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Apprenticeship, Chapter 0.5 - Rain Dance
This was supposed to be the first half of the first chapter, but it came out so long that I just decided to release it as a stand-alone chapter!
< < < PREV | FIRST | NEXT > > >
The Vaporeon takes yet another step forth, off the pleasantly cool grass and onto the scorching hot sand. It is a familiar sensation, the pain of millions of pinpoints grazing against his consumed paw pads, the blazing heat of the afternoon sun stealing the moisture from his skin. That’s fine. He’s had worse.
He crosses the beach with a slow stride, as if exhausted from a long day’s work. The terrain under his paws crunches, seashells crumble into dust, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh, driving deeper with every step, sending waves of static up his body. He approaches the wet sand near the shore, ignoring the flashes of throbbing soreness shooting up from his limbs. The sea laps at him in a gentle, soothing rhythm. Water invades his fresh and old wounds alike, lighting his body ablaze, filling his mind with the sweet, overwhelming agony of a loving mother. The Vaporeon’s sight wavers for an instant, his ears start to ring, he shoots his chin upwards and opens his maw in a silent scream against the unnaturally clear sky. Tears instinctively flow from the corners of his eyes and mingle with the salty waters. He sits down. A sudden shake of his head brings him back to his senses. The pain is still there, his mind is blank, but that’s fine. He’s had worse.
This is a special place, at least for him. It is the shore where the ground’s level goes down the fastest. Just a couple of steps, and the seabed is already lower than a Mamoswine is tall. He leans over the edge, peering into the depths below, beyond the sheets of fair and darker blues that dance among the strands of foam and specks of trembling light. Beads of sweat drip down from his forehead and back and tail, skin becoming shriveled, mouth getting dry. He yearns for a swim, for the feeling of his body being embraced by the cold blanket of the ocean, layers and layers of water isolating him, protecting him from the perils of the outside world. He longs for that nostalgic tenderness, he wants to feel like a cub again, to forget about everything else one more time. But he knows, he remembers. The scars on his body scream in recollection, the ones in his soul writhe like a swarm of enraged wasps. The reflections in the water waver and change in shape. The Pokémon jumps back from the edge and sits down once more, closing his eyes and letting out a long, quivering sigh. He cannot bring himself to do it again. Besides, that's not the reason he came here in the first place.
He always comes here, every morning of every month of every year. No matter what his plans for the day are, he always visits this place and sits beside the ocean, unflinching, eyes lost in the vastness of time. It is a routine, almost a ritual.
Today, however, something is off. He knew from the moment he woke up that morning, exhausted and covered in unhealed wounds, as if resting had only hurt him more. He had had a long and hard day of bounty hunting, and another equally grueling one ahead of him, but he was used to that. He had been doing it for years. What worries him is the impact that morning had on him. No matter how hard he tried to get up, his body just would not let him. He arrived at the beach late. That thought had been lingering in the back of his conscience, nagging at him for the whole day. He had never arrived here late. He could never. It feels like a lack of the respect that this place- that the memories tied to this place- deserve. Not only that… everything is so unnaturally calm today. Looking down at his paws, the sea looks as if it were sleeping. The tide is flat, the waves are small, the bubbles that usually emerge from the sand where Krabby are buried are few and far between. Looking all around him, the wind has ceased to blow. The foliage of the trees behind him seems frozen in time. And looking up toward the sky, the complete lack of clouds is staggering. Not a single smudge of white can be seen among the blue, not even on the horizon. The sounds of nature are low and timid, the world sits still in reverie…
…or is it waiting for something?
That thought makes the Vaporeon jump slightly, as if he were surprised to have considered it. But he had almost never seen this place like this, even after all this time. Could something be about to happen? Or is he just burnt out and being paranoid? He firmly shakes his head, shooing away any doubts. This must mean something. He shuts his eyes and focuses, trying to remember the last time such circumstances took place, trying to recall what had happened. He is certain it had happened once before, a long, long time ago, and he is convinced that it had preceded something very meaningful. The memory is right there, he just needs to dive through the fog clouding his brain and grab it. Deeper and deeper, a memory almost as old as his earliest remembrances of his time at the Guild, the very place where he had grown up. Farther and farther, into the most hidden parts of his psyche, into the smallest, most concealed room of a mind palace filled to the brim with cobwebs and chains and locks. Just what could it…?
