(Okay, I'm not writing anymore today. Publishing, maybe. But I've written five pages today already. Just STOP.

This sad little fic was inspired by Mt Pyre, the Towers in Kanto, Johto, and Sinnoh. They all have graves. Well, who buries the pokemon?

Disclaimer: Here I have myself to read the disclaimer! Duh. Okay, I don't own pokemon. I own this unnamed OC. Reviews, please!)

My name is of no consequence. My profession, however, is. I am a Gravedigger.

I bury every pokemon that comes to this tower. I preside over the funerals in the shadows. I am the constant of this Tower, something akin to a spirit; I am always there, but never seen. And who would like to acknowledge me?

I am a constant reminder that, indeed, all your precious pokemon will die. Who would care for me then? It matters not. I dig another hole.

Measure it six feet deep. Wonder what flowers they'll put on this grave? Daisies? Roses? I've seen it all. I have yet to see anything bleak, however. They try to ward off Death with pretty flowers?

Fools.

I finish the hole, and climb out. I then slip into the shadows, for a funeral procession is coming. And I must watch. Like a parade, the mourners descend on my plot. A small girl is sobbing hysterically, clinging to the coffin throughout the eulogy.

It's annoying, really. I can't hear the man talk well. It seems this girl's Raticate had died. I feel a small twinge of pity. Small children like that, why, they'd be so traumatized, they'd follow their beloved pokemon right to the grave.

I think about how it would feel to bury a human. I am shaken out of my thoughts by them lowering the casket into the ground. The girl is shrieking, being restrained by her mother. "NO! WHIPLASH!" She screams. Snot is running from her nose, and her face is almost purple. "I'm coming, don't worry!"

The girl jumps into the grave plot. I wince, as the lady begins to scream. "Charise! NO!" They try to go in and get her, but no one wants to jump into the gaping maw of the pit. I sigh. "Adeliah, come here!" A Cubone waddles out of the tree hole.

"Cu-Bone-bone?" It asks. "Please go get that girl." I point to the grave. Adeliah nods, and sets off. She throws her bone down to the girl. Clutching it, the girl is pulled up by Adeliah. The girl hugs Adeliah, and the Cubone smiles. A rare sight indeed.

They leave immediately, chattering happily about Charise's safe return. Adeliah waddles along behind the girl. "Sorry." She says with her eyes. "I have to go." I nod. "Keep her safe." I sigh. Another one of my friends has left me.

I sometimes wonder about leaving this place, catching a pokemon of my own, and seeing the world, and then I think that the Tower is a part of me. If I left, I might cease to exist. I begin to bury the pokemon.

Scratch-Whush, Swish-hush. The dirt piles over the Raticate, whispering it's special lullaby. The final one before silence descends on pokemon and cemetery, and I am alone. Again. I think of calling for the ghosts; I have made friends with the Ghastly, Haunter, and the other spirits that haunt this place. Night begins to fall as I finish burying this Racticate.

I sit, leaning against a tree. The stars rise. I watch in silence. They are cold, distant. Uncaring, unfeeling, chunks of rocks. And yet I make wishes upon them anyway. Is it wrong? Am I mad?

We wish on things that aren't there, spirits who can't hear or see us, and yet we are pronounced 'sane' day after day. I shake my head. It doesn't matter. All that matters are the bodies and I.

We wish on them, too. We wish their souls are in heaven, we wish they're okay, we wish for them to be alive again. And they can hear us just about as much as a star can. It's pointless, all of it. Yet we do it anyway. We hope for a 'God' that grants these wishes, brings these people back from the dead.

It is nothing but hollow words and halfhearted pleas that fall on deaf ears. I should laugh, but I again count myself amongst these star-wishers, these bargainers with the Merchant of Death.

I stand up. I think it is time I see an old friend. I trudge through the stones. Some big, some small, some wide. It doesn't matter. The people they represent are dead, and can't see the elaborate stonework.

I stop at a grave right on the edge of the cliff. It reads one word, crudely etched on wood. "Adel". My comrade, my fighter, my lover, my salvation.

My pokemon.

"Adel." I say it out loud, the word clinging to my mouth, in an attempt to keep it in my head. "I miss you." The picture of an Arcanine does her no justice.

She was the embodiment of grace and speed. She has no grace in the dirt now. She has no place in the dirt now.

A lump buries itself in my throat. I turn away. I did not bury her. They piled dirt over her, and they would. Not. Stop. I watched that day. I watched them lower her body into the ground.

I can't see her now. I sit on top of her grave. I feel I'm closer to her here. I can almost hear her. I begin to laugh, high and barking. I almost stop, but what for?

It's okay. You can laugh here. They're just bodies, they don't hurt you. They can't fight.

They're just bodies, after all.