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*To note with the following story: This story is on the darker side and is possibly heartwrenching, but it is moreso to fit the theme of the song. To anyone who reads it, I am fine. This is not a vent piece.*
~~~~~
There are times in one’s life where they feel like they’re at wit’s end. Chomby was certainly there. Confused, terrified, and anxious, he found himself wandering the city streets at night. It was raining. His phone said it was forty-two degrees outside. He felt cold.
He made sure to grab a jacket from his closet. It was a black and green jacket. Usually he wouldn’t need a coat to keep himself warm. His fur usually took care of that… but he just felt so cold the past few days. Maybe it was the shock.
Maybe it was the jacket itself. The black and green colors match his fur colors exactly. The jacket even had the same tattoo that he had on his belly. It was designed after him.
“Or, I was designed after it,” Chomby said. His tone came out listlessly as he sidestepped past a couple that shared an umbrella. The large-statured man turned his head to stare at Chomby as they passed.
Chomby heard the man say, “that’s a weird looking man, isn’t it?”
“Be nice,” the woman hissed under her breath. It was a bit hard to hear now that Chomby was a few yards away. “I don’t think it’s human. It’s probably that weird DJ.”
“Oh, that fat one?” Chomby heard the man turn around. “Hey, are you that DJ everyone’s talking about?”
Chomby ignored them.
“Must not have heard us,” the man said.
“Or you’ve got the social tact of a toddler!” The woman snorted. “Pretty sure it heard us!”
[i]It. The word echoed in Chomby’s head. That’s just what he was. He wasn’t a, ‘he’, he wasn’t a ‘she’, he wasn’t even a ‘they’. He was an ‘it’.
“Because I’m a jacket. Logical, I guess?” Chomby grunted. He saw another group of people up ahead and decided to duck into an alleyway to avoid walking into them. He wasn’t in the right mindset to deal with people talking about him.
“I’m a jacket,” he repeated as he looked down at himself. If what he learned was correct, he was supposed to be the very same jacket that he was wearing now. Ironic. The jacket had gathered dust by just sitting in the closet. It never was worn even once, until now.
Chomby grabbed the hood and shoved it further down over his eyes. He could feel them begin to sting. “I’m not real. I’m just a jacket. Anyone could pull apart the threads and pull my arm off. What would happen if someone put me on then? Would I be missing an arm? I don’t even know how this works!”
Chomby stopped in front of a chain link fence that prevented him from going any further. On both sides of the fence, he could see sets of soggy, broken-down, cardboard boxes. One of them happened to be opened and put together.
Chomby quickly scanned around him. Once he was satisfied no one was nearby, he dropped himself into the cardboard box and lowered his posture so the rain wouldn’t hit his snout anymore.
The box certainly wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but he wanted some sort of tactile feedback that could keep him grounded while he thought about everything he’d been learning the past few months.
“Just a jacket. Not real. Fake. I’m… an it.” Chomby folded his arms and held back a sob. “I can’t talk to anyone. No one remembers. I’m so-”
Chomby held his breath. He had trouble articulating the last word he wanted to say, even though he knew it.
“Alone.” Chomby forced his head lower. He felt himself sob again. “I want someone to talk to! Anyone!”
He was met with only the sound of the rain hitting his hood.
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I… I can’t do this! I can’t do this alone! I need help. I want to feel loved,” Chomby put a hand to his chest. “Please. You said we were best friends, so please… give me a sign. Give me anything! Let me know you’re still here!”
Again, Chomby was met with only the rain. He waited seconds… minutes… maybe even an hour. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed. All he knew is he was soaked, sitting in a cardboard box, and helplessly hoping for something he knew wasn’t going to come.
“Please,” he whispered after he couldn’t bear the silence anymore. “Please… show me you’re there!”
In that moment, Chomby felt something warm against his cheek. It felt like someone had placed their hand there, but when he lifted a hand to feel it, there was no hand.
~~~~~
This is the drawing I did for the song, Tokyo Teddybear!
Take a listen: https://youtu.be/cWBtL4xP_Fw
~~~~~
Chomby/Sarge/Story/Art ©
pikminpedia Me
~~~~~
There are times in one’s life where they feel like they’re at wit’s end. Chomby was certainly there. Confused, terrified, and anxious, he found himself wandering the city streets at night. It was raining. His phone said it was forty-two degrees outside. He felt cold.
