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I WOULD RATHER BE THE STRAY

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[attr="class","freiwantttop"]THAN BE NOTHING TO NO ONE AT ALL

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Sometimes you have this dream where you're standing in the middle of the desert and no matter where you look there is nothing but sand and bright blue sky. The sun should be boiling your skin but it isn't it feels soft and welcoming and warm.

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And you just stand there, staring at the clouds as they fly past you in the sky.



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You woke up one day and took a name from a poster. Evan sounded nice. Fader found its home on you later when you tried to get a ship and they wouldn't let you on without a second name to go by. if you had a name before that you don't remember it. you never found it. you decided it was time to let it go after awhile.

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Orre is a disastrous place, if things like a family ever existed you'll never find out now.

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It doesn't matter anyway, the past means little when you are busy with stowing away on a ship and making it to a place greener than this. You keep going, place to place, home to home, you don't stop.

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Because you belong to no one and you belong nowhere, there is no attachment. Beginning and endings all blur together and names escape you as fast as you're own did when you were young. You forget sometimes and have to flip through your notes until you find the detailed image stating "Evan fader" on a page and sometimes you tell people you have no name at all.

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You come and go as you please, ending up in places most people never get to see because they never get there. Odd jobs and learning the hard way how to fend for yourself takes you further than you could ever imagine being. You see places far and wide, scale mountains and barely make it back down again. your heart has nearly jumped out of your chest more times than you can count and you'll do every bit of it again if you can.

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You stand behind the bar, poised and ready for the entrance of tonight's crowd. They are all familiar faces, names you have learned well in your years here serving them. Some in years past, some in years present, but the quaint stage and old school feeling of the bar makes it a popular destination for the many who call Rustboro home.

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Some of the older crowd ask you now and again, what happened to the old man that used to run this place? how has he been doing?

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You do not have the heart to tell them what became of him, how he passed at the end of a long night.

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And you never answer why you leave one stool unturned.[break][break]One glass left in the sink.[break][break]One table to wash before the evening starts again.[break][break]You only smile, sweet and sad.[break][break]