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The third chapter of "Radio Static," in which something is missing.

DISCLAIMER: Pokemon and all of its characters belong to Nintendo/Game Freak; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

Words: 1,391

He was missing something. He had known this for about as long as he could remember; which, granted, wasn’t very long, but it felt to him as though it had already been an eternity.

Ingo had done his best to make a life for himself in a land that he knew was not his own. It was difficult, with how painfully obvious it was to himself and everyone around him that he was not meant to be there. Still, he had managed to carve a place for himself. His hands had wound up scraped and bloodied in the process, but he hadn’t had much choice.

But, even so, even with how hard he had worked just for that, it wasn’t enough. He was still restless, feeling lost and aimless. Every second felt so completely wrong, but in ways he couldn’t put a name to.

Besides that, something more was missing, something other than the obvious. Something larger, something inside of him. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it was like he was missing one of his senses. He knew that wasn’t true, though - he could see, hear, do everything just fine. And yet, oftentimes it felt like there was meant to be something more there, like he should be hearing, seeing, feeling something else, something more.

It was strange, and he hadn’t a clue what it could possibly mean or be.

It had actually been bothering him for quite a while. At first, he hadn’t exactly been in a state to worry about much other than the pain he was feeling, the confusion of the entire situation, and whether or not he’d see another day.

He had appeared in this place out of seemingly nowhere, badly injured and with no clue of who he was or where he had come from. All searches for someone who knew anything about him at all came up fruitless; that, combined with his state of dress and many of his mannerisms seemed to point to the idea that he was not of this land.

With all of that in mind, it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed this… absence, at first. He’d not retained a single memory of his home, himself, anything - of course he’d feel strange, or as though something was missing. This specific yet blurry lack of something had seemed, to him, completely normal, and he had paid it no mind.

And yet, even from the beginning, it had felt different. As time went on, it made itself harder and harder to ignore. As he got used to his amnesia and all of the longing and strangeness that went with it, this lack continued to distinguish itself, until he could no longer dismiss it as just another part of the things he had forgotten.

It felt more real than anything else he had forgotten, almost like it was still there with him, but he just couldn’t reach it. It was still just an idea, but somehow felt less abstract of a concept than simple memory. This was something that was a part of him, something that he felt he should have carried with him. Yet, it was gone, along with almost every sign or clue of his prior life. It was like a piece was missing from his side.

Despite how busy he’d gotten since becoming Sneasler’s Warden, he still often had so much time on his lonesome to just think and think and think (and believe him, he’d tried to ensure that wouldn’t happen. He’d wanted to keep himself busy, always having something to do, just to distract himself from all of it. It was, sadly, to no avail; even if he were hard at work every single second of the day, none of it would be enough to keep away the thoughts of all that he could have forgotten, all that he must have left behind).

He couldn’t help but fixate on it; it was the most specific feeling that he had, the only one that differed enough to possibly give him a real clue of what it was, and, perhaps, who he was.

No matter how many times he told himself to just stop thinking about it, that there was nothing to be done, he just kept worrying about it, wondering what it could be, what it could possibly be…

At first, once it was obvious that he had lost something much greater than just memory, it had been easy enough to dismiss it as having simply to do with how he was likely in a much different environment than he had been before. He had wondered, in the brief time he had truly believed it, just how different his true home had to be that he felt so thoroughly wrong just being here. Deep down, though, he’d always known it wasn’t the truth.

He just hadn’t a clue of what it could possibly be. It felt tangible, physical, but he knew that wasn’t quite right. Perhaps it was less something to do with himself, but rather, someone or something he was used to having by his side. Still, he couldn’t recall a single detail of what or who that could possibly be, so it held as much weight as any other theory.

Still, despite all of his wondering and worrying, he had responsibilities to fulfill. He couldn’t afford to constantly lose himself in thought; he had to carry on.

Sneasler’s first litter under his watch would be hatching soon. The excitement that he could barely contain felt familiar, in a way. Perhaps, wherever he was from, he had been Warden to another. Maybe that was why Sneasler had chosen him, even with his lack of memory.

She cried happily at the scratch he gave behind her ear before sitting down to start a fire. The wind whistled outside as a storm kicked up, and he was suddenly glad he had chosen to go in when he had. Certainly, he was better suited for the cold than he had been in his first days in Hisui, yet he couldn’t help but be reminded of that first storm he’d gotten caught in…

Suddenly, his hopeless, fruitless wondering about his past seemed much more appealing. Sneasler seemed to notice his turmoil, nudging the back of his hand. Ah. He hadn’t started it yet.

As the striker he held came down and sparks burst forth, he couldn’t help but wonder why all of these skills he used to survive came so unnaturally to him. Surely, wherever he had come from, he had needed them there as well? Or was he simply inept, even in his homeland?

He couldn’t help but feel that it was meant to be… easier, somehow. Maybe he came from another settlement, like one of the villages, far away from here. Somehow, that felt wrong, but not entirely so.

He watched as the flames danced to life, and warmed his hands. Sneasler purred beside him at the warmth. He glanced over at her and chuckled as he saw the way her whiskers were still singed from when she’d leaned just a little too close to it. That had seemed almost familiar, too, but as soon as he had recognized the feeling, he had been unable to pin its source down.

He sighed, and leaned back against the wall. These thoughts always seemed to have a way of creeping up on him, even in the moments he felt most at home…

He’d considered asking someone, anyone, if the feelings he had seemed at all familiar. He had the distinct feeling, however, that even if he were able to find the words to make it sound comprehensible to anyone else (already unlikely, considering he couldn’t even understand it himself), they would have no clue, and only think him even stranger than they already did.

He just felt so… stuck. Something was missing, and he felt as though he’d never be whole without it. But how could he ever feel whole again if he couldn’t even figure out what it was that he was missing?

He resigned himself to another restless night of worrying in circles.

The next day, when he traveled to the Pearl Clan settlement, he heard whispers of a child, fallen from the sky; it seemed they appeared just as strangely and suddenly as he had.

He wondered…