Bartholomew Buttonsworth, a mild-mannered accountant with a penchant for miniature dachshunds and lukewarm tea, found himself inexplicably tasked with bisecting the PokéMart. The order, delivered via a sentient pigeon wearing a monocle and top hat, contained no explanation. The pigeon simply cooed, "The Great Dividing," before vanishing in a puff of glittery confetti.

Bartholomew, armed with nothing but a rusty butter knife and a growing sense of unease, began his task. The PokéMart, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was eerily silent. The shelves, normally overflowing with Poké Balls and energy drinks, seemed to mock him with their unwavering solidity. Hours bled into days. The butter knife snapped. Bartholomew, fueled by desperation and increasingly erratic thoughts, resorted to a chainsaw he’d inexplicably found tucked behind a display of Meowth plushies.

The cacophony of the chainsaw, the splintering wood, the chaotic scattering of Pokémon merchandise – it all chipped away at Bartholomew's sanity. He saw Pikachu faces in the clouds of sawdust, heard Charizard roars in the hum of the engine. Reality itself began to fray at the edges.

The once-clear lines between the mundane and the absurd blurred. He started seeing sentient shopping carts, engaging in philosophical debates with Gengar plushies. The shelves rearranged themselves, forming cryptic messages in the style of ancient runes. The air thrummed with an unsettling energy, a discordant symphony of reality unraveling.

As the PokéMart finally split, not cleanly, but in a jagged, surreal fracture, Bartholomew collapsed, a broken man in a broken world. His screams echoed, not in the physical realm, but in the fractured reality he had inadvertently created.

The townsfolk, witnessing the bizarre spectacle, began to question their own perceptions. Was the PokéMart always two halves pretending to be one? Were the Pokémon real, or merely figments of a collective delusion? Had Bartholomew, in his madness, stumbled upon a fundamental truth about the universe, a truth too unsettling to comprehend?

The once-ordinary PokéMart now stood as a monument to the absurdity of existence, a gaping wound in the fabric of reality, a testament to the madness that can bloom when a man is asked to cut a PokéMart in half. And Bartholomew? He became a legend, a cautionary tale whispered in hushed tones, a symbol of the fragile line between sanity and the utter, beautiful chaos of nonsense. The Great Dividing had indeed occurred, and no one was quite sure what it meant.