehow,
she still had ultimate authority. Okay, so I was a bit taller than her now...and
probably a bit stronger...but...but...she just has that way with blunt objects...
Lying comatose in a hospital is not the ultimate birthday present; believe me.

I ended up eating the celery. After all...there would be cake later...



"Okay, you have a choice; vacuum the whole house, or dust the whole house."

In one hand she held the vacuum, in the other was a wad of dusting rags.

Now, to me, vacuuming should be considered a sin. It takes so little brainpower
to operate that you could practically suck up the whole world without noticing.
I've sucked up poor Pikachu's tail so many times; my furry little friend always
scrambles up the drainpipe and onto the roof whenever I turn a vacuum on. Trying
to count the ranting sessions from my mother on 'being careful not to suck up the
tablecloth or other various knickknacks' would be asinine. Plus, I've totally
demolished many of my good Pokémon cards with that cleaning instrument from hell.

"I'll dust."



In one hand was the Wad 'O Dust Rags. In the other, a nice assortment of dusting
sprays; one for wood, one for electronics, and one for glass. I was almighty and
powerful.

It's such a simple process, and perhaps that's why it's partially fun. Spray on
the dusting stuff, wipe one of the many rags over the surface, and it's all shiny
and clean. It's very rewarding actually, since you can actually see the results.
Never mind the fact that 70% of the dust doesn't actually cling to your lovely
rag and escapes back into the air, to once again rest on your newly-dusted
surface exactly six hours later. It still brought joy.

So I dusted. I dusted happily -- though unwillingly -- while the familiar humming
of the vacuum filled up any spaces left for unproductiveness to breed.

I hurried along, the task becoming monotonous. Snickers had to be stifled
whenever I saw Misty. She had that all-too-familiar scowl on her face. Mom always
had one when she vacuumed, and it took me forever to figure out why. We already
know the task is dull. It drives one to the peaks of insanity and back again,
easily, willingly. So, there has to be some counter-task to perform at the same
time to prevent oneself from either a) falling asleep, b) sucking up the world,
c) going insane or d) all of the above. So someone invented the scowl. Because, you
see, if you concentrating on constantly frowning, and trying to look like you're
really thinking about vacuuming (which, we all know, is not true) you prevent
d) all of the above.

Misty knew the trick; Pikachu was safe.

So, I pretended to cough, considered it a snicker, and continued dusting.



I finished before Misty did. And, honestly, it didn't surprise me. I was fast
when it came to housework, chores, or cleaning. Problem is, no one ever
appreciated it.

Oh well. I certainly did.

So, being done and all, I settled down on the couch -- all sprawled out, head on
the armrest. This is how it was supposed to be...from the first second I woke up.
Slowly, I could feel myself relaxing, bones settling back in their proper
positions, my eyes drifting shut...a poke in the stomach...

"What!?" I sort of screamed...

Misty yawned first, before answering, "You missed a spot. Over there."

She was pointing to the windowsill. Now, there is logic in dusting normal
windowsills, since they do get dusty, but she was pointing to the only window in
the house that was eight feet up, directly above the door.

"Misty..." I groaned, "You can't even see it...it doesn't matter..."

I turned over, settling myself down again-

"Dust it now Ash, or I'll-"

Now typically here is where the threat would come in, or the raised mallet, or my
interjection of, "Okay, okay!" But not today; not today, because today was my
birthday. Today Misty yawned.

Then she groaned. She groaned and slid down beside the couch, leaning against it,
sprawled out. Her eyes were unusually blue as she looked up; a pitiful look,
exactly like the one I'd subjected her to earlier.

"It's been a long day...hasn't it?"

Was I really hearing this? Windowsill forgotten; yay for me -- I nodded.

"Sorry..."

I stared at her, sort of disbelieving, I suppose. For a second I thought of
answering her with, "You're Welcome", or, better yet, "Thank you", but didn't
want to risk ruining the moment. Silence was best now; silence, and staring.

Misty continued, "Your mom said she had shopping to do, and didn't think she'd
have time to clean. So, she asked me. I didn't want to say no, and I figured I'd
make Brock do most of the work anyway, so I agreed. Then Brock went with her,
last minute. I hate housework -- Daisy constantly made me clean the kitchen, and
it never seemed to stay clean -- so I just sort of got you to help too..."

"Wait a minute..." I paused, sorting out my next words, making sure I said them
slowly so I got the whole point across, without any tangles, "You don't like
cleaning?"

Misty closed her eyes; shook her head, "I would've thought that that'd be clear,
since I was yanking you out from under the bed...making sure you did the work..."

"Oh. Yeah."

I blinked, "You could've asked, you know."

Though she was still sprawled out, limp, she laughed; full, with animation, and a
true smile. I couldn't help but smile back, though I was sure it wasn't nearly as
bright or amusing.

"And, being Ash, you would have said no."

Now, I smirked, "Right."

Only now did I notice how late it was. The sun was almost completely down, the
day ending. My day. My birthday.

It sure didn't feel right. I knew something wasn't quite right from the moment I
woke up. Somehow I just knew I wouldn't get cake, or ice cream, or presents. I'd
end up on the couch, exhausted, slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Happy 16th Birthday Ash."

Oh yeah, with my best friend falling asleep right next to me.

The thought was calming...my breathing slowed...she tugged my arm...

Whispering, "I...uh...didn't get you a present."

My reluctant eyes finally gave in, and I stared at her, yet again. Misty was
there, one hand still holding my arm, eyes shifting and looking ashamed. So I
smiled, hoping she'd see, and know that I didn't care; I wasn't mad...I wasn't
mad about anything today.

"I'll take a rain check."

She grinned, and then slowly closed her eyes; face relaxing, breathing slowing. I
too felt my weary eyelids drop, and was instantly engulfed by the blackness. And
yet, for some reason, I noticed that she was still clinging to my arm. Wait...not
anymore; her grip was loosening, her hand sliding down; past my elbow, past my
wrist, but no more. I held on. I felt her limp hand tighten in mine. Her
breathing never changed.

Then I fell asleep, knowing she was there, knowing she was holding on too...
knowing that everything was right again.



Turns out my mother and Brock went all the way to Celadon by train, and missed
the one coming back. They had to wait four hours for the next one, and by then,
they were already extremely late; they weren't home until close to midnight.

Mom apologized profusely, and promised me a perfect birthday still, even though
it wasn't technically my birthday anymore.

So we had the cake; a rich, creamy, chocolate cake. Four different ice creams
went with it, and I had a bit of each. There were also mounds of presents;
everything from a new Game Boy Advance, to a pair of socks. And absolutely no
chores. No toilet cleaning, no dish drying, no dusting.

And yet, for some reason, something wasn't quite right.

I just laughed, glanced at Misty, and then helped myself to another piece of cake.


end