Sterling's Purpose || Episode 1

BGM: https://youtu.be/Q4P-AOiGNb4 ("Vigil" By Jack Wall)

I wasn't always the toughest person around. In fact, I was the embodiment of meekness and timidity, a person lost in the depths of their own insecurities. I was what society deemed as a stereotypical NEET, a young man without ambition or direction, living a solitary existence within the confines of my own room. Days merged into one another, blending into a monotonous haze of online forums and virtual escapades. But life has a way of surprising us, jolting us out of our comfort zones. One fateful day, as I returned home from another uninspiring high school lecture, the weight of my peers' mocking words clinging to my consciousness, my world shifted abruptly. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that would forever be etched into the recesses of my mind. I stumbled upon a nightmarish tableau of chaos and despair. There, in the dimly lit kitchen, my drunkard of a father loomed over my younger sister and mother, both lying motionless on the floor. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the suffocating air, as crimson pools painted a horrifying tableau of violence and pain.

As a backdrop to this, I must shed light on the trauma my father endured over the past decade. A relentless series of heartaches had stripped him of everything he held dear, leaving behind a landscape of desolation. His parents, once pillars of strength and wisdom, had departed this world, leaving a void in his soul that could never be filled. The loss of his job, a blow to his pride and sense of purpose, further eroded his spirit. And to compound the anguish, half of his siblings had also slipped away, like fading stars in a darkened sky.

Amidst this relentless storm, our family clung to a thread of hope, teetering on the precipice of financial ruin. The specter of losing our cherished home loomed menacingly, casting a shadow of uncertainty over our future. Through it all, my mother stood as a beacon of unwavering support, her resilience and unconditional love guiding us through the darkest of nights. She was known in our community as an angel, her compassion and grace shining like a halo. It was a mystery to me how my father had managed to secure such a treasure in his life.

However, the weight of these tribulations had chipped away at my father's sanity, slowly eroding his grasp on reality. He had reached a breaking point, a threshold where the pain of his perceived losses had twisted his mind into a grotesque parody of the man I once knew. The specifics of what triggered this final descent into madness remained elusive, as my father guarded his secrets with a haunting silence.

Over the course of the past half year, the transformation of my father had been profound and unsettling. A once loving and gentle soul had morphed into an entity that was the antithesis of everything he once stood for. The change was stark, his demeanor becoming sharply twisted, with every interaction laced with a palpable tension and an air of impending doom. It was as if a malevolent force had possessed him, driving him to acts of unspeakable cruelty and violence.

And now, standing before me, was the culmination of his dark metamorphosis. The scene that unfolded was grotesque, the aftermath of his final transformation. It was a chilling testament to the depths of his torment, etching an indelible mark upon my consciousness. My heart shattered into a million fragments as I confronted the devastating reality that the man who had once been my father was now an embodiment of despair, chaos, and irreparable loss.

BGM: https://youtu.be/7RejxVOllTk ("Elizabeth" By G. Schyman and J. Bonney -Sadler)

I stood frozen in the doorway, the weight of my backpack slipping from my shoulder and crashing onto the floor, shattering the heavy silence that hung in the air. The sound reverberated through the room, an unwelcome intrusion upon the eerie stillness. It startled my father, who turned his head slowly, his gaze falling upon me with an unsettling calmness.

"How was school today, Son?" His voice, laced with an icy detachment, pierced through the air, as if oblivious to the irreversible act he had committed.

His words hung in the space between us, a fragile façade of normalcy that threatened to crumble at any moment. How could he ask such a question? How could he pretend that everything was alright, as if the scene of horror I had just stumbled upon could be brushed aside? Words failed me. I stood there, speechless, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. I struggled to process the unfathomable reality before me, as if my brain were desperately attempting to shield itself from the monstrous truth. The world around me blurred, the echoes of his voice mingling with the cacophony of my own racing thoughts.

My ears filled with a deafening ringing, drowning out his continued words. The intensity of the sound matched the chaos that raged within me. Why was the ringing so loud? It seemed to echo the disarray of my emotions, amplifying the dissonance that reverberated through every fiber of my being. And yet, amidst the turmoil, I couldn't escape the piercing gaze of my father, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and accusation. Why was he mad at me? What had I done to incur his wrath? The weight of his anger bore down upon me, exacerbating the sense of helplessness that already consumed me. I wanted him to see, to truly see what lay before him, to acknowledge the unfathomable pain and devastation that his actions had caused.
But his gaze remained fixed upon me, his attention misdirected, and his perception distorted. In that moment, it became painfully clear that my presence had become an inconvenient reminder of the monstrous transformation he had undergone. My existence, once a source of love and warmth, now seemed to incite his ire and fuel his rage.

