Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Tourniquet ❯ Tourniquet ( One-Shot )

Ok people. My second creepishly (word) dark pokemon fic.

 

This time, it's a songfic.

 

And not a WHOLE song.

 

Six lines of a song.

 

*Below*

OkOk
”My God my Tourniquet
Return to me Salvation

My wounds cry for the grave
My soul cries for Deliverance
Will I be Denied Christ
Tourniquet
My Suicide”

 

Yeah.

 

Tourniquet by Evanescence.

 

The reason I didn't do the whole song is it would have been too redundant and too long. If I only wrote to the chorus once, the actually phrases of the song talks about the same thing that the last six lines summarizes.

 

Weird sentence.

 

I don't own Evanescence. I don't own pokemon.

 

*blah* = lyrics

 

 

Tourniquet (Song written by Evanescence)

 

Songfic written by Tsunamimbw

 

Last six lines.

 

 

*My god, my tourniquet, Return to me salvation.*

 

You are the master.

 

The Pokemon master.

 

Our master.

 

We are the slaves.

 

We pine for our homelands.

 

 

Our families.

 

Our lives.

 

Our freedom.

 

*My wounds, cry for the grave*

 

Our battles fought.

 

What do we get? Rest.

No helping us nurse our wounds?

No offering us some fresh food or water?

 

You don't know what it's like.

Cramped inside a tiny pokeball that shrinks for your convenience.

We're stuffed inside.

Day after day.

Night after night.

Battle after battle.

Nursing our cuts, our bruises and our wounded hearts.

While you take everything out there for granted.

 

We lie here in agony.

In silence.

 

*My soul cries, for deliverance.*

 

We yearn.

We yearn for release.

 

For the day you will finally see our happiness is a mask.

 

We're taken where you want to go.

Seeing the world from the battlefield.

 

Being held captive.

Being used as a collector's item.

Gathering dust in a box in the PC.

 

You don't now how tedious it is, starring at the same blank gray inside of a pokeball for hours. For days. For weeks.

 

*Will I be denied? Christ?*

 

Will we be in chains for the rest of our lives?

 

Why do you think we're so happy when you let us out?

It's not you.

It's the temporary freedom.

The smell of the air, even though filled with the smell of plastics and medication, is fresh to us.

 

The same futile hope that seems to appear no matter how hard we try to suppress it.

 

And then, you call us back in.

 

*Tourniquet…*

 

Hope.

 

Futile hope, yes.

 

But it pushes us to live.

 

When that fades…

 

We fade too…

 

*My suicide…*

 

 

….

 

So?

 

REVIEW!!!

 

(This fanfiction was inspired by one of Farla's fics. I don't remember which one. She has a lot. A LOT.)

 

^^

 

MARSHMALLOWS!!

 

If you wish to flame, then do it. Just don't give me something like: “it was shit” *coughthankyoupleasecough* and call it a flame.

 

That's not a flame.

 

Tell me WHY it was shit.

 

(Thankyouplease is a person.)

 

Bottom of Form