NOTE:  Background music is essential to getting the feel of this particular chapter.  Without it, you won't get the intended reaction, so please listen up!  BEFORE you read it, please download either sadbrock.wav or sadbrock2.wav (the first one is very emotional, the second is a little less so), your choice, but I recommend the first one ^_^.  Then, open it using a sound player that can loop the file.   Got it? Don't play it just yet, though.   When you see the first set of stars in the chapter (it looks like this: *****) then play the file, and you're all set!

Chapter Eight

In the morning, Brock was sitting in the kitchen, thinking pensively to himself.  The head pains were growing both in number, and in magnitude.

I wonder how much more of it I can take? he thought worriedly to himself.

Marian appeared in the doorway and noticed his sad expression. She tried to pipe her voice up, even though she knew what he was thinking.

"Good morning, Brock! You’re sure up early!" she said, smiling.

"U-uh, good morning, Marian," he replied, distracted from his thoughts. He looked up and smiled in response. "Sleep well, I hope?"

"Yes, and you?" she asked.

"…F-fine," he said, shortly. He cleared his throat and regained his happy composure. "Would you like to go out for a walk again today?"

Marian approached him and winked. "That sounds like a lot of fun!" she said. "I’ll make a picnic lunch! I’ll just get some ingredients, and we’ll be all set!" She went to open a cabinet next to her, and a small camera fell out as she opened it.

"Oh!" she giggled, "so that’s where I left it!"

Brock immediately saw a window of opportunity. "Hey, why don’t we take a picture?" he grinned.

"That’s a good idea," she replied, "but who’ll take the picture?"

Just then, Oddish came bounding into the room with a loud "Oddish!"

"Oddish," Marian fakely scolded, "were you listening to our conversation?"

Oddish covered its face with a leaf, but Marian and Brock laughed. Marian handed the camera to Oddish, who maneuvered it so that its large petals held the camera firmly. Marian moved over to Brock, and he blushed profusely.

"Ok, Oddish!" Marian called out. Marian took Brock’s hand in the sort of pose you’d see in a prom picture. Brock looked down at Marian, and she looked up at him, gazing prettily at his blushing expression. She tightened her grip around him, turning the pose into more of a hug. Brock looked surprised, but instead embraced her in the same way, entranced by her eyes as they held each other closely, wrapped up in a moment of unexpected happiness. Oddish snapped the shot, and smiled, pleased with its picture-taking talent.

When it was over, Brock stared at Marian, and they spent a short while simply looking into each other’s eyes. They leaned closer to one another, about to kiss when…

A sharp jolt raced through Brock’s head. A huge surge of pain throbbed in his brain, and he nearly fell over, but was supported by Marian, who held him up. He gasped for air as he struggled to regain control.

"Brock?! Are you all right??" Marian yelled out, alarmed. He gripped his head with his hands, but knew he was losing the struggle. He forced himself to open his eyes long enough to look at Marian.

"M-marian... " he murmured, and the passed out.

"No... Brock? Brock?!" she said, shaking him. Frantically, she took his upper body and motioned for Oddish to pick up his lower body as they carried him to his room.

*****

Brock found himself neither in a dark area, nor in his mind. It was like somewhere in between, where his waking thoughts met with his past memories. He felt old experiences rush up to him, the way they do when you open up an old photo album.

For some odd reason, he was instantly reminded of his childhood. In the haze of his mind’s images, Brock could see the memories of his past resurface. He remembered when he was young, before his siblings were born, and his parents were still together. They would take him to the park regularly, and as he played in the sand box, they would sit on the bench nearby, gazing at the red hues of the fading sun, his father holding his mother close, gazing at each other silently, and holding each other’s hands. He would look at their silhouette, like two lovebirds, inseparable and very affectionate for each other.

His mind flashed forward to many years later, in his early teens, when his birthday had come up. Everyone gathered gleefully around the cake, and his mother presented him with a handmade gift. He always loved her gifts. As he opened it, his eyes widened in joy. It was a beautifully stitched green vest, lightly padded on the inside, and complete with several sets of pockets to store his pokeballs and various other things. Right then and there, she knew he had fallen in love with her present, and as he hugged her for it, he felt like nothing in the world could take away his happiness.