Just then, it hits him. The great, old and rusty lock breaks open and a tidal wave of tar crashes over him, surrounding him, enveloping him, overwhelming him. His heart sinks down to his guts, its sudden weight opening a gaping, endless chasm under his paws. He starts falling.
“No, no, no, no”, his mind raves, “no no no nonononoNONONO-”; his claws sink deep into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to the dead weight of their body, but it’s no use now. He keeps sinking. His eyes are wide open and glazed over, the world around him starts revolving and warping. Silhouettes dance in the corners of his eyes, faces start forming in the sand. They’re all the same face. Terrified, he looks away toward the ocean- still there. He turns to the sky- more and more and more. He closes his eyes and that visage lingers as if burned into his retinas. It’s the face of a Dewott.
The Vaporeon shoots his muzzle into the ground and covers his head with his front paws. The tar fills his nose and mouth, vacuuming the breath away from his lungs. He remembers now. He remembers it like it was yesterday. It was the day that they met for the first time. That’s what he was trying so hard so remember. His mind is whirling, screaming in hatred, cursing himself for unlocking that memory again. In the distance, outside the ocean of black, he can faintly hear himself wailing. Droplets of water start falling on his back. Black clouds are beginning to gather above the woods, blotting out the sun, and the sea is getting restless.
Smaller memories swim in the goo like fish, replacing every thought with searing nostalgia, adding to the weight, making the anguished Pokémon sink even faster. They keep piling on and on and on, until a new emotion, one he thought he had forgotten, falls into the murky waters like a boulder, rising ripples that threaten to completely submerge him: fear. Fear of what might come, of what this omen might bring. Dread at all the millions of possibilities flashing before his eyes. He cannot bear to experience something like that all over again, but he feels it coming, edging closer, a gargantuan monolith of black stone as the final nail on his coffin.
That’s enough. With a grating scream that pierces the heavens, he drives his legs firmly into the ground and pushes with all his might, muscles threatening to tear apart under the sheet of hardening tar, and breaks free with a shattering blast that echoes in his ears. The sky explodes with thunder, bolts of lightning ripping through the clouds and rain pouring down with the force of a hurricane. Suddenly back to his senses, the Vaporeon realizes that the sea is now raging and takes a step back, then another, then turns tail and runs.
As he stumbles through the woods, adrenaline takes control of him. Gritting his teeth, he runs until he finds a small pond near the trunk of a great chestnut tree. The scratch marks on its bark indicate that it’s the right one. He dives inside the pond and emerges into a cave the size of a Metagross, big enough to fit a modestly large bedding of hay and some bundles of apples and gummis. The walls are mossy and humid and the air is damp, the perfect resting place for a water type Pokémon. He walks toward the bedding on shaky legs and lies down with a soft thud. He inhales deeply and exhales as the adrenaline subsides and the exhaustion, pain and burnout wash over him like the gentle but unforgiving waves of the ocean. His long sigh degenerates into a whimper and then into a howl, as he finally bursts into child-like, pent-up tears.
As he weeps, he goes over everything that happened. He thinks of how he arrived late at the beach, of all the work he is supposed to do today. He doesn’t have the energy to do it and he hates himself for it, for being so weak. He wishes he hadn’t had that stupid idea of looking back to his past, back to Him. The weeping gets higher in pitch and louder in intensity. He hates Him too. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone like Him ever again. No more. Please, no more. He buries his muzzle in the hay. He knows something will happen, and he knows that he will either have to avoid it or face it.
But that’s fine. That’s fine, he tells himself in between miserable sobs.
