By:  Trix
Title:  The Gun In Your Hands
E-mail:  Q-chan@juno.com

A/N:  I wrote this when I was in a really bad mood.  Someone I knew rather well had just commited suicide.  I know that this is going to be ignored, but oh well.  I know it's a bit out of character, but when Ash has something to say, he says it from the heart, and he makes a lot of sense.  I'm warning you, I cried while I wrote this, probably due to circumstances.  I know it's not the best, but when I reread it, I didn't want to change a thing.

The Gun In Your Hands

    It was going to be so easy.
I put the gun to my head and rested one finger lightly on the trigger.  Now all I needed to do was pull, and there went my miserable life.
I suppose afterwards people would wonder why I did it.  I guess they would say things like "oh, but he was such a good boy!" and "there was nothing wrong here!"
But there was something wrong.  Everything was wrong.  My parents had pushed me to be the best at everything, soccer, football, even simple things like kickball, dodgeball, and fuseball.  Most of all, Pokemon.  I had lost friends along the way, I had even grown to hate myself.
At least I was the best, right?
I felt the smooth, cool metal beneath my fingertips, the cold circle pressed to my temple.  After I died, everyone would go to my funeral.  Everyone would cry.  Everyone would feel sorry and wish they had done more, and I would laugh at them because it would be too late.
I added slight pressure to the trigger.  Now.
The door burst open and I almost pulled.  By some miracle I was simply frozen in place.  Ash was standing there.
Ash and I had been friends for years...at least when we were younger.  We had played together and had sleep overs, defending our hometown from evil doers with sticks in hand and his mom's cooking pots on our heads.  Until he fell by the wayside in my effort to beat everyone.
Now he stood there, framed by the doorway, and stared at me.
It didn't last long, he stepped into the room, amazingly calm, and took the gun from my nerveless fingers.  He stood there, looking at me where I crouched on the ground.  When I think about it now I suppose I could have jumped him and taken the gun back, but I just sat in the same position while he held the machine of death in his hands.
After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke.  "I've had a lot of stupid ideas in my life, Gary.  But all of them combined aren't nearly as stupid as this."
I wanted to laugh my head off, but I didn't.  "So what?  You don't understand."
"I understand," he replied, almost inaudible.  "But this is the most selfish thing you could ever do.  Did you even think about the people you'd leave behind, Gary?  Did you ever think what this would do to your parents, your sister, your grandpa, to me?"
"Yeah, I did.  Give me the gun," I said in a voice that was dead, even to me.
"No," he held it above his head.  He knew I was taller than him.  He knew I could get to it if I stood up.  "I won't.  You didn't think of us, Gary.  You thought you did, but you didn't.
"Think about it, Gary.  Do you really want to cause people you love, people you care about to live with regret, with pain, with sorrow, for the rest of their lives?  What about the life you're not going to live if I give this gun back too you?"
I glared at him.  "It would be a pretty miserable one."
"Will it be?" he stepped back when I stood up.  "Will it be miserable?  Does it have to be?  Talk to your parents, talk to your family and friends.  They're always their for you."
"I don't have any friends, and my family doesn't even care," I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks now.  I thought about wiping them away, but the action was never sent to my hands.  
"Then why do I care enough to take the gun out of your hands?" he asked softly.  "Your family does care about you.  Just talk to them.  Suicide is not the answer.  It's never the answer."
"You'd take the gun out of the hands of your worst enemy, it doesn't mean anything to me," I was choking on bitter tears.  I was amazed he could hear me.
He looked like he was trying to smile, but he was crying now, too.  "I guess that's true.  But your definately not my worst enemy, Gary.  You're my friend.  Remember that."
He walked out of my room, and I noticed he left the gun in the hallway.
I made no move to get it.  Ash had taken the gun out of my hands.

-For Jacob, I can only wish someone would have taken the gun from your hands