I began to move forward, my steps slow and methodical, as if in a trance-like state. Each inch I covered in the kitchen brought forth a flood of memories, fragments of a past that seemed like a distant dream. I absorbed the surroundings, allowing the familiar sights and objects to etch themselves into my mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia. One of which was an ode to our best vacation ever.
Images from long ago started to seep into my consciousness, like flickering frames of a forgotten film reel. I remembered that one summer at the beach, when laughter echoed in the salty air and happiness danced on the waves. My sister and I would spend hours combing the shore, collecting seashells of various shapes and sizes. The warmth of the sun painted our skin, and our hearts were lit with the joy of youth.
In that distant memory, I recalled a peculiar find—a clam washed ashore, its shell bearing a crack that almost formed a smiley face. It had amused us all, a whimsical anomaly in the vastness of the ocean. My sister, innocent and tender-hearted, held it from the opposite end, her young eyes filling with tears. To her, the crack resembled a frown, and she couldn't bear the thought of a sad clam. We chuckled at her earnestness, the simplicity of her emotions bringing warmth to our hearts.

Those good times, once a source of unbridled happiness, now mingled with a tinge of melancholy. They made me happy, or at least they used to. The weight of the present reality threatened to overshadow those fleeting moments of bliss, casting a shadow over the joy that once resided within me. It was in this fragile state of reminiscence that a laugh escaped my lips, an almost involuntary reaction to the surge of emotions.
I failed to realize that my laughter permeated the air, filling the space around me. The sound, unrestrained and raw, escaped my control, carrying with it a mix of pain, longing, and a desperate attempt to find solace. In that moment, I no longer cared whether my father could hear my laughter or not. The walls that had once shielded my vulnerability had crumbled, leaving me exposed and raw.

BGM: https://youtu.be/XWVij6r4QBw ("You were there" By Michiru Ōshima)

The desire to retreat into the recesses of my mind grew stronger, like an instinctual need to find shelter from the storm raging around me. I longed for the solace that resided within the confines of my own thoughts, a temporary respite from the chaos that enveloped my reality. If only I could crawl inside my head, seeking refuge in the fragments of memories and the sanctuary of my own inner world.

My father's head tilted sideways, his expression contorting as if he had been insulted by an offensive phrase or word. With an air of authority, he closed the distance between us, his steps deliberate and purposeful, resembling the leader of a gang commanding his followers. I met his gaze, my eyes locking with his, and a wave of intimidation washed over me, amplifying his already imposing stature. In that moment, the few inches that separated us felt like an insurmountable chasm.

"What's the joke, Sterling.? I asked you one, no, several questions." His voice dripped with anger and disappointment, his words like shards of glass aimed at my heart.
It was as if my laughter had cut through the fragile fabric of our relationship, exposing the raw wounds that lay beneath. He accused me of disrespect, his words punctuated by a spittle that landed on my face, a tangible representation of his disdain. His speech became slurred, the remnants of his drunken state clinging to his words. I struggled to find my voice, to form a coherent response amidst the overwhelming emotions that engulfed me. The taste of humiliation mingled with the bitterness of my father's words. Hearing my first name spoken in this scenario only intensified the discomfort, as if it carried an added layer of displeasure, a reminder of the shattered bond between us.

"Just thinking about the ocean... You know Mom loved the ocean, right?" I managed to croak out, my voice strained and choked with unshed tears.

It was a feeble attempt to redirect the conversation, to cling to a semblance of warmth and shared memories amidst the coldness that enveloped us.
For a moment, a flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, a glimmer of the man he once was. The mention of my mother seemed to pierce through the haze of anger, stirring a faint ember of affection. But it was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by the weight of his torment and the grip of his demons. The silence hung heavy in the room, the words left unspoken pregnant with unaddressed pain and unfulfilled longing.

For the first time ever in my life at that moment, my father struck me. His massive fist, clenched tightly, collided with the side of my face, a force that sent me reeling backward. The world spun around me as I crumpled to the ground, my head bouncing off the unforgiving tiles. The piercing ring in my ears returned, drowning out all other sounds, as my heart raced in my chest. Blood trickled from my nose, mingling with the pain that radiated from the impact. Stunned and disoriented, I struggled to regain my bearings, gasping for air, and fighting against the rising tide of panic. The weight of his aggression bore down on me, each passing second stretching the boundaries of my endurance.

"When I ask you a question, you answer me," he stated bluntly, his words laced with a twisted sense of authority.

The fog of alcohol clouded his judgment, heightening the brutality of his actions. The consequences of my laughter had escalated beyond comprehension. He seized me by the collar of my sweater, his grip tight and suffocating. As the fabric constricted around my throat, it became a physical manifestation of his dominance, squeezing the life out of me both metaphorically and literally.

“You said your mother liked the ocean, right? Let’s see if you like the ocean.”