He’s had worse.
Outside his den, the storm rages on.
< < < PREV | FIRST | NEXT > > >
The Vaporeon takes yet another step forth, off the pleasantly cool grass and onto the scorching hot sand. It is a familiar sensation, the pain of millions of pinpoints grazing against his consumed paw pads, the blazing heat of the afternoon sun stealing the moisture from his skin. That’s fine. He’s had worse.
He crosses the beach with a slow stride, as if exhausted from a long day’s work. The terrain under his paws crunches, seashells crumble into dust, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh, driving deeper with every step, sending waves of static up his body. He approaches the wet sand near the shore, ignoring the flashes of throbbing soreness shooting up from his limbs. The sea laps at him in a gentle, soothing rhythm. Water invades his fresh and old wounds alike, lighting his body ablaze, filling his mind with the sweet, overwhelming agony of a loving mother. The Vaporeon’s sight wavers for an instant, his ears start to ring, he shoots his chin upwards and opens his maw in a silent scream against the unnaturally clear sky. Tears instinctively flow from the corners of his eyes and mingle with the salty waters. He sits down. A sudden shake of his head brings him back to his senses. The pain is still there, his mind is blank, but that’s fine. He’s had worse.
This is a special place, at least for him. It is the shore where the ground’s level goes down the fastest. Just a couple of steps, and the seabed is already lower than a Mamoswine is tall. He leans over the edge, peering into the depths below, beyond the sheets of fair and darker blues that dance among the strands of foam and specks of trembling light. Beads of sweat drip down from his forehead and back and tail, skin becoming shriveled, mouth getting dry. He yearns for a swim, for the feeling of his body being embraced by the cold blanket of the ocean, layers and layers of water isolating him, protecting him from the perils of the outside world. He longs for that nostalgic tenderness, he wants to feel like a cub again, to forget about everything else one more time. But he knows, he remembers. The scars on his body scream in recollection, the ones in his soul writhe like a swarm of enraged wasps. The reflections in the water waver and change in shape. The Pokémon jumps back from the edge and sits down once more, closing his eyes and letting out a long, quivering sigh. He cannot bring himself to do it again. Besides, that's not the reason he came here in the first place.
He always comes here, every morning of every month of every year. No matter what his plans for the day are, he always visits this place and sits beside the ocean, unflinching, eyes lost in the vastness of time. It is a routine, almost a ritual.
Today, however, something is off. He knew from the moment he woke up that morning, exhausted and covered in unhealed wounds, as if resting had only hurt him more. He had had a long and hard day of bounty hunting, and another equally grueling one ahead of him, but he was used to that. He had been doing it for years. What worries him is the impact that morning had on him. No matter how hard he tried to get up, his body just would not let him. He arrived at the beach late. That thought had been lingering in the back of his conscience, nagging at him for the whole day. He had never arrived here late. He could never. It feels like a lack of the respect that this place- that the memories tied to this place- deserve. Not only that… everything is so unnaturally calm today. Looking down at his paws, the sea looks as if it were sleeping. The tide is flat, the waves are small, the bubbles that usually emerge from the sand where Krabby are buried are few and far between. Looking all around him, the wind has ceased to blow. The foliage of the trees behind him seems frozen in time. And looking up toward the sky, the complete lack of clouds is staggering. Not a single smudge of white can be seen among the blue, not even on the horizon. The sounds of nature are low and timid, the world sits still in reverie…
…or is it waiting for something?
That thought makes the Vaporeon jump slightly, as if he were surprised to have considered it. But he had almost never seen this place like this, even after all this time. Could something be about to happen? Or is he just burnt out and being paranoid? He firmly shakes his head, shooing away any doubts. This must mean something. He shuts his eyes and focuses, trying to remember the last time such circumstances took place, trying to recall what had happened. He is certain it had happened once before, a long, long time ago, and he is convinced that it had preceded something very meaningful. The memory is right there, he just needs to dive through the fog clouding his brain and grab it. Deeper and deeper, a memory almost as old as his earliest remembrances of his time at the Guild, the very place where he had grown up. Farther and farther, into the most hidden parts of his psyche, into the smallest, most concealed room of a mind palace filled to the brim with cobwebs and chains and locks. Just what could it…?
