I can feel it.

I can feel it in my tail, in my claws, in every alabaster hair on every inch of my pelt.

That mountain that makes the noises of fire is going to explode. I don't know when it will, why it will, or how I know. Instinct tells me, like it does every other member of my species. I haven't a doubt in my mind that the fire mountain is going to blow.

The stupid pink beings who walk on two legs, the 'humans' as they call themselves, are at a more definite risk than I or any other Pokémon are. Their strange wooden dens are no match for liquid fire. They are creating a path up the mountain where their slave Pokémon are supposed to do battle.

I should warn the humans. But a little voice in my head asks, "Why? Why should I warn them? Why should I warn the ones who see me as a harbringer of death? When have they ever welcomed me? Why help the ones who killed her?" The voice keeps whispering, feeding questions into my torn mind, until it grows into a yell that shakes every fiber of my being.

It won't stop mentioning her. Painful memories cloud my rational thought: of her and I entering the accursed den cluster in search of food, of the bulbous hairless human who first noticed us, of the screaming human pup who made our presence known, of the rampaging human males creating dust clouds larger than the moon, of running away and realizing too late that she was not behind me. Most of all, though, is standing helplessly atop a human den as she was pierced and shredded by the humans and their stones, and weeping at her side as the life seeped out of her body through the many cracks.

Anger and grief override common sense and willpower. Besides, even if I try to warn them, they'll just think I caused it and kill me like they killed her. I settle down in my nest and attempt to sleep. Those bastards can die for all I care.

Unsurprisingly, I was right. The mountain exploded and rained liquid fire down on the populace of my homeland. It happened two years ago, which has given me plenty of time to search the region and discover the true effects of the mountain's wrath.

It is indeed more shocking than I had ever imagined. The once lush forest paradise has been almost completely eradicated, replaced with a barren desert with little left but rocks and the remains of human dens, many of which are surrounded by the corpses of themselves and the Pokémon who do their bidding. What used to be thick jungle filled to the brim with Pokémon and humans alike has become arid desert land that covers an unmarked graveyard. Even my former home, a grassy plain filled with all kinds of multicolored flowers, is nothing but dust.

Not only the land has suffered. I had done my best job to warn all the Pokémon of the impending doom. Most heeded my warning and fled. Most of those gone have yet to return. Some, however, stayed. The majority of them are now deceased. The remainder, myself included, number less than one hundred. The time of Pokémon running free in the living paradise that is-was-my homeland is over, and most likely will never come again.

The land and the Pokémon have suffered greatly, but none have suffered more greatly than the humans. Almost all of their den clusters are all but eradicated, and the ones that survived have huge losses of life and damaged dens. Once on my travels, a human male crawled up to me weakly with a leg half blown off and an arm hanging on by inch of sinew. He feebly proclaimed me the cause of the previous disaster that had killed his wife and children. I slashed his throat with my claws and went on my way. Indeed, wherever I went the humans steered clear of me or attempted to kill me, usually the latter. Obviously, they haven't succeeded yet.

But not all is lost. The wind must have been blowing east that day, for in the northwest the effects of the explosion were barely noticeable. According to a Sandslash from near a large forest near the ocean, a group of humans wearing long white pelts have started building a large den near his burrow, and another man with spiky head-fur had found an old, abandoned den, which had recently started making extremely strange noises.

I have also discovered three small locales scattered around the region-two in odd locations, the third underneath the fire mountain-where many Pokémon run free. I have attempted to keep them concealed in various manners, but I fear the humans may find and enslave them much sooner than I would hope. I've done the best I can, though -I'm only one Pokémon.

My travels finally end as I find the rubble of a den cluster I did not recognize. Everything was torn down and destroyed -nothing could have survived this. However, I notice one thing that tips me off to the identity of this locale. I see a corpse sticking out of what appears to be the completely destroyed remains of a house A rather obese corpse, and bald at that.

This cluster is where she died.

Everything seems right to me as I notice more and more things I recognize. The ratty little boy who pointed us out. A few of the men who kicked up the great clouds of dust. And at the center of the village, I see a pile of bones that could only be one thing.

I do not weep for the loss of a great land. I do not weep for the loss of lives, human or Pokémon. I do not even weep for those left barely alive, in emotional pain worse than any kind of physical pain possible.

I weep only for her.

A/N I can take no credit for this idea, as the great Stolloss came up with it. I just wrote the actual story. Also, I don't own Pokemon.

Also: I used to be the Lemonator, in case you're wondering.