I struggled to draw breath, my lungs desperate for oxygen, but my attempts only resulted in searing pain. Each gasp was met with resistance, as if the very act of breathing was a transgression deserving punishment. Helplessness washed over me, my limbs stretched to a straining degree as he dragged me across the floor, my body a ragdoll in his intoxicated grip. We arrived at the edge of the kitchen, where the sink stood as a witness to the horrors unfolding before it. The stark metal and the array of kitchen supplies took on a sinister air, their innocent presence now ominous and foreboding. In that moment, the kitchen became a symbol of confinement and impending danger, its familiar surroundings transformed into a battleground for our fractured relationship.

"You... you and your mother, you're the same. Don't know... don't know what I did to get an angel like her. But you... you're something else. You're the start of it all, the source of everything that has gone wrong. Your mother used to see you as a blessing, a gift from above. But not anymore. She doesn’t look at me the same, not after all I've done, all I've been through. It's you, Sterling. Yeah, you... You're the problem." He slurred and I can almost even hear him tear up.

"Go... go see the ocean, Sterling. Look at it with your own eyes. See how empty... how cold it is. Just like me. Just like everything... everything I've become." He gets choked up.

In that chilling moment, devoid of mercy or reason, he forcefully thrusts my already battered head into the murky depths of the sink, where dirty dishwater engulfs my senses. The impact is jarring, a brutal collision of my weakened state with the unyielding steel. My neck strains under the pressure, my Adam's apple crushed, cutting off my air supply. Desperation claws at my throat as I attempt to scream, but my vocal cords betray me, muffled by the suffocating grip that holds me captive. The water swirls around me, an unforgiving prison that drowns out my cries for help. My body thrashes in futile defiance, limbs flailing in the chaotic dance of survival, but his strength eclipses my feeble attempts to escape. The deafening ring in my ears, once a haunting accompaniment to my torment, now amplifies to an unbearable crescendo. It drowns out the present, blurring the boundaries between reality and the distant echoes of a happier time. Images of the beach, the sun-kissed days of innocence, replay in my mind, a desperate yearning for a return to the warmth and joy that once filled my family's existence.

I long to see my mother's radiant smile once more, to witness my father, my protector, wear a genuine expression of happiness. Yet, a shroud of resentment veils his countenance, his anger and disappointment etched deeply within his features. I struggle to comprehend the depth of his animosity, but a painful understanding seeps through the cracks of my shattered self-worth.

In that moment, I am confronted with an inescapable truth—I am nothing more than a pitiful, insignificant loser in his eyes. The ringing in my ears intensifies, a disorienting symphony of despair. My screams fade into silence, swallowed by the suffocating embrace of the water. Vision blurs, the world around me a hazy mirage, as darkness threatens to claim my consciousness, a merciful escape from the unbearable pain that has consumed my existence.

BGM: https://youtu.be/gRBq7fPITxw ("Through the Valley" by Shawn James)
Fades into scene and plays thought this next section quietly.

Engulfed in an expansive light, I am cast into a state of ethereal detachment. The boundaries of my physical form blur, and a chilling question lingers in the depths of my consciousness—am I dead? The persistent ringing that has plagued my existence persists, unabated and all-consuming. It reverberates within me, a haunting reminder of the aftermath of the unspeakable events that unfolded. Suddenly, amidst the deafening symphony of the ringing, faint voices emerge like fragmented echoes from a distant realm. They collide with the disorienting cacophony, disarrayed and indistinguishable. I strain to comprehend their meaning, their words eluding my grasp. Desperation grips me as confusion and frustration intertwine, confounding my senses.
The weight of my existence bears down upon me, rendering my body inert and unresponsive. I am trapped within myself, unable to open my eyes, to move, to draw the breath that my very survival depends upon. Panic sets in, its icy grip constricting around my chest, as the primal need for air intensifies. With a flicker of hope, I exert what feeble strength remains within me, pushing against an unknown barrier, my hands, or some semblance of them searching for purchase.

A sharp snap pierces the air, and suddenly, blinding sunlight floods my consciousness. The overwhelming brightness engulfs me, temporarily obscuring the disarray of my senses. Through the haze, I discern a peculiar sight—a creature resembling a raccoon, standing on its tail with an air of joyous curiosity, swaying with an innocence I cannot yet comprehend.

"They're alive!" I manage to discern, though the words bear an otherworldly quality. The raccoon-like creature's exclamation resonates in my hazy awareness, its genuine delight at my existence intermingling with the remnants of my fading consciousness.

"Oh my Arceus! We need to get them help!" Another voice joins the chorus, its tone tinged with worry and compassion. A small pink creature, cradling what appears to be a faux egg in a pouch, paces anxiously, unaware that its presence remains shrouded in the veil of my unrecognition.

In this strange convergence of unfamiliar beings, a glimmer of hope emerges—a beacon of light amidst the darkness that has consumed me. With their unforeseen assistance, perhaps I will uncover the answers that elude me and find solace in a world that still holds mysteries beyond my shattered reality...

Can you guess What Pokémon Sterling has become???