Just then, it hits him. The great, old and rusty lock breaks open and a tidal wave of tar crashes over him, surrounding him, enveloping him, overwhelming him. His heart sinks down to his guts, its sudden weight opening a gaping, endless chasm under his paws. He starts falling.
“No, no, no, no”, his mind raves, “no no no nonononoNONONO-”; his claws sink deep into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to the dead weight of their body, but it’s no use now. He keeps sinking. His eyes are wide open and glazed over, the world around him starts revolving and warping. Silhouettes dance in the corners of his eyes, faces start forming in the sand. They’re all the same face. Terrified, he looks away toward the ocean- still there. He turns to the sky- more and more and more. He closes his eyes and that visage lingers as if burned into his retinas. It’s the face of a Dewott.
The Vaporeon shoots his muzzle into the ground and covers his head with his front paws. The tar fills his nose and mouth, vacuuming the breath away from his lungs. He remembers now. He remembers it like it was yesterday. It was the day that they met for the first time. That’s what he was trying so hard so remember. His mind is whirling, screaming in hatred, cursing himself for unlocking that memory again. In the distance, outside the ocean of black, he can faintly hear himself wailing. Droplets of water start falling on his back. Black clouds are beginning to gather above the woods, blotting out the sun, and the sea is getting restless.
Smaller memories swim in the goo like fish, replacing every thought with searing nostalgia, adding to the weight, making the anguished Pokémon sink even faster. They keep piling on and on and on, until a new emotion, one he thought he had forgotten, falls into the murky waters like a boulder, rising ripples that threaten to completely submerge him: fear. Fear of what might come, of what this omen might bring. Dread at all the millions of possibilities flashing before his eyes. He cannot bear to experience something like that all over again, but he feels it coming, edging closer, a gargantuan monolith of black stone as the final nail on his coffin.
That’s enough. With a grating scream that pierces the heavens, he drives his legs firmly into the ground and pushes with all his might, muscles threatening to tear apart under the sheet of hardening tar, and breaks free with a shattering blast that echoes in his ears. The sky explodes with thunder, bolts of lightning ripping through the clouds and rain pouring down with the force of a hurricane. Suddenly back to his senses, the Vaporeon realizes that the sea is now raging and takes a step back, then another, then turns tail and runs.
As he stumbles through the woods, adrenaline takes control of him. Gritting his teeth, he runs until he finds a small pond near the trunk of a great chestnut tree. The scratch marks on its bark indicate that it’s the right one. He dives inside the pond and emerges into a cave the size of a Metagross, big enough to fit a modestly large bedding of hay and some bundles of apples and gummis. The walls are mossy and humid and the air is damp, the perfect resting place for a water type Pokémon. He walks toward the bedding on shaky legs and lies down with a soft thud. He inhales deeply and exhales as the adrenaline subsides and the exhaustion, pain and burnout wash over him like the gentle but unforgiving waves of the ocean. His long sigh degenerates into a whimper and then into a howl, as he finally bursts into child-like, pent-up tears.
As he weeps, he goes over everything that happened. He thinks of how he arrived late at the beach, of all the work he is supposed to do today. He doesn’t have the energy to do it and he hates himself for it, for being so weak. He wishes he hadn’t had that stupid idea of looking back to his past, back to Him. The weeping gets higher in pitch and louder in intensity. He hates Him too. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone like Him ever again. No more. Please, no more. He buries his muzzle in the hay. He knows something will happen, and he knows that he will either have to avoid it or face it.
But that’s fine. That’s fine, he tells himself in between miserable sobs.
He’s had worse.
Outside his den, the storm rages on.
Category Story / Pokemon
Species Pokemon
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 50.4 kB
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