He made sure to grab a jacket from his closet. It was a black and green jacket. Usually he wouldn’t need a coat to keep himself warm. His fur usually took care of that… but he just felt so cold the past few days. Maybe it was the shock.
Maybe it was the jacket itself. The black and green colors match his fur colors exactly. The jacket even had the same tattoo that he had on his belly. It was designed after him.
“Or, I was designed after it,” Chomby said. His tone came out listlessly as he sidestepped past a couple that shared an umbrella. The large-statured man turned his head to stare at Chomby as they passed.
Chomby heard the man say, “that’s a weird looking man, isn’t it?”
“Be nice,” the woman hissed under her breath. It was a bit hard to hear now that Chomby was a few yards away. “I don’t think it’s human. It’s probably that weird DJ.”
“Oh, that fat one?” Chomby heard the man turn around. “Hey, are you that DJ everyone’s talking about?”
Chomby ignored them.
“Must not have heard us,” the man said.
“Or you’ve got the social tact of a toddler!” The woman snorted. “Pretty sure it heard us!”
[i]It. The word echoed in Chomby’s head. That’s just what he was. He wasn’t a, ‘he’, he wasn’t a ‘she’, he wasn’t even a ‘they’. He was an ‘it’.
“Because I’m a jacket. Logical, I guess?” Chomby grunted. He saw another group of people up ahead and decided to duck into an alleyway to avoid walking into them. He wasn’t in the right mindset to deal with people talking about him.
“I’m a jacket,” he repeated as he looked down at himself. If what he learned was correct, he was supposed to be the very same jacket that he was wearing now. Ironic. The jacket had gathered dust by just sitting in the closet. It never was worn even once, until now.
Chomby grabbed the hood and shoved it further down over his eyes. He could feel them begin to sting. “I’m not real. I’m just a jacket. Anyone could pull apart the threads and pull my arm off. What would happen if someone put me on then? Would I be missing an arm? I don’t even know how this works!”
Chomby stopped in front of a chain link fence that prevented him from going any further. On both sides of the fence, he could see sets of soggy, broken-down, cardboard boxes. One of them happened to be opened and put together.
Chomby quickly scanned around him. Once he was satisfied no one was nearby, he dropped himself into the cardboard box and lowered his posture so the rain wouldn’t hit his snout anymore.
The box certainly wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but he wanted some sort of tactile feedback that could keep him grounded while he thought about everything he’d been learning the past few months.
“Just a jacket. Not real. Fake. I’m… an it.” Chomby folded his arms and held back a sob. “I can’t talk to anyone. No one remembers. I’m so-”
Chomby held his breath. He had trouble articulating the last word he wanted to say, even though he knew it.
“Alone.” Chomby forced his head lower. He felt himself sob again. “I want someone to talk to! Anyone!”
He was met with only the sound of the rain hitting his hood.
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I… I can’t do this! I can’t do this alone! I need help. I want to feel loved,” Chomby put a hand to his chest. “Please. You said we were best friends, so please… give me a sign. Give me anything! Let me know you’re still here!”
Again, Chomby was met with only the rain. He waited seconds… minutes… maybe even an hour. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed. All he knew is he was soaked, sitting in a cardboard box, and helplessly hoping for something he knew wasn’t going to come.
“Please,” he whispered after he couldn’t bear the silence anymore. “Please… show me you’re there!”
In that moment, Chomby felt something warm against his cheek. It felt like someone had placed their hand there, but when he lifted a hand to feel it, there was no hand.
~~~~~
This is the drawing I did for the song, Tokyo Teddybear!
Take a listen: https://youtu.be/cWBtL4xP_Fw
~~~~~
Chomby/Sarge/Story/Art ©
pikminpedia Me
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 2400 x 1350px
File Size 3.37 MB
Listed in Folders
This song and story gave me a new kind of depression. I feel so bad for Chomby and all I want for him is to be with Sarge so he knows he’ll loved, that he has someone, that he’s not alone. I NEED them to be together! Great songs and story, you got my heart. (Glad you’re doing ok)
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