The Moon Never Rises

I'm curled up in an alley. My muscles are weak and my mind is numb. I'm completely soaked and smell like chemicals. Worst of all, I have no idea why.

My slow awakening is quickly followed by an intense panic. I try to figure out the last thing I remember. It was June 16th, 2019. Father's Day. The last thing I remember at all is being driven home from a family gathering. Now, I'm in a whole new body in a random alleyway I don't recognize. I don't remember how I got here.

And after maybe 30 minutes of panicking, a few more memories start coming back to me, and the situation becomes slightly clearer. The first thing I know, it's not June 16th, 2019. It's... well, I actually don't know what day it is. Not the month or year either. Normally there'd be someone to wake me up in the morning and tell me what it is. It's not morning, though, and there's nobody here.

Secondly, I don't remember what happened yesterday, but that's normal. I remember very few things after that day, and the little I do remember takes time and focus to come back to me. To assist me in that process, I'd usually have a journal beside me with notes explaining what happened to me, and what I'd been doing the past few days. That part of my morning routine is one of the few things I was able to burn into my long-term memory, though it took considerable effort and time to do so. Whether it took days, weeks, months or years, I'm not sure.

After remembering my unique mental condition, I can now focus on figuring out my physical condition. I'm in the body of a pokemon. An Umbreon. I don't remember when this happened, and I don't know why I know the name. It doesn't feel like one of my normal memories. It feels more foreign, though I'm not really sure what makes it feel like that.

As I stand up, shaking myself dry in the process, I try to focus on remembering everything I can that would be somewhat beneficial. I can think of nothing useful, though. If I could at least have my journal I use to keep track of things. Maybe I wrote something down in it yesterday that could help me.

I'm not sure how I would've been able to write anything if I were an Umbreon. Maybe I was human for a little while yesterday. Or the day before. It could give me some clue as to what happened, or what I should do next. I just have to find it.

But this random alley isn't my bedroom. I imagine it would normally be sitting on my bedside table. The journal has to be here somewhere. If it's not nearby, then I'm never going to find it. So, I search the alley front and back several times. Digging through trash bags, searching through a dumpster. No journal. Nothing.

This is definitely the most reasonable time to panic. Panicking won't make the journal reappear, though. It's a waste of time to continue digging through trash searching for the magical book that will save everything. I just have to figure out what I can do for now to survive and move on to the next night.

Where I'll forget it all again and repeat the cycle...

There's no routine for me to follow tonight, so I just have to make things up as I go along. I was pretty good at that kind of thing. Just follow basic instincts.

The first thing I want to do is find something to eat. Just about anything would be acceptable. Hell, I'd eat the rats that were buried in the trash beside me if I had to.

Actually, that thought is worryingly reasonable to me right now. There's something inside me telling me I should just do it. I need to think of something else to eat before that idea sounds too appealing and I subject myself to eating rodents. It seems disturbingly natural to me, though. This probably isn't the first time I've considered doing that. Maybe I've actually done it before...

The thought makes me shudder. Please let this be my first night as an Umbreon so that I know it's not true.

I poke my head out of the alley and look up and down the street. Not too busy. Some cars passing by but no pedestrians. It's the middle of the night and appears to be an ordinary city street. There's probably a restaurant or grocery store in the area.

But I can't go into one like this. What if someone thinks I'm a kind of science experiment gone wrong? For all I know, that could actually be true. And a random employee or bystander could see me and immediately call the cops or a government agency. They could take me away and I'd lose my freedom forever. I woke up curled up in an alleyway instead of a cell, and that probably means that I was avoiding such an outcome up until now.

But if I can't just walk up to someone and beg for food like a stray cat or dog, how am I supposed to get food? Do I just break in and steal something? Is that what I've been doing since I turned into an Umbreon? I really wish there was someone who could tell me.

Well, there is one solution still being offered to me. It's almost like another person living in my head is giving me the suggestion. Not in any real, tangible words, but I understand the idea it's conveying. "Go hunt something. You're a predator."

I'm a human being, god damn it. Even if I don't look like it, I know it in my heart. And thanks to that presence giving me such a terrible idea, I decide that stealing is the better option. If only to spite that mongrel living in my head and put it in its place.

A store will have more options but also stricter security. Restaurants on the other hand aren't expecting to be robbed. Family businesses wouldn't have much more than a lock on the front door. If it's not a recognizable name and the lights are off, I know it's a good choice.

And after strolling down the sidewalk, I come across a building of interest. A small Italian eatery. Images of all kinds of pizzas and pastas start flashing in my head like a slideshow. Whether or not it's healthy for my current body doesn't matter to me. I know I want whatever I can find in there.

That little passenger in my head is trying to dissuade me, though. It really, really wants me to just go hunt some helpless street urchin. Something far away from here. I'm not listening to it, though. I'm hungry, and that diner is calling my name.

So, I skulk around the entrance towards the side of the building and look for an entrance. I'm able to find what appears to be a basement window, and it's slightly cracked open. My cat-like eyes spot claw marks in the dirt before it. I must not be the only one who comes in for dinner.