Then his mind solemnly remembered those tough years later on, near when his mother had died. His father was gone, off becoming a pokemon trainer, and Brock did his best to help his mother keep their home from falling apart. He tried to burden himself with all of the work, so that his mother could rest, but she insisted on helping him. He remembered her kind smile as she watched him, her hard-working son, cleaning and taking care of his siblings. The pride in her for her child made her eyes glow softly, and she knew that he loved her very much.

But she would not look that way forever. In the months that followed, she had fallen ill with some sickness that Brock had never seen before. He put her to bed and tried to care for her, but as each week passed, her face grew more and more pale.

Brock grew afraid, and as he entered her room each day to bring her breakfast and check her temperature, he was deathly fearful that he would find her lifeless body laying on the bed, devoid of all life and spirit. He began panicking, and his eyes had grown smaller and sad, from the weariness and struggle he had been going through, battling with himself to stay strong in the situation. My family... needs me, he thought. My... mother needs me... I can’t let her down. She would look at him warmly, no matter how ill her face appeared, and he would sit and talk with her about what he had done that day, and what was going on outside. Her smile kept him going, and assured him that things would work out.

But then one day, they didn’t. He had come into her room, and it was deathly silent. He dropped the tray of food and rushed over to her bed. He shook in terror and crouched beside her. His mother managed to barely turn her head and look at him, a beautiful, sad smile that looked deep within him. Brock felt his eyes brim with tears as he grabbed her hands.

"Mom, Mom... are you ok??" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.

"B-Brock," she whispered, "I’ve always loved you, son. No mother could be prouder. But... I can’t be with you... forever." Her eyes gave off a faint twinkle, like a glint at the end of a dark tunnel. "I-I don’t think I’m going to be able to make those riceballs with you... a-anymore," she managed to say quietly.

"Please, Mom, don’t say that," Brock pleaded, "you’ll be fine... please, don’t talk like that..." Her hand reached over to his cheek that was wet from crying.

"You’re a v-very special boy, Brock," she said, coughing, "someday, you’ll find someone who knows that…" She stroked his hair gently, the way she used to when he was young. He closed his eyes and felt it, as he remembered how things had once been, when life wasn’t so... complicated. Then, after a short while, the stroking stopped. He opened his eyes, and saw that his mother had closed her eyes, her hand had dropped to her side, and all was quiet. His red eyes shot open, and he shook his mother.

"Mom?! ... MOM?!?! ... Wake up! Wake up, damn it, WAKE UP!!! PLEASE!!" he yelled, water rushing from his eyes. "Don’t do this… no... don't do this to me... please, GOD, NOOO!!!!! WAKE UP!!! MOM!!!"  Weary from shaking her and yelling, he collapsed into her arms, sobbing violently, his chest heaving. He fell to the floor, weeping uncontrollably, grief staining his face and his pained eyebrows, gagging on his flood of teardrops. His small siblings entered the room softly. They looked at their lifeless mother, and then at the young man who was racked with sobs. They ran to him, hugging him tightly, and their chorus of tears and cries filled the hollow room.

*****

My... mother, he thought to himself. Why did she die? He never knew. He felt alone in the nothingness, in his thoughts. After his mother's death, he had grown cold to the outside world, using his gym battles to release his fury at an unjust world, and more importantly, to his father for having abandoned them when his mother had needed him the most. He loved his brothers and sisters dearly, and strived to care for them as well as his mother had before. But as he thought back to that moment, a twinge of grief struck his stomach. To this day, he still blamed himself for his mother’s death.

If I had only been able to help her, he thought. I was there, and I couldn’t do anything, not anything! It's my fault she died... my fault... all... my fault...

As he thought this, he felt a soft hand stroke his hair, and it reminded him of his mother’s soft touch. It was gentle, and it helped to sooth his savage grief.

"It’s not your fault," an echoed voice said softly. "You couldn’t stop the illness. No one could... Don’t blame yourself. Your mother didn’t."

As he reached out his senses, he felt the hand stroking his hair wasn’t a dream. He struggled to regain consciousness, and his eyes fluttered open. A blurry image gazed down at him, and as his eyes focused, he could see Marian looking down at him sadly.

"M-marian…" he murmured. "H-how did you know what I was dreaming about?" His head still throbbed slightly from the earlier attack.

Her hand caressed his hair delicately, as her face tried to smile warmly at him, masking her somber feelings.

She drew up her breath and quietly replied, "I think it’s time that I told you the truth."