I pry the window open and climb inside. It takes a little squeezing. Leave some of my own tracks in the dirt.

There's a shelf on the wall inside that I'm able to stand on while I close the window behind me. I make sure to leave it open just a little bit, like when I initially found it. Would make it easier to get in tomorrow night assuming I'm still in the area. I need to make sure I bring some kind of symbol or message that tells me to return to this place. Assuming all ends well tonight.

I climb down from the shelf and land on the ground. Then, I silently move up the stairs of the basement and into the first floor. What do you know? It leads straight into the kitchen.

I can smell it. There are all kinds of cupboards and refrigerators full of all kinds of goodies. I leap up onto the counter next to a big sink filled with soapy water and a handful of dishes. I balance myself on my hind legs and use my front paws to open the cupboards above me. There's a big loaf of garlic bread inside.

It looks absolutely incredible. A part of me feels guilty for doing this. I wasn't a thief as a kid, or at any point leading up to my accident. Couldn't say for certain if I was at any point after that, but even if I was, it wouldn't change the way I feel now. No turning back, though. This certainly beats digging through dumpsters and gorging on trash. Or hunting...

I don't even want to think about it. I grab onto the bread with my teeth and start to remove it. As I'm about to pull it out, though, my pointy cylindrical ears pick up a sound above me. This is a two-story building. The owners must live upstairs because I definitely hear something moving.

A voice in the back of my mind tells me immediately that I need to leave. As if I couldn't figure that out myself. For some reason it was very insistent that staying was a bad idea. Extremely insistent. Like whoever was upstairs was really dangerous.

The fear of the little passenger in my head made me move a little too quickly. I started to lose my balance, flailing my paws around rapidly to try and regain control. Instead, I drop the loaf of bread on the ground and fall into the kitchen sink like a moron.

I pull myself out of the water and fall to the floor. Soaked again. The kitchen chemicals and grease just made it all worse. This won't come out easily. At least the soap got the smell of garbage off me. Actually, the smell is sort of familiar.

As I try to shake myself dry and get all the muck off me, I hear something coming downstairs. And an audible click.

"Damn mutt! I warned you yesterday! You're dead tonight!"

I'm not arguing with my instincts anymore. They clearly knew something I didn't about this place. By god, I hoped it knew the way out, too.

It sprinted back down to the basement. Leapt up to the shelf and, like a maniac, broke the window with a headbutt. It pushed through the broken shards of glass into the outside world, and before long, the yelling of the man inside was just an echo in the wind.

It took maybe half an hour to get control of myself again. Only when my body was physically too tired to keep sprinting. The whole time I was dragged along like a kid being taken to the dentist. Extremely annoyed and constantly begging to stop and turn home. Doesn't seem like the pilot of my body knows where it is either. That, or it doesn't care.

I'm far away from the diner now, but I've got cuts all over me that burn like hell because of the soap and grease. I chastise the lunar lunatic inside my head. "You could've just opened the window!"

And now, I don't have a clue where I am. Again. It seems to be a backyard? The house it belongs to has lights on, so the family is probably inside. Hopefully not the kind that shoots animals on their property. That thought must be my little passenger's idea, because I know I'm in a city, and no reasonable person would do that.

I'm starting to catch my breath. Energy's coming back to me. And as it does, I realize there's no bread with me. The idiot left it behind. Now I have nothing to eat. Of course now, it proposes the idea of hunting rats again. I'm furious with him, though, and after he ruined my heist back there, I definitely don't want to listen.

But those sensitive ears of mine pick up something else. Water, and something moving in it nearby. There's a pond in this family's backyard.

I creep up to the water and look inside. This family keeps outdoor koi fish. And amongst all the fish swimming around inside, there's one that sticks out from the rest. Not a normal fish at all.

My little friend tells me its name. Tatsugiri. It's pretty weak on its own and normally relies on a bigger pokemon to defend it. It seems like its current guardians are just regular fish. So, I make a compromise with the hunter in my head. If we can't find any real food, I'll settle for anything that isn't street filth.

And as I pluck the sushi out of the pond and carry it away, a thought crosses my mind. This isn't my first night as an Umbreon. It's possible it's not even my second night, and it most likely won't be my last. While I don't remember any of what's happening from day to day, the fellow in my head seems to. As annoyed as I was with him trying to tell me what to do and being forced to rely upon him for my safety, he's probably infinitely more annoyed that the compromise he made with me tonight and the lesson I learned from him will be completely forgotten tomorrow, and he'll have to start all over again.

And as for me? I've no way of surviving on my own like this. The people who took care of me before this sudden transformation aren't here anymore. I have no clue where they are, if they're looking for me now, or if they'd ever recognize me. I don't know if I'd recognize them if they aren't people I knew before the accident. I can't write in a journal anymore, so I can't leave messages for my future self and tell him what happened tonight. Every time the moon rises and I wake up, I'll have to relearn how to work with this new half of myself.

And at the end of every night, neither of us will have made any progress towards any long-term goals we set. He's relying on me for control, and I'll never know where to lead us. I'll wake up every night thinking it's right after that accident, and the cycle will repeat again. Tomorrow will never come for either of us. Only a different version of today.